Sign me up, sir.

Okay, okay, I know the fanboys are basically ready to burn "Constantine" at the stake (if I have to hear "But he's BRITISH!" one more time I'm going to ram something in someone's you-know-what), and I know that even Gaiman himself is readying for a stinker (a la his blog, which I'm too lazy to link to at the moment). I'm still intrigued, though. And TILDA SWINTON is playing Gabriel! I've been crushing on this woman since "Orlando". And she simulated making out with Ewan "The Shlong" MacGregor in some movie or another (which I need to add to my Netflix cue right about...now). Oh, this woman is so damned lucky. I feel like pre-ordering a ticket for "Constantine" immediately.

Yes, I'm a simple simple woman.

Things that make you go "hmm".

While eating lunch yesterday on the East Side a fellow at the table adjacent to my own said to his wife: "I spent $10,000 this morning." The second thing to cross my mind was "On a Sunday?? Honestly?"

Rush is very tiresome at Shake and Co. I'm tired. 5 more hours of school to go.

It's me and Dolly. Oh yeah.

I'm home. Finally.

Today was long time-wise and *felt* long, body-wise. I had a splitting headache by the time I made my way into my last class, Intro to Ethics. Nothing was particularly boring, it was just one after the other with little break. Getting only 3 hours of sleep the night before helped little, I'm sure.

Shake is crazy busy now. Met up with Maria again. I wasn't terribly chatty because I was so tired, and she was sort of...I don't want to say "standoff-ish"; more like "shy", like she's hesitant to initiate and maintain conversation. She's still a great chick, though. Pleasant company. I still cannot stand that other young woman who swears she knows everything. If a customer asks me a question, let me answer it. If I don't know the answer I'll direct it to your attention. She ends up repeating the exact same thing I've said for no reason. One day I'm going to walk in there exhausted, pick up one of those really thick Websters they sell, and throw it at her. And laugh and laugh. Then cry. Then laugh some more. Bwah!

I spent the latter part of the evening really self-conscious about my breasts, of all things. These things are big, and me being the body-conscious (lack of self-esteem having) person that I am, I usually go around with baggy nondescript clothing. But, liking my green stretch turtleneck I decided to wear it in an attempt to start the day on an upbeat. I really didn't get a good look of me in profile until the evening, in my Ethics class. I was *shocked*. Thanks to the wondrous work of my brassiere, my breasts were gathered high and close. They looked almost fake and definitely comical. I wasn't laughing much, though, thanks to the headache and my need to get the hell out of Manhattan.

So tomorrow I get to do it all again. Lord. I'm going to have to hunt down some Woodchucks on Friday after my GREs to reward myself for this.