Colorado. Runner. Yogi. Fucking hilarious, like, 17% of the time.

Roughly 10% of the time, I'm the biggest fucking crybaby you'll ever meet. Don't believe me?

A not-guaranteed-all-inclusive list of things that have made me cry since Sunday morning - each thing mentioned caused an independent bout:

  • Some C++ code that wouldn't work
  • A woman who got hurt in a Stephen King book (Full Dark, No Stars)
  • An article about they way dogs love people
  • Forgetting to feed my dogs
  • Some Java code that wouldn't work
  • Crockett helping me with some homework
  • Having to leave the house without my lunch
  • Trying to schedule Thanksgiving
  • A teacher scheduling a meeting to review an application I'm writing for a fellowship


If you're a man, right now you're shaking your head and thinking 'aww, that poor Crockett'.  (Yes, I think that dudes say 'aww'. If they don't, they should. It's the perfect combination of empathy and pity.) Fortunately, I'm hilarious 90% of the time, so it all evens out. Plus, I'm adorable, which makes up for a multitude of sins.

Not that crying is a sin.

I don't know why it happens. Right now I think it's a combination of hormones and the rapidly approaching due date of the aforementioned application, but hell, it could have something to do with the position of Jupiter. We're mysterious, us crying women. What I do know is that I freaking HATE IT. I am not the girl who cries, y'all. I'm the bitchy girl with the big sunglasses who sits at the back of the bus and chews gum despite the fact that the busdriver went to all the trouble of making a sign that says 'please no gum on the bus'.

I'm NOT the crying girl.

(Except, apparently, when I am.)


silly family