Doggonnit !

Blogger disappeared all my comments! I came back here tonight specifically to see who peeped after my last post.

By the by, I forgot to add the yard sale to my woeful list last night. Oh yes. The yard sale. Who invented these things anyway? Whoever it was should be tortured. Severely.

My neighbor and I agreed weeks ago to have a 2-family yard sale tomorrow....and now the weather is calling for rain. All day. We're still committed, though, because the ad went in the paper two weeks ago. And of course my neighbor listed it as "Rain or Shine." So folks are going to be expecting it. And since the only people who will be out yard-saling in the rain are the die-hard, professional yard-sale junkies, I really don't want to piss them off. They sort of scare me.

I am seriously considering throwing all my crapola out in the yard and sticking a big sign out there that says "Free!! To Good Home or Bad Home Just As Long As It's Not MY Home" - and then running inside, locking my door, and letting all the People Who Like Other People's Junk to make off with as much as they can. It would be so much easier than staying up all night tonight sticking little price tags on every damn thing.

And WHY do I have to put price tags on things anyway? Everyone KNOWS yard sale prices don't mean anything.

Sheesh.



HEY BLOGGER - I WANT MY COMMENTS BACK!!!

Ohhh - You Mean One of THOSE Days...

After a long break and before yet another long break, I'm back. Well, momentarily at least. I know how relieved you all must be.

You know those days that are like heaven? Those days you know the world is yours and the birds are singing the beautiful melodies God gave them at the Creation? Those days when you close your eyes and sink into the warmth of simply being, when every sound you hear and every sight that meets your eyes seems to be a most beautiful and blessed gift, meant for you in just that very moment of time? Yes? You know what I'm talking about.... I know you do.

Today was not one of those days. So forget that. Wipe that nice, serene picture right on out of your head. Sit down and shut up while I tell you about my day. Or, rather, my last several days. And - if I were you, I wouldn't make so much as a peep, because PB is liable to come at you like a screaming mad 40-something crazy woman right out of your monitor. Got that? Okay.

My job with my old agency is gone. Dead. Kaput. Wiped from existance for lo, these past 14 days. I am like a fish out of water. Like a pea without a pod. Like a....you get the picture. Ohhhh - I still have my old office. The physical surroundings are the same. My computer is the same. My access to the main LAN is the same - or well, actually, now, it's enhanced. But, never mind. That's not the point. The point is, my home for the last 6 years is no longer my home.

I went to a meeting last week with a co-worker who was forcefully migrated with me, and a whole roomful of people I've known for years in a professional capacity and with whom I am now working. One of the professionals actually used to work with me at "my" agency until he turned traitor and joined this particular one. I was so very happy to be in a meeting with him again. I remembered previous meetings from years ago...our agency was relaxed, informal, and there was always room for levity in meetings..meetings that were sometimes salted with mildly inappropriate jokes and one-liners. Ah, but now. Now. I sit across from my dear friend and co-worker from years past, and am treated to a haughty attitude while a definite air of seniority simply exudes from him. We're still with the City, and I'm technically senior to him. Ack. It took everything I had to sit there and interact gracefully.

Only a few more days of this and I will be winging my way on a much needed vacation to see my grandmother, of whom I spoke 2 or so posts back. Sorry - but I don't feel like linking right now. I'm on a roll.
Watch out.

What the hell is going on with my garden? My beans are dying! The peas that were sweet and ohhh so incredibly delicious are now thin and icky and not so sweet at all. It surely cannot be because I have only weeded twice this year. I told you - after finding that grizzly-bear of a wolf spider covered with a carpet of babies on her back, I was NOT going back to the garden. I figured nature would take over, like in the good old days, when all the land was filled with plenty. Yeah. Right.

I've been overdosing on ice cream and have ballooned by - ohhh, I don't know - maybe 10 lbs since July 3rd. Yes - that was the July 3rd bash I was running on about and driving myself batty over the last time I actually wrote something here.

