Mr. Mole makes me nervous.
The brick men showed up early, as in 8 AM early, and started this obnoxiously loud machine that pats the dirt down smooth. I think water was involved. Remember, this is Saturday. I think I'll be making Cherry Cupcakes to distribute to the neighbors every Saturday for the rest of my life.
I look out the bathroom window a few hours later and see Mike standing where the cement part of the driveway ends and the bricks are supposed to begin, where we park the cars. He stands there so long looking down and also talking to one of the men, that I decide I had better throw on some clothes and high tail it down there.
Guess what? The "seconds" bricks that came in from Ohio, all 90,000 of them (really, that's how many the landscaper bought, we use a fraction of those, just a thousand and some), they are diverse sizes. Meaning. Meaning, when you try to do a herringbone pattern or a basketweave pattern, you are in big trouble because the short bricks leave great big gaps here and there (because the shorter bricks are randomly laid). There were several sample patterns laid out and it was not pretty, trust me.
They were going to finish all the brick work today. Instead, we stood around and discussed a long time what might be some options, because, after all, what do you do with huge crates of bricks sitting not only in your yard, but mooching off the neighbor's yard, too? Mike and I and the main brick man talked. Because the Landscape Guy, the Ultimate Authority, is in Colorado hunting. Seriously groovy.
They could lay the bricks like a brick street, just linear. BORING. Not only boring but kindergartenish. Then we thought of laying them linear but diagonally. WEIRD. Don't know if I could embrace that...ever. Of course, being weird is my specialty, so I might have to sleep on that one. Then I thought of extracting the red bricks and doing the driveway with them. And then another color for the sidewalk. Because all the reds are the same size, at least, and all the oranges are the same size, but not the same size as the reds, etc. Several shades of bricks going on, including blueish gray. This way I could still have the far superior herringbone pattern. But it would involved a lot of sorting of bricks and I get the drift the guys wouldn't exactly adore that. They just like to grab the next brick and lay it down. I was informed that one of the helpers could lay 1,000 sq ft of bricks a day and another could lay 1,200 a day and the third guy wasn't as good as the other two. WHO KNOWS.
So, the men had to leave because we have to see what Landscape Guy has to say. I'm guessing he won't want to ship 8,000 tons of bricks back to Ohio. Wouldn't you guess the same thing?
Okay, so all this happened at 12 noon and my day was a big zero from then on. And, of course, that was when my day started, 12 noon. So there you go. This is called, in NC, a Flaw In the Slaw. Frankly, I've very curious to see what LG has to say. I told the brick man to go to the beach for the afternoon. He's from Brazil, btw, and he is all business. I tried to make him laugh and was only moderately successful. He said, I want to work, I was going to finish this job today. I said, Maybe LG will give you a bonus for this surprise FItS (Flaw In the Slaw).
But I like man from Brazil. Yesterday DT-s-D came by when I wasn't home. She tramped through the dirt the long way to the front door. I know this because when I came home there was a nice pile of dirt on the doormat. But we've all been leaving our share of the earth all over the floors, actually. I also noticed a full roll of paper towels positioned by the front doormat.
So I called Mike, Why is there a roll of paper towels by the front door? I don't know, he says, Maybe Robby put it there. Now, obby does like to attack paper towel rolls, but this roll was standing on end, intact, and no claw tears in it. Honestly, Robby did not put that roll there, just absurd. I like to know why a roll is sitting there, 'cause I'm always afraid someone wee-wee'd in the grout.
Next, I call DT-s-D. Hi, did you set a roll of paper towels by the front door? Yes. Aha, what do you know? She said, I was swiping them. Oh. I suggest, I thought maybe you were going to wipe off your dusty feet. She replies, Oh no, you should just be happy I took my shoes off. So I am, so I am.
