To give you a snapshot of what kind of dork I am: It’s 82 degrees outside and I’m wearing an outfit that wouldn’t look out of place on a grandma from the old country: black shoes, black tights, a black sleeveless shift, and a little black cardigan. Before you know it, I’ll start throwing around the evil eye or something.

At a really! fucking! pointless! meeting today — a brainstorm called by my boss to try and come up with a cleverer name for our CEO’s newest pet acronym, that being “GID-Q,” for “get it done quotient” — I was so fed up with the futility and time-wastage of the whole exercise that I told everyone that we should just do what my hillbilly uncle Jer does, which is constantly say, “Get ‘er done! Get ‘er done!” This is the same hillbilly uncle — not related by blood, thank Yahweh — who assigns a gender to pretty much all inanimate objects, yells “Jeezo peezo” about 47,000 times a day, actually thinks that there’s something called Old-Timer’s Disease, and made my bookish, polite child-self cringe whenever he visited, afraid he’d tickle me until I threw up.

Tonight I’m taking my extremely significant other out for dinner. It’ll probably be an early night, since Ted ‘n’ Teresa are picking us up at 10:30 tomorrow morning to spend the day at the MFA and then, if it’s nice out, take a sail on the Charles. I actually wake up fairly early on weekends, usually, but tend to want to stay in bed until afternoon drinking coffee and reading or messing around or watching movies.

I might go up to the farmer’s market up Mass Ave. on Sunday to see if they’ll sell me some kind of tomato seedlings and/or other easy gardenables, as I’ve been jonesing for an urban garden for years. It might be too early or late in the season to plant stuff, I really don’t know. I’ve retained none of the gardening lore that I should have absorbed as a child, toiling the summers away in my parents’ many gardens. (One thing I do know: I won’t be cultivating a variety of tomato called “Bloody Butcher!) If anyone has any tips on starting a little container garden, I’m all ears.

Quote of the day, from someone on the knitting list I’m on: “I’m a little unclear about what “craft night” actually entails . . . like, I think you may have to craft with your craft crap on yer own maybe?” I’m going to try to work “craft with your craft crap” into at least three conversations this weekend, yo.