Everyone LOVES home made ice cream. Admit it. Everyone. So, of course, I made tons of it for our guests. Let's see. There was lemon, cheesecake, blueberry, strawberry, real vanilla bean, chocolate, and....rhubarb. Yes. Rhubarb. The lemon and the rhubarb actually disappeared first. It doesn't matter that I was the one who disappeared them...they went first. Correction. I believe it was the daughter who disappeared the lemon. Regardless, I made tons of ice cream. And had tons of ice cream left over. It wasn't that people didn't eat it. They did. It was more that there was so much other good stuff to eat FIRST that they were all pretty much stuffed to their eyeballs by the time we brought out the cold, creamy, delicious treats I and the daughter and the mother-in-law had slaved over for 2 days. So, the husband, the daughter and I have been eating ice cream every day for the last 11 days - sometimes two helpings a day. And it is STILL NOT GONE! I swear, I think someone is sneaking downstairs to make more ice-cream every night. It's never going to be gone. I know it. I feel it. Especially on my thighs and my butt. And, no. I will not throw it out. Are you out of your MIND? It's toooooo good to throw away! Sheesh. Silly people.

I don't even want to discuss the daughter and her wedding plans. Well, not really wedding plans, because that was pushed back. Sigh.. Mercifully pushed back - about 3 years. It is so hard watching a child grow up and having to watch as she makes really weird choices and not be able to step in and say - HEY! Stop that! You're going to put out your eye! - like you did when she was little. Well, not that getting married would put out her eye - but I think you know what I'm getting at here. I wonder if I should get her shirt...one of those Warning, Runs with Scissors shirts. She would probably think it's cute, and I would be the only one who would know to what it was actually referring. Of course, since she sometimes pops in here and reads my blog, I guess that idea has now lost its pizzazz. (Hi Sweetie. Yep - talking about you. Go away now. Love you!)

And the news. The News! My God, the NEWS! London, Rove, Arrests, SCOTUS. I've been missing it all. Because I absolutely abhor television, haven't been blogging, or checking in with other sites, or even hitting internet news at work. Something must be wrong with me.

Ahhhh. I believe I may have found the reason for my foul and bitter mood. News withdrawal. Well, okay. News withdrawal, water-less fish feelings at work, ice cream over dose, a daughter who has morphed into scissor girl, and very not-sweet peas. You try all that on all at once and see if you can maintain a cheerful disposition and not be tempted to grab the ceiling fan and spin, legs splayed, kicking over every lamp in the room for the sheer fun of it - while wishing the shades were the heads of your new (and not so new) coworkers. Well, okay. A ceiling fan would probably fall out of the ceiling and ruin the whole thing. Especially with my extra 10 lbs of ice cream blubber. But, you get the idea.

Okay. You may peep now.

Today's Interesting Find

I know most of you have feed readers, but I came across this news map site today and thought I'd share...

Hope everyone is having a great weekend.

Where'd All the Snapple Go?

For your enjoyment.

Manhattan Flooded by Snapple

On a Break

My apologies.

I've been away, or well, otherwise occupied. And, because I know you all adore me and have likely been absolutely consumed with unbearable anxiety over my absence, I wanted to let everyone know that I am, in fact, still alive. Have had some additional health problems, and decided to write June off as a total waste.

Last week received word that my grandmother was in the hospital.

This past Sunday, the 19 year old daughter announced she's getting married in July or August.

Monday my sister had surgery...and the daughter (much to my immense relief) announced the wedding was being pushed back to next year or 2007.

Today, the daughter announced the wedding is now on hold until spring 2008.

The impending June 30th demise of my agency, where I have worked the last 6 years, is creating massive upheaval and much distress at the office.

On the home front, have been trying to finish preparations around the house and yard for our annual July 3rd pool party/volleyball tournament/horse shoe tossing/ marathon ice cream making/BBQ extravaganza.

And, I still need to stain the new kitchen pantry the husband built.

I'm sure there's more, but the brain just clicked "off" in protest and denial.

Even though you probably won't see a new post from PB until mid-July, please feel free to come by often to offer ongoing notes of sympathy and encouragement. You can also tell me I'm brilliant if you'd like. But, it's not required.

The Daughter Shines Today

So, the daughter decided she was going to take full advantage of her day off from work and relax by the pool today. When I left this morning, she was gathering all the necessary items. Swim suit - or, well, at least the spider-web thin strings with the postage stamp sized tags of cloth that passes for her swim suit - towel, flip-flops, sunglasses, hair scrunchy, glass of ice water, raft, car in the yard with doors open and windows down - for music, of course. All set to go.

Um. What was that? I didn't mention - ? Ohhhh, riiight...sun screen. Yeah, that.

She said, oh guru that she is, "I need to be out there by 10:30 or else I just won't get a thing." uh-huh. right. I asked how long she was planning to bake. Shoulder shrug, "Not long." I drove off, with a wave and a smile and the never to be followed motherly advice of "be careful."