But that was a bunny hike. DT-s-D also mentioned that the workmen looked at her like she was a Martian yesterday. And here is why I like Brazil man. In-between discussing seconds bricks that, btw, I was told would have variations in color, which is acceptable, size variations, which is not acceptable, never being breathed, he said, Was that your sister over here yesterday? (Boy, that was a bad sentence.) Heh, heh, heh, we won't mention this to DT-s-D, will we? It's not a disparagement of her anyway, but still... I said, No, that was my daughter. He said, She looks like your sister. Maybe he should have put it another way, You look like her sister. Older sister, mind you. By only 30 years.
I might be coming down with something, me is too tired behind the eyes and ultra grouchy. I'm saving my Dr. Deb story for tomorrow, it's kind of a classic. This brick thing, naturally, has me partially disturbed.
You know what a blog really is, at least my blog? A diary. That's just exactly what it is. And a diary for public consumption, no less. Thank goodness only a handful of people read it, and you're all my friends. Whew!
Heck, how come it's already 1 AM? Need to go make a dent in The Help, I sort of only read about a page a day lately. I'm halfway through, and have been for some time. Help!
Buried In Useless Bricks,
KEM
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Friday, February 25, 2011
Mr. Mole has been asked to please wait. I had no time for him today. But there is a very good reason for that, which I shall elaborate upon tomorry. If has to do with the fact that my friend Dr. Deb and I should, under no circumstances, ever become anyone's social secretary.
I will never have to worry about someone engraving on my tombstone, SHE WAS A GREAT HOUSEKEEPER. Do you hear that, Mr. Mole? I know you are trying, but I just want you to comprehend who and what you are dealing with.
I'm typing all my letters backwards, so that means time to pack it all in.
Have a splendid weekend everyone! KEM
I will never have to worry about someone engraving on my tombstone, SHE WAS A GREAT HOUSEKEEPER. Do you hear that, Mr. Mole? I know you are trying, but I just want you to comprehend who and what you are dealing with.
I'm typing all my letters backwards, so that means time to pack it all in.
Have a splendid weekend everyone! KEM
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Hi. My Moleskin(e) Diary told me to wash the dark clothes today.
Okay, so I get them ready, squirt whatever needs to be squirted, and load them into the machine. But I don't start the machine yet because I need to wash the dishes first. This has something to do with not running two appliances at once because our hot water pipe is too skinny, thanks to our handyman. Besides, this gives the squirt time to molder.
Later, I go to start the washer but first I notice more black clothes in the bottom basket. See, I have these four baskets that slide on a rack, one stacked on top of the other. Can you picture this? I'm not real sharp tonight, you're on your own.
Now, I know that I had emptied the black clothes basket. I don't know much these days, but I do know that. So, my reasoning is, A) Mike threw a black something in there while I wasn't looking in the last few minutes. Or B) Mike threw a black something in there while I wasn't looking in the last few minutes. And so on.
Next, I go to grab the black something to add it to the wash. But the black something comes alive and turns its little self and I see a surprised white face.
Robby, none other. I promise you, when he is curled up asleep, none of his white shows. Not his paws, they get tucked underneath. Not his face, it's buried in his neck. Not his underside, either, it's all wrapped up in black. If he's on something black, like his supposed kitty bed that he uses once every 3 months, you simply cannot see him. At all. He knows how to become one with the background. No, he doesn't blend in, he becomes one with it. Like I said, you can't see him. At all. He may as well not be a Tuxedo when he's sleeping. Because his white is as good as not there...utterly concealed.
Well. I think I made that point. But, just so you know, when I was typing, Not his underside either...I had a thought pop into my head that was to be the next sentence. But then a second thought popped in on top of the first thought and since the second thought went with the sentence I was currently writing, I decided to finish that, the part about all wrapped up in black. And just that fast, I lost the first thought that was to be the next sentence. It's killing me, I can't get it back, it's gone for good, and it was way better than all wrapped up in black. It had something to do with the white hair, which is swallowed up in black. Oh, right, I made that point.
