Not so maudlin.

Ok. I'm done being a whiny prat.

At least being a whiny prat about my cat.

G. Monkey's Museum Gig offered her an extra 6k to stay at the museum o'doom, but she hasn't decided if she's taking it or not. There are pros and cons to both- and would you trade off soul-crushing boredom, and no chance at advancement for shorter hours and knowing that your place of employment probably won't fold within the next year.

So who knows.

Otherwise, folks, I got nothin'.

Well, other than the fact that Bosslady now insists I call her once a day (on top of the 123141578 times per day she calls me) and is making me CC her on most of the emails I send out. (Ok, so you want me to take "ownership" but I have to check with you before I pee, eh?) I know. I know. Employment ads. Monster. Check. And the crazy pod thing I had in the crook of my left arm is back, and bigger, and causing intermittent wackiness in my wrist/hand. (no, it's nothing major. It takes the doc a few seconds and some novocain to get in there and rip the thing out, though if it's back, maybe the last dude didn't do such a good job. Then again, he was also affiliated with "The Hospital That Nearly Killed G. Monkey, And Really Went Downhill After The Nuns Left" so his qualifications are suspect.)

But other than that. Nothin'.