I see dead people

In my dreams. In smell-o-vision.


I usually hate posts that start with "Last night I had the strangest dream...." (And do you have Matthew whatsit stuck in your head now? Good. My work here is done.) But I'm going to tell you anyway and I'm blaming it on my ceiling fan, which rattles like a summbitch and kept waking me up. Well, that and the baby doing the friggin' merengue in my uterus all. night. long.

I had walled up two very dead Mexicans, to be disposed of later. I'm not sure why I was diposing of them, or how they got dead, but there they were, in my rock wall, stinking. I don't have a rock wall, mind, but in my dream, I did and it was lovely, covered in lichen and moss and, y'know, apparently a dead Mexican repository. On the other side of my lovely rock wall was a beautiful green field, the kind you'd see on a postcard from England. Emerald green grass, sheep grazing off in the distance, a copse of trees off to one side; it was gorgeous. In the green field was daysgoby. She had this navy blue pram, one of those old English jobs, the kind nannies push around manicured parks.




In it was her dead mother. Only every so often, the dead mother would get up out of the pram and do a little jig. She bore a scary resemblance to

Cruella DeVille




and Gloria Vanderbilt.













After doing her dance, she'd turn into a three-legged black pig, complete with Cruella hair, and start hunting for truffles. As you do.



That's the last time I have Doritos before going to bed.

That would be an ecumenical matter.

I was reading an email from someone on a diabetes email list I belong to and something she said just made me want to explode. Since theological discussions are frowned on on this list, I'm posting it here (and besides, I've threatened to do it often enough, I should follow thru on the threat).

She said that she thinks that God gave her epilipesy. This blows my mind. What kind of God GIVES you a disease? If God is a god of mercy and goodness, then why would he give you something like epilepsy? Or, as David Attenborough said "My response is that when Creationists talk about God creating every individual species as a separate act, they always instance hummingbirds, or orchids, sunflowers and beautiful things. But I tend to think instead of a parasitic worm that is boring through the eye of a boy sitting on the bank of a river in West Africa, [a worm] that's going to make him blind. And [I ask them], 'Are you telling me that the God you believe in, who you also say is an all-merciful God, who cares for each one of us individually, are you saying that God created this worm that can live in no other way than in an innocent child's eyeball? Because that doesn't seem to me to coincide with a God who's full of mercy."

That right there pretty much sums up why I don't think there is such a thing as God. I don't know how to explain it any better. I was going to try to get all rational and Darwinic and give long examples of why (including Sister Joanne, who told me, when I was six, mind, that I was going to hell because I wasn't a Catholic - yeah, way to convert someone, there, Sister.) , but that's pretty much it. I don't believe in God. I don't even feel the need to justify it. If you do, great. I don't think less of people who do, I just don't understand it. Kind of like I don't understand homophobia. I understand the meaning of the words, but I don't understand the action.

So there you have it. I can't even muster up a long dissertation on the subject. I just. don't. believe. End of story.

Not that I'm complaining, mind...

...but I came home from picking up the haul I got off Freecycle and O had Hoovered the rug AND picked up the books the Boo had left out. Without being asked. I think aliens have replaced my daughter with a cyborg. As long as it's a cyborg that does the hoovering, I will be content.




Now, the Freecycle haul. I'd posted that I was looking for a toddler bed for the Boo and a guy said he had one. I went over there tonight and he also gave me a fairly new car seat, a little tricycle and a high chair seat that straps to a chair. Score! Psych.

I'm gonna go buy a lottery ticket tomorrow because this is the second bit of good luck I've had recently and since things come in threes, I figure, it can't hurt.

Major Bedhead Presents, For Your Edification:

Grammar Rules for the Unenlightened; Or, How to Write Good

Don't use a big word where a diminutive one will suffice.

Don't use no double negatives. Don't never use no triple negatives.

No sentence fragments.
Corollary: Complete sentences: important.

Stamp out and eliminate redundancy.

Avoid cliches like the plague.

All generalizations are bad.

Take care that your verb and subject is in agreement.

A preposition is a bad thing to end a sentence with.

Avoid those run-on sentences that just go on, and on, and on, they never stop, they just keep rambling, and you really wish the person would just shut up, but no, they just keep going, they're worse than the Energizer Bunny, they babble incessantly, and these sentences, they just never stop, they go on forever...if you get my drift...