My Moleskin(e) was busy telling me what to do today. This is the first day I used it. I made my list in Mole the night before. It went as follows:
Dark load (done, see above.)
Put china away (not done, this is Christmas china, BTW, sitting on the kitchen counter since...Christmas, taking up prime real estate.)
Remove tablecloth (done, I am switching to placemats because I'm tired of tablecloths -- but Robby thinks placemats are great landing pads, 'cause they slide, those placemats {and Robby} were on the floor in two seconds flat -- plus, I want to see my pretty birch wood table for a change.)
Take green tablecloth and cupcakes to Mom (done, see, I have this green tablecloth from Target that my mom admires over and over, then I made the significant discovery that the very same soft green tablecloth, sort of like an almost tiny check pattern, is on the Andy Griffith show, in the later color episodes, it's identical, I'm so proud -- however, this cloth is too short for my table, I use a table leaf, two of them {I said it that way 'cause I didn't know if it was leafs or leaves} at all times 'cause I don't know where else to put them, so my mom, who has been wanting a cloth, is getting it, which is easier than me sewing on ribbon or something to make it long enough for my table, which would never happen in a million years, me sewing.)
Hangers to cleaners (done and Jazzi got two Milkbones in the process.)
Pile papers on desk (done, now I no longer have a collage but rather one neat orderly pile...dealing with the neat orderly pile goes on tomorrow's Mole.)
Copy CDW emails (oops, not done, transferred to Morrow's Mole, I WUV U, CDW.)
Mop kitchen floor (done if I ever finish this blog.)
Cupcakes to new neighbor (done, I'm way ahead of schedule, he moved in only 2 months ago.)
Isn't Mole wonderful? I do what the Mole says. Well, I do most of what the Mole says. As punishment for not doing ALL the mole says, I must start my day tomorrow attacking the Christmas china. That's right, it's a fight and the china has me hidden in a bunker in fright. I have to vacuum and wipe down the open shelf over the refrigerator where this china sits all year except for Christmas dinner and then the however many months on the kitchen counter until I rally my troops. Then I have to rewash the china, because, after all, it's been sitting there collecting dust EXACTLY two months. All of this, the enemy, intimidates me.
I'm sure most of you are dialing the psychiatric ward as you read.
Tomorrow is scary, not only is Mole standing over me with a stick for the china, but Mole says I must vacuum and put away our suitcases from the trip to Germany, which was OVER two months ago. If that made your jaw drop, this will make your teeth fall into your lap...my suitcases from my trip to see my sister in September are still hanging around with their mouths gaping open. And these are NOT the suitcases we took to Germany. Our suitcases are very chummy with all the huge wasted floor space in master bedroom. Robby enjoys napping in them. Suitcases are black and so is Robby, 'member? Robby can go incognito at any given moment.
Okay, Mole made me a half-way success today. AND, I did something not on the Mole list. I ground the coffee beans Mike doesn't like and he took them to work to share with all the unsuspecting. That, my friends, is one less item on the kitchen counter. And I've almost got the coffee grinder cleaned up, I do it in stages. First, I tap out the remaining grounds. Then I go check my email. Then I get a brush and whisk out more grounds. Then I go tend to Mole. Then I still have to get a damp paper towel and wipe out the residue. I looked this up online and found the instructions, 'cause I don't know where my Owner's Manual is. I was very proud of finding a downloadable Owner's Manual online. Now, you know I've cleaned the grinder before, but it's been a while. And I was right, you can't immerse it in water. But I'm the type who machine washes pure wool sweaters and they come out like dolls' clothes.
Anyway, I am learning to break chores down into micro steps. It works for me.
