Oh, god, my feet hurt. I wore my Docs to work in the hopes they'd be more comfortable than my cheap-ass Mary Janes w/half the insole torn out, but no. My feet still hurt. Maybe they're rebelling cuz I'm wearing something other than Converse. My feet are demanding, you know.

Why the hell am I talking about this?

Anyway, ducks first and then work.

Those of you who requested pictures shall have them by Friday. Tomorrow, I'm going to snag the ultra-expensive, if-I-break-it-I-will-die-a-horrible-death camera and attempt to take some more decent pictures. I have some from yesterday, including one of little D-7 barely thirty minutes out of the egg. I didn't take more pictures of them freshly hatched cuz, well, they look like wet, hairy lizards. And not a single one would stay still long enough for me to get a good picture.

I still don't know what to call them as I can't even tell them apart yet. Two have black and pink bills, but I already forgot when they were hatched. D-7 will crawl in my hand, but so will the others if they see him doing it.

Maybe I should just call them all Larry.

Anyway, work was boring and amusing, all at once. It was slow, but the patrons.... There's a reason the clerks call it Wacky Wednesday.

Apparently, on Wednesday, the kooky ones like to come to the library. When my co-workers told me this, I swear the room was illuminated by my eyes lighting up. I don't know why, but I get along better w/people of questionable sanity. Plus it adds a little spice to things. Normality is so boring, you know?

No Reverend Porno, though. Bummer.

OK, I'm going to save the batty stories for later. Right now, I have something more important to write about.

I met the father of my children if I were to ever have children, but I'm not, so the first non-famous boy in months to catch my interest. Wow. Run-on and I kinda jumped from extreme to not really, didn't I?

Fuck it.

OK, so this guy comes to the library, right? I see him and think 'Boy. Cute. Cute boy.' He walks past me. He looks at me and looks down and looks at me again. I do the same. He turns around to look at me again. I am checking out his shoes, but he probably thought I was checking out the booty, so I am embarrassed. After picking my brain to make sure I don't know him, I am now in love.

An hour later, he comes back. I'm at the check-out counter (hee hee...get it?). He walks past, looks at me, comes back. Smiles. Pretty smile. Pretty boy. Clears throat, stammers a little, asks 'what do I have to do to work here?' I immediately think of no less than ten inappropriate responses, but bit my tongue. Tell him what he has to do.

Then, he asks 'do you have any openings?' Again, I come up w/no less than ten perverted yet, consequently, fucking amusing responses. I'm a dirty and shameful human being. Shut up.

Here's where my supervisor came in. She explained the whole process better than I ever could, even though I just went through it myself. He seemed interested. In the job.

Dude, I will totally believe in some sort of higher power if this foxomatic gets the job.

Cuz, you know, the higher powers only care about providing fodder for my crushes.

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