You should never use the second person.

The passive voice should never be used.

Never go off on tangents, which are lines that intersect a curve at only one point and were discovered by Euclid, who lived in the sixth century, which was an era dominated by the Goths, who lived in what we now know as Poland...

As Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, "I hate quotations."

Excessive use of exclamation points can be disastrous!!!!!

Don't use question marks inappropriately?

Don't obfuscate your theses with extraneous verbiage.

Never use that totally cool, radically groovy out-of-date slang.

Avoid tumbling off the cliff of triteness into the black abyss of overused metaphors.

Keep your ear to the grindstone, your nose to the ground, take the bull by the horns of dilemma, and stop mixing your metaphors.

Avoid those abysmally horrible, outrageously repellent exaggerations.

Avoid any awful anachronistic aggravating antediluvian alliterations.

This sentence no verb.

A short update

I got a phone call last night from my endocrinologist. From her, not her nurse or some office flunky, which was very fantastic. She was calling to tell me my thyroid test was fine, but she wanted it checked again in a couple of weeks, and then she asked about my glucose test. I told her the results (117, which is good) and then told her that I'd been checking all day yesterday and gave her those numbers. She was concerned with the high readings and wants me to ask for the three hour test (oh fun) and wants me to track my numbers today, too. So I'm going to do that. I'm going to have to ask for a prescription for test strips, though, since I'm almost out of the One Touch extras I had, and I can't use O's meter since she brings it to school with her each day. But how cool that the doctor is concerned! And called me back! Amazing.


In other news, I got a new temp in here on Monday. She's MUCH better. Nice, friendly without being ooky, chatty without having diarreah of the mouth, and she doesn't require much in the way of hand-holding. I think she'll fit in just fine around here. Roll on June 14th.

FanTABulous

O is going to be thrilled.

I think I have gestational diabetes.

Last night, I had a lemon square - my friend T made them over the weekend and they were yummy. I checked my bg an hour later and it was 133. Just a tiny bit high. This morning, fasting, I was 99. I had my usual bagel and cream cheese for breakfast, checked an hour later and was 144. Hmm. I just did a 2 hour check and was 166. Fuck. That's too high.

I brought a fairly low-carb lunch today - chicken and veggies and a salad - so I will do one and two hour post prandials and see what that does to my blood sugar. I had my glucose tolerance test on Friday, but forgot to take a meter with me to see what I was after an hour.

I suppose this could explain the massive headaches, the nearly 8 lbs I've gained and the complete and utter lethargy I've been feeling for the last month or so.


Update:
The one hour test came in at 117, which is fine, they say. My hemoglobin was kind of low, so they're sending me a lis of iron-rich foods to eat.

Just for the heck of it, I'm going to do the gestational diabetes diet for the next couple of days, see if I feel any better. Because right now, I feel like shit. Scary, falling-asleep-while-driving shit. It sucks.

...and last, but not least, karataaaaaaaaaay!

Hiiiieeeeeee-ya!

Well, it's still a girl. I'm measuring right on target now, which is good, since I was measuring way ahead a few weeks ago.

At the last ultrasound I had, they couldn't see the baby's heart. It was there, beating away, but she's so low in my pelvis (and as the tech put it, "You're a bit fluffy, dear." No shit, Sherlock.) that they couldn't see it. So I had to have a fetal echocardiogram today, which freaked me out a little bit. The technician is doing the ultrasound, clicking away, then says "Hmm", grabs my folder, asks "Do you have any history of heart defects in your family?" and leaves to go get a doctor. Meanwhile, I'm in the room for 15 minutes, alone, trying not to hyperventilate. Jesus, lady, way to give me heart failure. But everything's fine, no problems at all.

My friend T is coming out tonght, for the weekend. We both love to cook; he loves it so much that he's going to culinary school in Cambridge. I'm really looking forward to it. He found this kitchen supply shop in the funky college town I live near and wants to go. I don't know how I managed to miss this place, but I did. Not after tomorrow, though. There will be Henckels and Wustof-Tridents and lots of other fancy-schmancy knives to drool over, gadgets to fondle, appliances to covet. It's gonna be fan-freakin'-tastic. And then tomorrow night, we'll cook a feast together, like we always do. Mmmmm. I can't wait. And? He's as rabid a Red Sox fan as I am. I picked a good friend.