This is the weirdest blog. I'm TIRED because every day while I'm still sleeping, I'm really anticipating/waiting for the sidewalk workmen to show up. After their Buzzy Bee Monday, not a whole lot has happened. On Tuesday two men dug a hole for a couple hours, including lunch on the back of their truck. Wednesday...a total vacuum (I just must love that word), meaning, no one showed up. Today, six white plastic pipes were deposited on top of the dirt. Please, grab the smelling salts. People...tomorrow is Friday and we all know what that means.
I'm hoping to dream of the sentence that poofed into my mind and then poofed out again, like a genie. Lost thoughts, it happens to me A LOT.
LOT A LOVE,
KEM
Okay, so I get them ready, squirt whatever needs to be squirted, and load them into the machine. But I don't start the machine yet because I need to wash the dishes first. This has something to do with not running two appliances at once because our hot water pipe is too skinny, thanks to our handyman. Besides, this gives the squirt time to molder.
Later, I go to start the washer but first I notice more black clothes in the bottom basket. See, I have these four baskets that slide on a rack, one stacked on top of the other. Can you picture this? I'm not real sharp tonight, you're on your own.
Now, I know that I had emptied the black clothes basket. I don't know much these days, but I do know that. So, my reasoning is, A) Mike threw a black something in there while I wasn't looking in the last few minutes. Or B) Mike threw a black something in there while I wasn't looking in the last few minutes. And so on.
Next, I go to grab the black something to add it to the wash. But the black something comes alive and turns its little self and I see a surprised white face.
Robby, none other. I promise you, when he is curled up asleep, none of his white shows. Not his paws, they get tucked underneath. Not his face, it's buried in his neck. Not his underside, either, it's all wrapped up in black. If he's on something black, like his supposed kitty bed that he uses once every 3 months, you simply cannot see him. At all. He knows how to become one with the background. No, he doesn't blend in, he becomes one with it. Like I said, you can't see him. At all. He may as well not be a Tuxedo when he's sleeping. Because his white is as good as not there...utterly concealed.
Well. I think I made that point. But, just so you know, when I was typing, Not his underside either...I had a thought pop into my head that was to be the next sentence. But then a second thought popped in on top of the first thought and since the second thought went with the sentence I was currently writing, I decided to finish that, the part about all wrapped up in black. And just that fast, I lost the first thought that was to be the next sentence. It's killing me, I can't get it back, it's gone for good, and it was way better than all wrapped up in black. It had something to do with the white hair, which is swallowed up in black. Oh, right, I made that point.
My Moleskin(e) was busy telling me what to do today. This is the first day I used it. I made my list in Mole the night before. It went as follows:
Dark load (done, see above.)
Put china away (not done, this is Christmas china, BTW, sitting on the kitchen counter since...Christmas, taking up prime real estate.)
Remove tablecloth (done, I am switching to placemats because I'm tired of tablecloths -- but Robby thinks placemats are great landing pads, 'cause they slide, those placemats {and Robby} were on the floor in two seconds flat -- plus, I want to see my pretty birch wood table for a change.)
Take green tablecloth and cupcakes to Mom (done, see, I have this green tablecloth from Target that my mom admires over and over, then I made the significant discovery that the very same soft green tablecloth, sort of like an almost tiny check pattern, is on the Andy Griffith show, in the later color episodes, it's identical, I'm so proud -- however, this cloth is too short for my table, I use a table leaf, two of them {I said it that way 'cause I didn't know if it was leafs or leaves} at all times 'cause I don't know where else to put them, so my mom, who has been wanting a cloth, is getting it, which is easier than me sewing on ribbon or something to make it long enough for my table, which would never happen in a million years, me sewing.)
Hangers to cleaners (done and Jazzi got two Milkbones in the process.)
Pile papers on desk (done, now I no longer have a collage but rather one neat orderly pile...dealing with the neat orderly pile goes on tomorrow's Mole.)
Copy CDW emails (oops, not done, transferred to Morrow's Mole, I WUV U, CDW.)
Mop kitchen floor (done if I ever finish this blog.)
Cupcakes to new neighbor (done, I'm way ahead of schedule, he moved in only 2 months ago.)