Fast forward to the end of the day. I'm almost ready to leave work. The daughter calls. She sounds - well - breathless. She asks if I will please stop at the store and bring home, some, - aloe gel. Ask I, "How long were you out?" She replied, "Umm. Too long?"

I stop at the store and pick up the aloe - the kind with Lidocaine added. She really DID sound funny on the phone.

I believe she'll survive. Right now though, she's not so certain about that. She is supposed to be seeing her beau this weekend (one of those long-distance things) - and now is tormented by the scary possibility that she will be in the oh so attractive molting stage by then. I think she'll also survive that. Again, she's not so sure.

But, listen up folks. All joking (at the daughter's expense) aside...

It is SUMMER. The sun is powerful. Burns are not healthy. If you insist on wearing cobwebs and postage stamps, at least SLATHER on that SUNCREEN! Often. The mother has spoken. You would do well to heed.

And, now I'm off - to go spread more pain-numbing Lidocaine on the daughter's back.

The REAL Agenda Exposed

Sane Nation has uncovered the "hidden" agenda behind liberalism. What a scoop. We've all suspected it, but no one has quite ever come right out and SAID it...before now.

Kudos to San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsome for capturing the very essence of contemporary liberalism in his recent statement declaring What Must Be Done About Pit Bulls in San Francisco:

"You've got dogs that literally can kill. We've seen it demonstrated. If we can't change people's behavior and make them think what's in their best interests, then that's where government comes along and becomes a bit paternalistic" (San Francisco Examiner, June 6, print edition; for some reason not available at the Examiner's Web site).

If Newsome's statement had been a touchdown or field goal, I'd gladly play the statement back several times (including slow mo) to take the full measure of the event. But we're stuck with print, so we'll have to let italics and bold type make the point. Here again is the money quote:

"If we can't change people's behavior and make them think what's in their best interests, then that's where government comes along and becomes a bit paternalistic."

Perfect, bingo, yes! The primary goal of liberal activist government is to change people's behavior by making them (read: forcing them to) think what's in their "best interests." Who's best situated to determine what's in people's best interests — the people themselves? No way. Leave it to Gavin Newsome and the crew of social(ist) engineers in San Francisco city government. Here's the scary part: Newsome's a moderate in SF politics. (Don't even ask me about Chris Daly, a city supervisor who makes Kim Jong-il seem conciliatory by comparison.)

So, listen up, folks, because this is important. Those on the left see it as their DUTY to decide what is right and best for us all. Because, of course, we cannot think for ourselves. And, and when we try to think, we always get it WRONG. We must have our behavior changed, and if that doesn't work, our very thoughts themselves should be manipulated to fall more in line with what the Dems feel is best. Only then will we be saved from ourselves.

But, go read the rest of it at Sane Nation, because they do a much better job of blathering about it that I do.

Garden Surprises

Am wishing I didn't promise an end to the sick posts. But, because I did promise, I now can't explain to you why I was home from work yet again today. Nor can I, in good conscience, tell you that the antibiotics and I did not get along. Nor can I tell you that I was up all last night suffering through a living hell. Nope. Can't tell you any of that. Darn.

What I CAN tell you is that late this afternoon, I decided to venture outside to try to do some weeding in my sorely neglected veggie garden. I mentioned a long time ago that I love planting and eating veggies, but that I hate weeding. This might help explain why.

So, there I am, bending over the 2nd row of pole beans, reaching in between two lovely looking bean plants (no beans yet, of course) to yank the weeds that are threatening to choke them out. And, out of the corner of my eye, I see one of our tiny little pool frogs hop in my direction. So, I turn to look, but now can't see it any longer. I part the weeds where I last saw the little froggy hop. And find myself staring into the many eyes of THIS. Well, not EXACTLY this, becuase I don't usually carry my camera with me when I weed my garden. Maybe I ought to, though.

I had to fight a primordial urge to crush the mass of writhing creepiness underfoot - one of the things that stopped me from doing so was the certain knowledge that, as I was wearing sandals, some of the babies would surely escape and scamper up my big toe for a snack. No lie, the body, covered with the carpet-made-of-babies was the size of a golf ball. Mom's legs could nearly span the width of my hand - that is, if she ever were to BE on my hand. Which, please God, will just never, ever, ever happen.

