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My shirt is freshly starched and ironed, but I decided not to shave my stubble. There is such a thing as being too respectable, and I only have so much morning energy.

Buffnanzaa was fun, with a sprinkling of awkward moments. It is always so when I go back to the Seattle University campus. Also, I think Eva bears a grudge of some sort toward me-- I'm not sure why and I suspect she isn't either. Stuff happens; it's just uncomfortable. Lots of good food (though the promised White Russians were noticeably absent) and George even wrote Buffnanzaa carols. That guy is brilliant. He's a Rhodes finalist.

I most enjoyed hanging out with Sara. She's a breath of fresh air and doesn't miss a trick. The alpha female, as she describes herself. Hope she finds work soon, work that she'll enjoy.

Feeling called to pray for Connor. Actually, praying for the lot of them would be a good thing (When is praying for someone a bad thing? Never, I believe.). Better understood, it's a necessary thing. I pray too little, and that's not some imposed, misplaced, overly-religious guilt talking. It is more akin to a starving man identifying his need to eat.

Is it really the twelfth? Oh, man!


Out in the west, she's slaying the best, BUFF-nan-ZAAAAAAA!

Wish I could have gone (wish I could have seen "Hush" instead of working late)... What exactly is in the Chex Mix of Death? Peanuts of pestilance? Pretzels with little nunchucks?
If I told you...

I should share some of George's Buffnanzaa Carols. You'd love them, I think.
An evening lacking White Russians is hardly an evening at all. ;-)
That's so very true...
And you should get an AIM more often. I miss your chats. =)
Me too. :) I've been so busy and scattered (or tired) that I've been on very little. Soon, I hope!