Isn't Mole wonderful? I do what the Mole says. Well, I do most of what the Mole says. As punishment for not doing ALL the mole says, I must start my day tomorrow attacking the Christmas china. That's right, it's a fight and the china has me hidden in a bunker in fright. I have to vacuum and wipe down the open shelf over the refrigerator where this china sits all year except for Christmas dinner and then the however many months on the kitchen counter until I rally my troops. Then I have to rewash the china, because, after all, it's been sitting there collecting dust EXACTLY two months. All of this, the enemy, intimidates me.
I'm sure most of you are dialing the psychiatric ward as you read.
Tomorrow is scary, not only is Mole standing over me with a stick for the china, but Mole says I must vacuum and put away our suitcases from the trip to Germany, which was OVER two months ago. If that made your jaw drop, this will make your teeth fall into your lap...my suitcases from my trip to see my sister in September are still hanging around with their mouths gaping open. And these are NOT the suitcases we took to Germany. Our suitcases are very chummy with all the huge wasted floor space in master bedroom. Robby enjoys napping in them. Suitcases are black and so is Robby, 'member? Robby can go incognito at any given moment.
Okay, Mole made me a half-way success today. AND, I did something not on the Mole list. I ground the coffee beans Mike doesn't like and he took them to work to share with all the unsuspecting. That, my friends, is one less item on the kitchen counter. And I've almost got the coffee grinder cleaned up, I do it in stages. First, I tap out the remaining grounds. Then I go check my email. Then I get a brush and whisk out more grounds. Then I go tend to Mole. Then I still have to get a damp paper towel and wipe out the residue. I looked this up online and found the instructions, 'cause I don't know where my Owner's Manual is. I was very proud of finding a downloadable Owner's Manual online. Now, you know I've cleaned the grinder before, but it's been a while. And I was right, you can't immerse it in water. But I'm the type who machine washes pure wool sweaters and they come out like dolls' clothes.
Anyway, I am learning to break chores down into micro steps. It works for me.
This is the weirdest blog. I'm TIRED because every day while I'm still sleeping, I'm really anticipating/waiting for the sidewalk workmen to show up. After their Buzzy Bee Monday, not a whole lot has happened. On Tuesday two men dug a hole for a couple hours, including lunch on the back of their truck. Wednesday...a total vacuum (I just must love that word), meaning, no one showed up. Today, six white plastic pipes were deposited on top of the dirt. Please, grab the smelling salts. People...tomorrow is Friday and we all know what that means.
I'm hoping to dream of the sentence that poofed into my mind and then poofed out again, like a genie. Lost thoughts, it happens to me A LOT.
LOT A LOVE,
KEM
Monday, February 21, 2011
How is it that at 10:20 PM I am sitting here at the computer, all chores completed hours and hours ago, and all that is left is to peel hard boiled eggs?
Furthermore, how is it that I did all this, all this including washing the dog, cleaning the shower, changing the sheets and washing the litter boxes outside, among other things, but those I am the proudest of, on exactly 1 hour and 30 minutes sleep last night?
And, I visited my parents and Muffy AND supervised (meaning, I had one eye on it all day) the demolition of our now former gang plank walkway (YAY! for history), railroad ties (Roach Motels), wall surrounding ug-ee patio off the dining room (at front of the house, naturally) and inferior quality shrubs and decorative trees (eyesores one and all).
The day started like this. Got in bed around 4:30 AM, I'll tell you why in a minute because it is not my usual reason I go to bed when the rest of the eastern USA is fixing to get up. Stared at the same page of The Help for about a half hour. Gave up and tried to sleep, but stomach hurt.
Finally fell asleep at 7 AM. At 8:30 AM Mike comes rushing upstairs to announce the work crew is here and that I should get up and see to things. Now you have to understand, we weren't told exactly which day the work crew would show up.