I forced myself to finish that row, keeping one eye constantly on the mother and young. I turned to start down the next row - and noticed a different type of spider sitting on the bare top of my left foot. That was it. I did not scream. I may have started crying and speaking to myself incoherently. I don't know.

I was out of the garden in 2 seconds flat and heading back to the house. WIth a vow to never, never, never again weed a garden wearing anything less than full body armour. I will have nightmares tonight, I think.

The damn veggies are on their own.

Giving Ms. Foley What For

Euphoric Reality is talking to journalist Hiawatha Bray who's had it up to "here" with Ms. Foley's remarks. (h/t Meida Slander) The journalist is a a fellow member of the Newspaper Guild. Yeah - the one Ms. Foley thinks she speaks for. Mr. Bray is so hoppin' mad, he started his own blog (Choose Honor).

He's also doing a few other interesting things trying to get Ms. Foley to either put up, shut up, or sit down. Just a hint here:

Bray has taken it upon himself to not just talk about the Foley incident - he’s decided to act.

Partly inspired by Hoffa, I today began my write-in campaign to get on the executive committee of my Newspaper Guild union local. I’m a single-issue candidate: I want Linda Foley to explain herself, and won’t be silent until she does so. And I can do a better job of demanding an explanation if I’m part of the union leadership.

So I went to Kinko’s and made up 100 leaflets, then drove to the newsroom and spread them around. I hope Ms. Foley’s enormity is the talk of the newsroom by this time tomorrow, and that more and more union members will take a stand.

I hope so, too, Mr. Bray, I hope so, too.

Go check out the rest of the article, though. And, maybe drop by Mr. Bray's new site to say hi.

Summer Fun

It's summer. Wanna know how I know?

I know it's summer because I am desperately trying to figure out how to avoid completing my annual professional self-evaluation. Is this just the most annoying, idiotic thing or what?

Evidently someone somewhere decided that wasting a huge chunk of my time - time which could be spent working with clients and doing actual, you know - work - each summer is a Very Good and Wise Thing. I complete this (supposed) self evaluation so that those in charge can then tear it to shreds.

There is no way around it. The eval will get torn to pieces. And believe me, over the years, I've tried numerous ways to avoid, or at least, minimize what eventually turns out to be a collosal waste of my valuable time.

I've tried being totally honest about MY perception of my performance. That doesn't work. Nearly every score is modified by the bosses - sometimes for the better (A Good Thing), and sometimes not (Not a Good Thing).

I've tried the false modesty approach, rating myself lower than what I actually believe I deserve. That also doesn't work. While some areas are modified to reflect a higher rating, others are deemed acceptable and I wind up knowing I totally screwed myself.

So WHAT is the friggin POINT? Can someone please explain to me why I should spend 8 to 10 hours pulling my hair out, trying to be "objective" about my abilities and performance, when the higher-ups are going to finagle the ratings so that they (coincidentally and conveniently) mesh with the fixed percentage requirements for allocation of budgeted merit increases?

My only consolation is this: where normally after an evaluation I would then get to sit down and chart out my challenge areas for the following year and formulate multi-step quantifiable processes by which those areas will be addressed (a task that sucks up another 20 or so hours)...I get to skip this step this year. Because I'm quitting. No, really.

I Will Live, But.......

(I promise this is the LAST of the sick posts)

After lunch today, right before I had to be in court, I started to experience some familiar pain behind the eyes and cheekbones. The pain quickly grew and spread into my teeth and jaw. Lovely. Sinus infection. I kept poking myself in the face just to be sure. Yep. It still hurt.

I'm afraid I may not have made too wonderful an impression on the substitute judge as I was zoned out in pain most of the time. But, I DID manage to not poke myself in the face repeatedly during court, and I didn't actually whimper or moan or faint or anything at the bench. And, what the hell, it was a substitute anyway, right? I finally decided I needed to cut the whining crap and hie my sorry self to the doctor. They actually were able to get me in at 3:00 today. Am I lucky or WHAT?

Am now armed with some kick-butt antibiotics. Which will probably make me sicker than I was last week. But at least I'll be able to poke at my face without it hurting.

I mean, like, if I wanted to. Which I don't.

LMAO

Oh, dearie me.

Feeling a little blue? Tired of all the insanity of the 21st century? Time for a little stroll through a bygone era?

You MUST go here and take the tour.

(Disclaimer: I will not be responsible for accidents such as ruined keyboards, shorted-out laptops, or wet britches)

Quasi-Death Guy In Retreat

It appears that I will live - and that, most likely, I did NOT have the plague.