There shall be a dearth of torpid bovines

Well, I called the agency and got rid of Dozy Cow. She'll finish the week and we'll get someone new on Monday. *whew*

She never shuts up. Never. I just want to hit her. And she keeps interrupting me when I do get a nanosecond to leap in with some training. Listen, lady, SHUT UP already and listen to me when I'm talking to you. See my lips moving? That means yours shouldn't. I don't care if Maytag has licensed the Magic Chef name to some company, it has nothing to do with what we're doing here, so stop gabbing about it.

She's complained so many times about how grubby it is here that I'm tempted to just hand her the bottle of 409 and have her go to town on the place. Maybe I'd slip into unconciousness from the fumes. It's either that or she'll bore me to death. If you're working in a manufacturing facility, it is ridiculous to expect the place to be immaculate. Especially when the company won't spend a dime to update the place and the commodities we ship out of here are sticky and icky and gooey. Makes for kind of a messy place. The office is not dirty, it's just old. And yes, I suppose they could paint it, but to waltz in here on your first day and ask me when they're planning on painting is just a tad presumptuous. So, buh-bye now.

People do my head in

Since I'm leaving my job in mid-June, I took it upon myself to hire a temp to replace me. She is unbelievable. She started yesterday and we had a few down minutes, so I checked my email. She was READING my email over my shoulder. Um, lady? CUT IT OUT!

She looks to be about 55 and holy crap, is she opinionated! She walked into the place and started complaining about the condition of the office, it was too cold, then it was too hot, then there wasn't enough to do while I was out, someone left the toilet seat up, she can't believe we only have a cleaning lady once a week (only she called her a maid :roll eyes: ), when was she going to get set up on the computer and meanwhile, I'm explaining to her how to do things and she DIDN'T TAKE A SINGLE NOTE! If she doesn't improve today, I'm calling the agency and requesting someone else to start on Monday. She told me her whole life story, too - son is a recovering heroin addict, she's going thru a bad divorce, she was married before, blah blah blah blah blah. Shut UP, lady, and learn how to do my job so I can leave!! Aaagh! And stop reading my fucking email! Dozy cow.


It has FINALLY stopped raining. The state flooded. They got something ridiculous like 12" of rain around Boston. It's been unbelievable. Today is sunny, though, so hopefully things will dry out. I really need to get my garden tilled - I may wind up just doing it all in pots this year, since it's so late in the season. Maybe I should do that anyway. It's less work, less bending and stopping with this big ol' belly. No weeding when you plant in pots, either. Hmm. The more I think about it, the more I like this idea. Wonder if you can grow carrots in pots.... Anyone know? I may just give it a try anyway. Home Depot has huge pots and the garden center in the next town has lots of lovely organic potting soils and composted manure (it's called Moo Doo. This cracked me up.)


Anyway. The temp should be here soon, so I'd better send this before she tries to read it. Mother of god. People are just amazing.

Slowly Collapsing, Like a Flan in a Cupboard

That, apparently, what my uterus is doing. It's not a bad thing, it's just what happens when you've been pregnant five times.

So everything is fine. The baby is fine, she's just very low in my pelvis (this would be the flan-y uterus, I guess) and not easily felt.

Anyway. All's fine. More later. Thanks for the good wishes, everyone.

Worried

I haven't felt the baby move much at all since last night, so I'm heading to the midwive's office to make sure everything is ok. Cross whatever you can cross, pray, if that's your thing, rub a lucky rabbit's foot, whatever. I think I will lose my mind if something is wrong.


More to come....

Answering Kerri's Meme

1. How has diabetes changed the way you communicate with your daughter?

Well, considering she was diagnosed before her third birthday, it really hasn't. It's always been there. I think, when I compare it to how I communicate (or fail to) with her older brother, it's helped. We have to talk in order to make decisions in her care and that keeps things more open between us, not just regarding the diabetes, but pretty much regarding everything. Except recently. Recently she's been a pre-teen pain in my butt, roll her eyes, heave big sighs, "oh GAWD, mum" mode. It's fanTABulous. Oy. And vey.

2. If you went ex-pat on the United States, where instead would you chose to live?

Probably England. I'm familiar with it, having lived there before, and I love it there. I love the history of the place, I love the landscape, I even love the weather. Plus, y'know, all the beer and fish 'n' chips I can stand. Never a bad thing.