So, trying to bury the fact that I just had 1.5 hours of sleep, I peek out the upstairs bathroom window and see trucks galore up and down the street and Hispanic men swarming the yard like flies on your picnic hamburger.
The next thing is, they are tearing up the yard. HARK! We can't swing doing this whole project in one fell swoop and have divided it into Part A and Part B. I'm here to tell you, we are starting with Part A, the hardscape, and the crew was delving into Part B, the landscape. Totally backwards and months out of synch.
Well, good, how great will this be, to have a dirt naked yard for the next 9 months?
So luckily, Mike comes back in and I order him back out there this instant and tell them to knock it off. Then I call Mr. Todd, Landscaper Extraordinaire, rated A+ by BBB, and say, Hello, your crew is tearing up our yard.
And that's how my day, on 1.5 hours sleep, started.
But I was not deterred. Sleep was impossible now, not only due to the noise factor but because I had to have that evil eye on. I've mentioned several times to various people wandering about, DO NOT CUT DOWN OUR CAMPHOR TREE (which only MAKES our house, it's front and center in the yard, huge and impressive and beautiful) AND DO NOT CUT DOWN OUR OAK TREES (lined up along the edge of yard and alley and simply essential to my well being).
So, I jumped into work and kept at it and here I am. I'm sure you're not believing this.
BUT, last night, see, Mike and I made a deal. I want a new kitten so Robby can have a playmate (since my initial idea for Jazzi and Robby to be pals hasn't materialized, really, in animal years, Jazzi could be a young grandmother to Robby).
So, guess what? Mike says, You can have a new kitten IF you clean and organize the whole house. That's right, the WHOLE house.
So (love that word), I stayed up all night and started organizing and cleaning the whole house, the first three hours of which involved sorting and reading ancient newspapers.
Mike thinks he's so clever, he knows I will never get a new kitten now.
But he'd better think again and think fast while he's at it. He'd better wipe that smirk off his face and reorganize his confidence, 'cause it's gone take a beating. That's all I got to say (reading too much of The Help, I'm gone start talking like them 1960's colored gals, it's very catching -- don't yell at me, that's what they call themselves in the book, it's how it was).
All right, I've left my eggs too long, they gone be tough to peel.
Hey, you oughta see Robby having his new harness fitted by me. It ain't working out none too good.
Tomorrow is another day, I take it.
Til then,
KEM
Furthermore, how is it that I did all this, all this including washing the dog, cleaning the shower, changing the sheets and washing the litter boxes outside, among other things, but those I am the proudest of, on exactly 1 hour and 30 minutes sleep last night?
And, I visited my parents and Muffy AND supervised (meaning, I had one eye on it all day) the demolition of our now former gang plank walkway (YAY! for history), railroad ties (Roach Motels), wall surrounding ug-ee patio off the dining room (at front of the house, naturally) and inferior quality shrubs and decorative trees (eyesores one and all).
The day started like this. Got in bed around 4:30 AM, I'll tell you why in a minute because it is not my usual reason I go to bed when the rest of the eastern USA is fixing to get up. Stared at the same page of The Help for about a half hour. Gave up and tried to sleep, but stomach hurt.
Finally fell asleep at 7 AM. At 8:30 AM Mike comes rushing upstairs to announce the work crew is here and that I should get up and see to things. Now you have to understand, we weren't told exactly which day the work crew would show up.
So, trying to bury the fact that I just had 1.5 hours of sleep, I peek out the upstairs bathroom window and see trucks galore up and down the street and Hispanic men swarming the yard like flies on your picnic hamburger.
The next thing is, they are tearing up the yard. HARK! We can't swing doing this whole project in one fell swoop and have divided it into Part A and Part B. I'm here to tell you, we are starting with Part A, the hardscape, and the crew was delving into Part B, the landscape. Totally backwards and months out of synch.
Well, good, how great will this be, to have a dirt naked yard for the next 9 months?