While that's a Good Thing, it also leaves me with little to whine about. Oh, except that I cracked my shin on the edge of the coffee table. THAT hurt. The husband was on the couch watching TV and just sort of glanced at me. Saw me rolling around on the floor in agony, clutching my shin. Shook his head and went back to watching the tube. He loves me. He really does.

Anyway, just thought I'd let you all know that the funeral is off and I'm on the mend.

Because, I know you were all just terribly worried about me.

So - What Didn't Happen, Did and What Did Happen, Didn't?

Warning: Some of the links provided may take you to sites containing articles and material that, upon reading, may very well cause your head to explode. If your head explodes, don't come crying to me. You have been warned.

From Media Slander I see that Ms. Foley sure has some interesting supporters. It seems Workers World likes to go light on verifiable fact and accuracy, but mighty heavy on the propaganda. Hmmmmm. Yep. It's a good fit.

Media Slander also provides a link to a 1996 article by Workers World showing how that publication spun the 1989 massacre at Tienenmen Square. Are you ready? It wasn't a massacre at all. No students were killed in the Square.

Ummm. Maybe we all just dreamed it, then? Mass hypnosis maybe?

Never Forget

...Even though the MSM here in America would really like us to.

The Anchoress found this gem and links to it on her site. It is the story of the last man out of the South Tower on that nightmarish morning in September. This powerful reminder comes to us from our northern neighbor.

It's worth the time to read. And remember.

Thanks, Anchoress, for sharing the link.

All Linda, All the Time

Well. Almost all the time. Media Slander is a great place to go to find out what's up with Ms. Foley and the rest of her ilk. (h/t LaShawn Barber ) Just a bit here:

The Political Teen has video of Fox News reporter Jim Angle disclosing parts of Linda Foley's speach at a liberal conference called "Take Back America". Jim quoted Linda as saying,

"The conservatives have got us, as a country, now believing that balance -- giving both sides -- is the same as truth, and there are some things that are just false."

Linda Foley is implying she knows the difference between something thats true or false. Imagine that. Now I've heard everything.

Hop over and check it out.

They're Baaa-ack...

The giant, invisible, sneaky frogs, that is.

Well, okay. They're tiny - only about 3 inches long in full leap mode. And they're obviously not invisible. But, they're sneaky. And they ARE frogs. And they're very, very loud.

And it seems they've brought friends.

I'm guessing they REALLY didn't like being flung out of our pool. That's the only explanation I can think of.

So, there I am, all comfy and cozy, propped up by lots of pillows in bed, hot cup of tea on the bedside table, enjoying the quiet of the evening and happily knitting some tiny socks for my adorable nephew, Little Guy. The daughter was tap-tap-tapping away on the computer in the other room. Altogether a lovely and relaxing time.

All of a sudden, the racket outside began. Dozens (or so it seems) of loud, annoying, froggy voices. I was so startled, I dropped a stitch. Which is a really BAD thing for me to do, because while I love to knit, and do well enough to make socks and gloves and such, I STILL haven't figured out how to pick up a stitch once I've dropped it. I usually wind up having to rip the whole blasted thing apart and start over. Which sort of explains why it takes me forever to finish a project. But, I'm blathering again....

I'm telling you..these things are LOUD. And, they don't gradually build up to full volume, either. They're full blast right from the get go. We've been here 3 years and this is the first time they've been a problem.

So, I'm thinking the four flung frogs (plus the one that avoided the fling), are back - with reinforcements. I'm imagining a full on froggy assault in an attempt to retake control of the pool. Well, they can have it. For now. It's dark outside and I, for one, am NOT going to stand guard duty alone against a mighty horde of loud little frogs. Nope. No siree.

But, if they want war, they've got it. Because, he of frog-flinging fame (aka the husband) will return tomorrow. And THEN we'll just see who gets control of the pool.

Until then though, I guess I can (yet again) kiss any idea of a good night's sleep goodbye.

Taking EVERYTHING Back

I hereby take back my take back. All the not-nice things I said previously about the husband stand. Well - except he DOES get brownie points for the Apple Jacks.

We've been planning a trip to see our neice who turns 13 in about a week. Her family is getting ready to move across country and decided to hold her birthday party early. I've been praying and hoping I'd be well enough to travel because I really wanted to be there. But, this morning the husband talked me out of going with the argument that I would probably spend the whole time in the hotel room anyway, and that it would really suck to go down there and make everyone else sick - especially when they are getting ready for a cross-country move.

