It's really nice to have my probationary period long done with. There is so much less paperwork I have to generate these days.

The name "Kozy Shack" makes me crazy. Boy eats vat after vat (can vats be 500mL? I say yes!) of gluten-free Kozy Shack rice pudding pouding au riz. Maybe it's just the rice pudding part, because I don't think "Cosy Shack" would seem any more appetizing to me, but ooh. It's Just Wrong. You Know.

I'm all excited about tomorrow's dress-up-fancy-pants party. I think I will make a fairy-princess crown of flowers to wear. Seriously considering going to the Bay and getting a silly prom dress; more and more my $5 swank value village little black dress seems too plain. (though I'm keepin' it for the office christmas party.) I was looking at silly prom dresses at fairweather the other day, but they were all taller than me. Like, the whole strapless dress was 5'3". That is beyond the aid of hemming, my friends. Aren't there any short grads these days? I know I've seen some on the skytrain. Anyway, maybe I'll go troll the petite department, although it's true that that's usually a haven of "40+ chic!" and "fashion scores for elementary school teachers! guaranteed to cover your collarbone!" Well, if I don't find anything, I can still hit Dressew for a neon pink feather boa for my plain black dress.

I'm about to turn 22! The exclamation point is forced there. 22 is like, such a boring number. 21 has been fun, and 17 was awesome. Numerically speaking. Now it's a long haul until 24, which isn't that great anyway. But way better than 23, so I'm sure it'll seem great at the time. I have an irrational hatred of the number 23, EVEN THOUGH it's prime.