They Stab it With Their Steely Knives, but they Just Can't Kill the Beast.

On Monday I started my first full-time job. I'm a slave minion making pretty things for your walls.

(I checked the spelling for "minion" and discovered that it comes from the French mignon--cute. Go figure.)

I'm still learning the ropes, but so far it's much better than scooping ice cream. It's fun to hang out with people with degrees in political science and their two-year-old (who could've been my prom date.) He likes to give me lego flowers and if he leaves for a play date or something, he won't leave until he gives me a kiss and a hug. (Men of the world, learn from Reagan!)

It's still strange to be in California, though. I'm indoors all day and don't notice the heat. Today I took off my cardigan and kept it off for the first time in who knows how long because I wasn't cold anymore. It's still going to take a while before I even think about wearing flip-flops or shorts. They need to work their way back into my schema of appropriate clothing again the way bare arms took almost a week to do.

I also returned to find my family replaced by Trekkies. I like it. We watch reruns of The Next Generation together and got First Contact from Netflix. That's another way we know the world won't end in 2012--warp drive will be invented in 2063.

Now then, who wants ice cream? How about a cupcake? Yeah, me too.