He didn't have to expend much energy talking me out of going. I was already wondering how in the hell I was going to manage being in a car for 5 hours today and the same tomorrow for the trip back. Plus, I figured his arguments applied to himself, as well because, as I related in my last post, he has also come down with the sniffles...which is how this crud began for me, oh eons ago. But, I guess he believes somehow that I'm an evil plague carrier and he's not. He decided to go by himself.

This stuff came sneaking up on me. Started as sniffles and sneezes. Then suddenly, without warning, it morphed into the crud of death. Or, well, not REAL death, of course...more like an "oh, god..I'm sooooo sick I'm gonna diiiiieeeee" quasi-death sort of thing. So, the husband is making the 5 hour drive, by himself, with the creeping-crud following close on his heels, just waiting to strike. If the full force hits him while he's gone, he may not be back for a week because there is NO way he'll be able to make the drive back while fighting off the clutches of the quasi-death guy. And, he'll likely pass along the crud to everyone else while he's there. Which will be SUCH a nice birthday/moving-day present, don't you think?

So now, in addition to feeling sorry for myself, I'll be spending the rest of the weekend worrying about the husband and praying that the rest of the family somehow escapes the curse of the crud.

Gazing at Apple Jacks

Enough already with sickness and plague and the guy dressed in black carrying the scythe waiting outside my bedroom door. My internal clock is ALL messed up now. I've been complaining of insomnia for a while (here and here, in case you're interested) but this is different. I'm not suffering insomnia tonight. Nope. Since I spent most of the day resting and sleeping, now it's time to get up.

Shuffled downstairs to put a load of clothes in the washer, figuring that would wear me out enough so I could go back to bed. Didn't work. So I paid the bills, which are all late because I was already sick enough without adding that to the mix. That didn't tire me out either. I've been perpendicular for almost an hour now and haven't keeled over from exhaustion. Perhaps I'm on the mend. If so, that's really unfair. WHY couldn't the mending have waited until morning so that my days and nights wouldn't be backward?

Oh, and the husband returned from his errand of mercy and brought back a few things I didn't ask for. I have always had a fondness for Apple Jacks. Brings back memories of happy days when my mom would take my sister and me to the store to let us pick out a favorite cereal. She usually bought the icky healthy stuff...like Cherrios (this was waaay back when there was only one kind of Cherrios - called Blehgh!), or shredded wheat - not even the kind with that white cement on top. My sister would choose those Pops things, or Trix, and I always wanted Apple Jacks. The husband actually remembered. What a sweet guy!

Of course, since I'm sick and avoiding milk, I can't have any. But, I did open the box and gaze at them. Did you know they changed the color? Apple Jacks used to be a sort of pale pinkish beige with pinkish red dot things on them. Now some are beige-ish, and some are greenish. What the heck is THAT about? Are the green ones supposed to be Granny Smiths or something? I'll report back when I finally get a chance to try them.

Unfortunately, the sweet guy who brought home the Apple Jacks didn't stay sweet for long. Because, you see, shortly after coming back from the store, he came down with a bad case of the sniffles. He blames me, of course.

I Take It Back

I hereby take back all the unkind things I said about the husband, here, as he is, even as I type, on his way to the store to shop for all the things I'm craving: cough syrup, chicken noodle soup, crackers, Advil, more tissue, and steak. Yes. Steak. I'll probably only manage one wee bite, but I am drooling at the thought of red meat. I'm sure my grandmother would be able to tell me what that means - to crave red meat when one is ill. I sure as hell don't know. Regardless, the husband is my hero. Or, at least, he will be once he returns with the loot.

Working on day 5 of this nastiness. But, there have been moments of delight despite the crud. Check this out, I came across this old Hoss last night via Muzik Dude who interviewed him here. The interview was hilarious, and I was compelled to visit the old guy's site. He's a keeper, for sure.

Also, came late to the Cotillion. Felt rather awkward, dressed as I was in my fluffy robe, slippers, flannel PJ's, and carrying my ever present box of lotion kissed tissues, but the ladies were all very kind and welcoming and ohhhh so very charming, darling. Go check them out.

And, PLEASE, won't someone get the ball rolling and respond to my poll, here?

Okay - been vertical long enough and am getting dizzy. Time to go get horizontal again....and wait for my chicken noodle soup - and steak - to arrive.