Argument of the day with the Tall Canadian. (Oh yes, there is always an argument of the day with TC, it seems. It's as inevitable as the sun rising and setting.)

What kind of accent do network newscasters have? Like, Tom Brokaw, or Peter Jennings, or Ted Koppel. I said that they are accentless, but if anything, they're closest to the midwest. TC says they sound like they're from big east coast cities. My mom said they have no accents at all, that they don't sound like they're from anywhere. I think they lose their regional accents to appeal to people from America's heartland. And TC thinks no one gives a shit about a farmer in Nebraska, which just can't be true.

This, from a man who says, "Aboot" instead of "About."

America is all about the heartland, goddammit. I'm proud to be a midwesterner! Even though I wouldn't want to live there!

It's been that kind of night, wasted on hand-washing my dainties, the phone cradled between my head and shoulder, while arguing about Tom Brokaw's accent. Getting annoyed while wringing my bras. And so it goes.

I worked for an hour today, finishing up the big proposal. It's silly for me to go into work at this point, except for the fact that I have way more cable channels on my television in my office than at home. Still, I didn't fully leverage the many cable programming options, and only managed to watch "Valley Girl" on VH1 for the freaking 100th time. I couldn't help it. The combination of the soundtrack, and Nicholas Cage's eyes and bad punk rock dye job get me every time.

I somehow managed to stay at work for six hours (Did you know they also play videos on MTV during the day now? I didn't think they did that anymore. That killed a few hours now that I think about it.), chatting on IM with other people who apparently have plenty of time to waste, too. Later this afternoon, I watched the sky transform, first to grey, then to nighttime, then to rain, and back to sunshine again, all within forty-five minutes. It was pretty cool. Severe weather patterns please me tremendously.

I walked home after work in the delicious post-rain weather, all the way to Cheap Jack's. I was on the hunt for a new (used) slip to wear on Friday night to our (what I presume will be) fabulous champagne party. Oh lordy, this is a sweet little slip. It's pretty much see-through everywhere, which means I'll be forced to wear a black bra and panties underneath it. It's got this delightful vintage fanned-out bottom, so I think I'll wear my pearls with it, as well.

Yup, you heard me correctly. Black bra, black panties, white see-through slip dress, and pearls. It's almost like I'm a total whore, except I never get laid and I don't need anyone's money 'cause I got my own. Maybe I'm just eye candy instead. Anyway I'm planning on changing at least three times over the course of the party, because I always have so much more fun when I do. It also means I get to kick people out of my room and have some quiet time to myself.

Yea, I don't know why I have parties either if I hate people so much. I just love the aesthetics, I guess.

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