*Ahem*

You know, when I say that I never knew a time in my life when I didn't have post-nasal drip, I'm not making that up, it goes to my earliest memories, when I thought it was just a part of the normal human condition and everybody always had gunk like that at the back of their throats. At this point, however, I no longer find it amusing, not at all. Let the torch be passed to a new generation of hackers and throat clearers.

So, I'm here at work again, turns out to be the best place to blog from, which so many of you already knew, but since I would never log into my site here, the email thing is quite handy. And pretty, too, since my emails type in purple. I'll have to check when I get home and see what they look like on the actual diary.

 

Oh, a special request. I got a comment from someone yesterday, a fellow -- or sister, more likely -- Crohnie, like me, and I need more, more! If that commenter would be kind enough to email me at oldewoman at gmail.com, I have soooo many more questions. I don't think I even wrote about my upcoming dilemna regarding the injectible meds -- did I? -- but I am in fact in the throes of making that decision, and writing to someone who's done it would be a huge help.

 

Okay, another story about my moody kid. Much like when she was a very little person, it turns out that her working days -- preschool days, then -- are better than her days off. It took me a while to realize when she was little that she needed the structure of preschool, and on weekends and vacations, she was too much at loose ends and couldn't structure her own time and then she was cranky. I don't think that's the problem now, as such, but she was cranky all weekend, and then again yesterday, came home from work smiling, and tired, and sweet. She may actually have another date tonight, which would be a wonder and a wonderful thing, so let me tell you the absolutely insane thing I did over the weekend:

 

I signed up at J*Date.

 

Sort of.

 

She has tried match*com, with mixed results, and so I have suggested J*Date to her, and she says she's not what the people who sign up there are looking for. She says they are looking for a Jewish wife, and since she says she is technically not really Jewish, or at least, not the kind of Jewish wife they're looking for, she won't do it. So I had to see for myself. Now, there's nothing in the profile that lets you check off "Jewish mother/Italian-Irish father", but you do get to indicate that you are not a practicing Jew, that you never go to synagogue or celebrate anything; you can even indicate if you're not Jewish but thinking about converting.

 

Now that I know it's fine for her, I haven't said anything yet, pending the possibility of a real date later, but what I didn't expect was to get results. This is weird, and not un-creepy. Of course, I gave no names, and gave my own email address to sign up, and did the free trial thing, but I'm starting to get some mail from interested parties. Eeeww. Because these are twenty-something guys, and I used my real zipcode to see if there were a number of possibilities in the area, and now I'm living in fear that I'm going to recognize one of these guys as a former student. Eeeeeeewwwww. So I'll have to go in later and cancel the whole thing; I found out what I wanted to know, and then try to convince her again. Hey, for all she knows, her high school crush could turn up there one of these days, not that that's likely.

 

(P.S. She is, of course, technically Jewish, as all children of Jewish mothers are, that's the Jewish definition of who's Jewish. What she means, I think, is that she is no Jewish mother's idea of what a Jewish daughter-in-law is, but clearly, that's not true either, because the SnL is Jewish and had a Bar Mitzvah even, and still fits in with our fine family tradition of all the men being anti-organize religion atheists. If I had wanted a Jewish son in law, he would technically meet the requirement, but wouldn't in day to day life. That's what she means she's not. She couldn't keep a Jewish household, as such, but then, neither could I.)

 

It's incredibly quiet here in the library today (not the usual state of affairs), and of normal temperature, which stands to reason because I'm wearing a really heavy fleece today and I even brought in a shawl, so I'm shvitzing. (A fleece shawl from QVC, not an Aunt Becky handmade lace-shawl circa 1934. I can't imagine when I would wear one of those.)  And drinking hot tea for my throat, too.

 

One adjustment I need to make for emailed posts is that I can't add the little endpiece I've used for a long time. I could tell you what book I'm currently reading -- nothing at the moment -- but not what I'm watching, since I'm in school, and I don't know what number entry it is anymore, and I don't know if I can put a happy face in, but I may try it with the mail emoticons and see what happens. I'll have to be creative, I guess.

 

 

Period: End of 2, bell is ringing.

Drinking: Rooibos tea, lukewarm