don’t ever play with guns

I’m still at the office (it is 8pm): coping with the usual end-of-month madness which unfortunately coincides with a new logging job. I wish I hadn’t finished my wasabi-flavoured seaweed chips this afternoon. I’m feeling decidely munchy and there’s nothing to munch.

Reading about the 70s fad of keeping pet rocks cheered me up no end though. Especially reading through the comments of past pet rock owners. To the anonymous dude/dudette whose mom wouldn’t get him/her a pet rock and he/she had to settle for a ‘wild’ one, I feel for you. I really do. I too had several ‘wild’ pet rocks when I was growing up and my mom was forever throwing them out with the garbage. The only one she liked was a quartz nodule, but then again, who doesn’t like those? 😀 I still have ol’ Quartzie by the way. George is forever trying to chew and swallow him. Brings new meaning to being dumber than rock.

When I was in Utah in ’05, I got myself one of those rocks that grow. Y’know, the type that you put in a vinegary solution and watch it grow? I haven’t grown mine yet. I keep forgetting to buy a pretty glass goldfish bowl to grow it in. I do hope these rocks don’t have a grow-by-date. It’d be sad if mine had expired and wouldn’t grow on command. That would mean it’s dead. 😦

OK, gotta run and deliver some prints to my clients. I love my job! *snickers*

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