3. If you had to sell all of your material belongings and could only keep three things, what would you choose to keep and why?

My computer, because it has all my photos on it.
The Victorian sofa that's been in my family since shortly after the Great Fire of Chicago. My great-great grandfather came here from Germany, to be a carpenter after the fire, and someone paid him with that sofa. It's beat to hell, but it's pretty and it's got history.
My purse, because it has all the family's stuff in it - insurance cards, SS cards, the sort of thing that's a bitch to replace. I'm so practical.

4. The World’s Foxiest Man has just sat down next to you on the subway. How do you think you would embarrass yourself?

I'd probably spill something down my front and then stammer and laugh too loudly and just generally be one of those people who make you cringe on their behalf.

5. Why do you blog?

To inflict my snark on the rest of the world.

Grump Girl

This is my 100th post. I 'd put off writing it because I was going to try to do something profound or deep or really funny (ok, that usually fails, but at least I try) or something. And you know what? I just can't be arsed. I'm tired, it's been raining for fucking DAYS and I've been home alone all week, with two rather cranky children, because TCBIM is in Ohio. So, I'm grumpy and you, lovely internets, get the benefit of my grump.

The Boo has discovered temper tantrums. She wakes up (at what-the-fuck o'clock, I might add) and starts in with the grizzling and grouching and doesn't let up until I drop her off at daycare. I pick her up at 4 and she has about 20 minutes of "Oh yay, mummy's here, LaLa's here, I'm so happy," before she starts in again. It's getting really old. Really old. She's not hurt, she's not sick, she's just pissed off because I won't let her eat rocks or the plants or drag the cat around by his tail or rip all the books off the bookshelves. And if I put her in the playpen, forget it. She'd scream less if I were sticking bamboo shoots under her fingernails. It's Driving. Me. Nuts. I'm blaming it on the rain.


We have mice in the house. I found their nasty little mousey poops all over my silverware drawer, which is totally grossing me out. Like, totally, man. So I bought some snap traps, trying to be environmentally-, and more to the point, pet- and kid-friendly, but what did the little fuckers do? Figured out how to get the peanut butter out of the trap without springing it. So, D-Con it is. Your days are numbered. You ate my butter and that is a sin I just can't forgive.


Oscar the Cat, has a cold. I know I shouldn't laugh at my pets, but there really isn't much that's funnier to see than a Persian cat with the sneezes. I can laugh at him with abandon, however, since he isn't catching the damned mice. He also puked up a huge hairball onto my brand new futon cover. His fragile ego will just have to deal.


My 18 month-old G5 shit the bed the other day. I turned it on, it did its start-up thing and I went to check my email, whereupon it went *pop* and went dead. Dead, dead, deadski. No blown fuses, no shut off power cord, nada. So, I have a $2,000 paperweight. Again. This damned thing has given us a ton of problems since we bought it. Everyone raves about Apples, but honestly, I've had fewer problems with my 8 year-old Gateway.


It really has been raining for days. It's supposed to rain right thru the weekend and all of next week. Today, it's raining under the doors here at work. Lovely. There's a puddle outside my office. Not outdoors, just outside my office.


And now, for your viewing pleasure, me. The Whale. I'm only 27 weeks right now. I dread to think what I'm going to look like at 40 weeks. The word gi-normous springs to mind. Oy.

Getting to know youuuuuuu, getting to know all about youuuuuuuuuu

I'm not as efficient and organized as Allison, so you're all getting the same questions to answer. Feel free to tag whomever you want - rules are in the previous post to this one.


1. Pretend you're stranded on a desert island. You already have shelter, water, batteries, an abundant food supply that doesn't revolve around coconuts and even a cabana boy/girl to minster to your, erm, needs. However, you need some intellectual entertainment. Give me your top five desert island:
Books
Movies
Albums (NOT compilations of your own making)
and tell me why these make the cut.

2. Now, pretend you won the lottery. It's a huge amount, although not sickeningly huge. After you've given away your chunk to charity, paid off all your bills, set up savings/trust funds for kids and self and given money to deserving family and friends, you're left with $5 million, which you must use to build a house. Where would it be? What would it look like? Tell me how you'd furnish it and then describe your first party there.

3. If you could have dinner with five people from history, living or dead, who would they be? What about five fictional characters? What would you serve at each dinner?

