i am sorting socks. having bought 12 pairs of socks last week because all my socks are now in the wash, i now have a ridiculous number of pairs of socks. they are, however, all quite different. i'm not sure how i managed this. how many colours and patterns of sock can there realistically be? (this is the point in time that fianc would say something like, "ALL SOCKS should be BLACK". imaginary him has a point.)
myself and the lovely fianc [fie-an-ssss] are going to meet a marriage celebrant tonight. this is... weird. i'm sure we'll be asked to talk about ourselves a lot. what's to say? we've been together for four and a bit years and we both really like our cats. i make him brownies on demand. we make each other laugh hysterically about complete rubbish all the time. it's very good. he also smells better than anyone else, and is incredibly patient (the latter being a prerequisite of being friends with or generally knowing me without attempting to kill me, i think.) anyway - i hope the whole thing doesn't wind up being like a personality job interview.
speaking of which i have a real job interview tomorrow, with an organisation i've wanted to work with for a long, long time. even before i lost my mind and went to law school. (synchronicitous events. i think.) we'll see how it goes. i am ill-prepared. by which i mean i have made some phone calls to people in the know, and planned my outfit, and that's about it. relying on my undying love of improv and toothy smile. killer.
now it is time to get back to my buffy reruns and smile about the delightful postcard i got in the mail today addressed to "The Future Mr and Mrs [fianc] [fianc's last name]". first time anyone's called me that! the feminista in me is disappointed that the rest of me was thrilled, but i was anyway. also the front of the postcard was hilarious, but it was a visual joke i cannot possibly explain herein, so you'll just have to imagine a hilarious thing, for now.