7:02 pm

Oh god. Oh goddygodgod. What have I done? One moment I have two Dreamboats eating out of the palm of my hand, and a court-jester-type thingemedendum as well. And then Masimo is looking over my shoulder all amazed, and Robbie, and...furry shorts…

7:09 pm

Oh god. I will never have a boyfriend as long as I live. I will be a whatsit living in caves and eating bits of old snails that I find under rocks.

7:11 pm

Not much different than this hellhole. I crept down the stairs really quietly and made a daring move towards the refrigerator. Fat chance of getting there. My venerated sister leapt out of the closet with a hideous piece of an eggplant and wonked me over the head with it.

"Heggo, Gingey, Gergie, I am a farmer!"

"Yes, Libby, I see the eggplant. Did you know farmers go to bed early and wake up la—"

"Shush. Snuggle time."

"No, Bibbet, Gingey is very tired and really has—"

"Sleep now. Bad boy."

9:23 pm

Escape! Freedom! Thank you sweet baby Jesus!

Yeah right. The loons are downstairs having an International Conference on Neighborly Affairs downstairs. The neighbors are looning about like great looning things. I can see Uncle Eddie through the crack of the door.

The door opened and there is my Most Honorable Vati, once again in his Legalet costume. I must remind myself to burn it, lest he injure himself. Actually, that would be a blessing in disguise. "Gee, if you're going to spy at doors you might want to use less makeup. All that mascara will weigh you down in your espionage." Yeah, rave on, Portly One.

And all the so-called adults laughed. That was the big joke. And then they all went raving away.

9:47 pm

Alas, a bit of carrot Libby has not turned into her mad plaything. Yum yum.

Now that I am in my boudoir again, I can refocus my mind on more pressing matters than the Loon Convent down in the kitchen. Or do I mean convention? I must not let my mind wander. I must focus. Ohmmmm.

10:03 pm

Focused so intently I didn't notice the small army of cats climbing into my bed.

One of them is Naomi, the Burmese sex kitten for whom Angus pines. If I were more mature I might turn her in to the Cat Oppressor Squad. But sadly I am not.

10:09 pm

Can't the bloody buggering cats see that my bed is enough of a bed of pain without the clawing and biting of my toes?

The answer is "apparently not.".

Listening to my messages.

"Ciao, Georgia, I am wondering if you and I can still go together. Where did you leave to after Robbie came? We could not have found you. Call me, caro. 674-3401."

Oh good. More doubtosity and heebie-jeebnosity to add to my train of confusednosity and sadnosity.

"Hey Sex Kitty. I saw Robbie. I can only say that if thee follow thy star, thou canst not fail of glorious pants." Dave the Laugh, obviously. Oh goddygodgod.

"Gee? I saw, with, Robbie, and Masimo, and I thought…what in the bloody hell did you run away for?"

Jazzy Spazzy. I will tell her why I ran away. Because I am a red-bottomed minx who has led Robbie and Masimo, and Dave, and perhaps even the Gob on.

11:31 pm

And possibly Oscar, the preteen nymphomaniac.