4. Describe your least favourite and best characteristics.

5. And finally, answer James Lipton's Ten Questions:
(And I don't want to hear that this is cheating. It's MY interview, I'll ask what I want. So there.)
What is your favorite word?
What is your least favorite word?
What turns you on?
What turns you off?
What is your favorite curse word?
What sound or noise do you love?
What sound or noise do you hate?
What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
What profession would you not like to do?
If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?

Interview Meme

This interview meme is making the rounds. I asked Allison to interview me and here are my answers. Instructions at the bottom of the page, if you want to play along.


1. How did you and TCBIM meet? From what I've gathered in my investigatory research, he was 20 when you met. There has to be a good story there.

I don't know why it's embarassing, but it is, a bit. We met in a chat room called the Virtual Irish Pub (I don't think it exists any more). We started talking in there and both lied about our ages - he went higher, I went lower - and then started emailing and finally, talking on the phone. It wasn't until I invited him for a visit four or five months later that I discovered he wasn't even of drinking age yet. But he showed up and we had a fantastic time, got all googly-eyed and stupid about each other and three months later, he moved down here permanently. Three months after that, we got married. I don't really recommend moving that quickly - it's been a long getting-to-know-each-other process and we've had a lot of ups and downs, but for the most part, it's been good.


2. As a soon-to-be-graduate of college, what advice would you give me about living in the Real World?

Learn how to manage your money. Learn how to budget and how to live within your means. Don't fritter away your extra money on silly things - try to save some. And never, ever, EVER rely on ANYONE else to provide for you. Make sure you can always support yourself, and you children, should you have any.

3. If you could be any character in any book, who would you be and why? (You can even be a guy, if that helps.)

Hmmm. I'm not sure. There's quite a few characters that I admire, but none of them that I'd want to be all the time. Scarlett O'Hara, for her green eyes and strength. Ruth Jamison, from Fried Green Tomatoes, for her serenity and quiet strength. Mostly, though, Jo March from Little Women. She's so real, so passionate about her writing but struggles thru a lot of things, from being a tomboy to the death of her sister, that she's always been one of the most honest book characters I've ever read. She's never a victim, but she's not a saint either.

4. What do you like most about being a mom?

Honestly, I don't know. There's so many things. And sometimes I can't stand it, to be honest - althought that's more the monotony of laundry, dinner, baths, homework and driving hither and yon than anything. But most of the time, it's just the feeling of contentedness I get when we're together. I love watching them grow and learn things, I love seeing them branch out and getting passionate about things and wanting to share those passions with me. Most of all, I love watching them forge their own identities. It's amazing and awe-inspiring to see them become these little people, to watch their personalities emerge and grow and to get glimpses of the adults they'll be.

5. Who is your inspiration?

Lots of people. People with strength of character, people who stand up for what they believe in without trampling others, people who are living their lives, not just existing. Normal, every day people, mainly.


Here are the instructions:
Leave me a comment saying “interview me.” The first five commenters will be the participants.I will respond by asking you five questions.You will update your blog/site with the answers to the questions.You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Random Witterings

Yesterday I helped chaperone my dauhter's 5th grade class on a trip to Plimouth Plantation. I spent most of the day with Eddie Izzard running around in my head. "Plymouth? Is this Plymouth? Right, lads, back on the boat, we've gone in a big circle." The alternative was to sit down in a puddle and cry. Because yesterday? Yesterday SUCKED.

It was 40 degrees F with 20mph winds and? It was raining. Sideways. Fanfuckingtastic. Of course, everything was outside. And the Pilgrims? They didn't have paved roads. Mud. Muck. Wet thru and thru, jeans, hoodie, squelching sneakers and socks, hell, even my underwear was wet. There were houses to go into, but again, Pilgrims? Not so much with the central heating. Major suckage. It was a real Chamber of Commerce day.

My face looks like someone's been at it with a Brillo pad. My neck aches and my nose is all stuffed up because I probably got germs from one of those maggoty little fifth-graders. Ugh.

And, joy of joys, I have to go on ANOTHER field trip in June. To do the Freedom Trail, in Boston. *whimper*

Tea and sympathy, people. Tea and sympathy.

