It's seven o'clock and I should have left by now. As you might have guessed, I haven't.

I could say I forgot, but that's not it-- not quite, anyway. I remembered this morning. I received some wise advice (Thanks!), and decided to go the "Gift for Mommy" route, so that was sorted. I did some stuff around the house-- laundry, tidying, shaving the shirt I planned to wear this evening. I sat down at my laptop and did some writing, a bit of researching, a bit of catching up.

I ate a late lunch, and after that I went back to my writing. Plenty of time!

Hours later, Elvis called to say he was coming home (At a decent time, no less! That's what happens when you get up at 5:30am, I guess.) And....

By that time I had forgotten. I don't know why, but it completely slipped my mind. Either that, or my subconscious had gotten a hold of it and wouldn't let go.

My subconscious can be a real bitch sometimes.

I probably would have stayed content and oblivious if my little PDA reminder hadn't just chimed, telling me that the shower starts in fifteen minutes and I should have left for the train an hour ago.

Since there is no possible way for me to make it now, I'm going to have to call and apologize sincerely, only I'm not feeling too sincere since I just read Deb's note in the guestbook about games.

The Organizer definitely mentioned games, and I'm pretty sure she didn't mean darts, or risk, or sheepshead, or trivial pursuits or anything I would probably enjoy.

Nothing left to do at this point. Better suck it up and make that call before She Who Must Be Obeyed arrives at the Organizer's house and is duly surprised.

Well, that wasn't too bad. The Organizer is so sweet, and as I talked to her I felt so bad and I really, really wished I would have gone. Stupid, stupid brain-- can't rely on it for anything. She was obscenely nice about it, though, even wanted a nice little chat despite the obvious sounds of a room full of women in the background.

I'm feeling absolutely mortified.

I do get a kick out of seeing what Google queries point to me. Today, for example, I got googled for "flash my tits" and, immediately after that, "virtue is its own reward."

It made me giggle, anyway.

I still feel sorry, however, for the person asking the Italian Google about "bursting to pee." At least I think I should, but you never know. It was probably an innocent question-- someone studying English who had never heard the expression, perhaps-- at least I would have thought so. My page, however, was the only innocent answer on that particular page of results. It's the only one not about w1a1t1e1r1s1p1o1r1t1s, in any case. I've made every other letter a 1, because I sure as hell don't want to get googled for that. I've never understood the appeal anyway, but different strokes for different folks, I guess.

Or something like that.

Elvis wants to go out for a beer, and I want to go with him.

I think I'd better make sure to go before we leave, what with my subconscious acting the way it is today.