_________________________________________________________

I'm debating doing a "Why I don't believe in God" post, but I'm a little afraid of the reactions I might get. As if it wasn't painfully obvious, given my prediclection for swearing like a drunken sailor, I'm not a religious person. I don't care if other people are, I just don't want it shoved down my throat. Or even talked about that much. Thus, my hesitation about posting what I've been working on.

__________________________________________________________

TCBIM is going to Ohio next week, for work. I'm trying not to freak out. Ever since the Thing With The Hoochie, I'm mistrusful. I haven't, of course, brought this up with him because a.) I'm an idiot and b.) I'm a chicken. He's going to sigh and roll his eyes and that just pisses me off. I would really like to shake him, hard, sometimes. Better yet, I'd like it if he could get inside my head and really understand why I feel the way I feel. Why can't we do that? It would make life a hell of a lot easier sometimes.

___________________________________________________________

How do you do those cool strike out things? I see it a lot, people type something really snarky and sarcastic and then strike thru it and type something more PC. This appeals to my snarky, bitchy side immensely.

___________________________________________________________

I'm huge. I look at least 7.5 months pregnant and I'm just 6. A month ago, I was measuring at 28 weeks and as of Tuesday, I'm only 26. I lie in bed on my back and stare in amazement at my stomach. What is this? Is it just my body doing its thing early? It's weird and a little disturbing and it's a good thing I don't gain weight when I get pregnant (I have enough weight to nourish quadruplets), otherwise I'd have outgrown my maternity clothes.

____________________________________________________________

And finally, for Bethany and Nicole and whoever else was waiting: Olivia did a thigh site on Monday! Yay!! It bugged her, mainly because she wears her jeans so snug (pre-teens - holy fashionista, Batman!), but she did it. I'm very proud of her.

Only In Boston...

See, now, I think this is perfectly reasonable.

"The timing couldn't be better for the Red Sox. Tim Wakefield is pitching for the Red Sox in Monday's clash against the Yankees at Fenway Park and Bard had well-chronicled struggles (10 passed balls) handling Wakefield's knuckleball.

The Red Sox are hoping that Mirabelli will arrive from the West Coast -- the Padres are in San Francisco to play the Giants -- in time to start Monday's game. Manager Terry Francona has written out two lineup cards to choose from: one with Mirabelli batting eighth, another with regular catcher Jason Varitek slated to start.

Red Sox GM Theo Epstein said that Mirabelli's flight is scheduled to land in Boston shortly after 6 p.m., after which he will receive a police escort to Fenway Park." (emphasis mine)

I can't WAIT to hear how the Fenway Faithful recieve that rat-bastid traitor, Johnny Damon.

In the It's About Fucking Time department:

Johnny Damon won't be the only player making his return to Fenway tonight. According to a major league source, the Red Sox have re-acquired Doug Mirabelli from the Padres in exchange for catcher Josh Bard, minor-league pitcher Cla Meredith, and cash (in the six-figure range). The Yankees were also trying to acquire Mirabelli.
To read more, visit http://www.boston.com



Well, isn't that just about the best news ever? That Josh Bard sucked ass, man. He had, like, 4 passed balls in ONE game. I never could understand why they traded Mirabelli, but I hope they're paying him a LOT more than they were.

Welcome home, Doug.

No longer a hermit crab...or crabby hermit

I always say I don't like people much, but yesterday I met several really lovely specimens of the species.

First, we had a couple and their daughter over for a little cookout. The daughter is close to O's age and also has diabetes. It was great to chat with the parents - they're both very friendly and the husband plays golf, so TCBIM was very happy. The girls seemed to get along well, which is good. I'm hoping we can continue to get together with them.

Then *drum roll* I got to meet Art-Sweet. She's really nice and she brought me a Gerbera Daisy. I fed her tacos for dinner and she didn't keel over, which is always a plus. I don't like to poison my guests. She and O talked about diabetes and rotten kids who tease and camp. She didn't mind my crazy dog or my sneezy cat either. And she's cute! A mop of wavy hair, funky glasses and some way cool shoes. AND, she thought I was in my very early thirties, so she's more than welcome to come back. Any time. :D I'm hoping she got home ok, since she still had quite a drive in front of her.

Maybe I'm not quite as curmudgeonly as I thought...I'm starting to develop quite a list of friends and acquaintances. It's kind of cool.


And I thought I'd share this, since it cracked me up....




My thoughts exactly.