So luckily, Mike comes back in and I order him back out there this instant and tell them to knock it off. Then I call Mr. Todd, Landscaper Extraordinaire, rated A+ by BBB, and say, Hello, your crew is tearing up our yard.
And that's how my day, on 1.5 hours sleep, started.
But I was not deterred. Sleep was impossible now, not only due to the noise factor but because I had to have that evil eye on. I've mentioned several times to various people wandering about, DO NOT CUT DOWN OUR CAMPHOR TREE (which only MAKES our house, it's front and center in the yard, huge and impressive and beautiful) AND DO NOT CUT DOWN OUR OAK TREES (lined up along the edge of yard and alley and simply essential to my well being).
So, I jumped into work and kept at it and here I am. I'm sure you're not believing this.
BUT, last night, see, Mike and I made a deal. I want a new kitten so Robby can have a playmate (since my initial idea for Jazzi and Robby to be pals hasn't materialized, really, in animal years, Jazzi could be a young grandmother to Robby).
So, guess what? Mike says, You can have a new kitten IF you clean and organize the whole house. That's right, the WHOLE house.
So (love that word), I stayed up all night and started organizing and cleaning the whole house, the first three hours of which involved sorting and reading ancient newspapers.
Mike thinks he's so clever, he knows I will never get a new kitten now.
But he'd better think again and think fast while he's at it. He'd better wipe that smirk off his face and reorganize his confidence, 'cause it's gone take a beating. That's all I got to say (reading too much of The Help, I'm gone start talking like them 1960's colored gals, it's very catching -- don't yell at me, that's what they call themselves in the book, it's how it was).
All right, I've left my eggs too long, they gone be tough to peel.
Hey, you oughta see Robby having his new harness fitted by me. It ain't working out none too good.
Tomorrow is another day, I take it.
Til then,
KEM
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Today I'm pulling into the bank following a black car that looks vaguely familiar. A Solera, I've heard of those once upon a time. Even the license plate looks like I've see it somewhere before. It has a Florida Gator on it.
Aha! It is Mike's old car which DT-sD now drives. So she pulls off to the side of the drive to gather her wits and banking materials. I pull up right next to here, stop and roll down the window. HA! Nice little surprise! I suggest after her banking transaction she come to the house to pick up her mail, which includes this dirt cheap jewelry she orders online, to the tune of .25 cent earrings. How you make a living selling that is quite the mystery. Why don't they just pay us to relieve them of their earrings?
Her mail also includes a solicitation from Bob Jones University. They want money to transform the dining common. DT-sD wants to know why they didn't have such a modernized dining room and food when she was a 9th grade academy boarding student several years ago. Beats me why they didn't.
She wonders why I bother handing her a letter from BJU, it hits the trash faster than even the postcard reminder from her former dentist, my childhood friend. The postcards remind that DT-sD might want to consider coming in for a cleaning appointment since it's been 1 year, 2 years, 3 years, etc. since the last time she had her teeth cleaned. To no avail have I tried to tell the dentist's receptionist that DT-sT has moved on.
Then she has an invitation to rejoin her monthly hair care products club. And a something or ruther from the bank.
Also in her mail pile, for lack of a better place, a blue beads on elastic bracelet that was part of a bunch of blue beaded bracelets on elastic I gave her for a Christmas present. This stray one I discovered recently, this little set came from my gift box. DT-sD scorned these bracelets many moons ago. But this year after opening her Christmas presents she announced, What do you know, I like everything you gave me this year. She even liked one of the gift bags. She was as shocked as I was. Even though I love to spill beans, I refrained from telling her the beloved blue beads on elastic bracelets were her rejects from long ago. Now they are fashion recycles. He, he, he.
She has been having this sinus trouble for a month. Yet she worked the lunch shift at the restaurant. She said the tables look at her funny when she opens her mouth and sounds like Darth Vader. She has been spending the night with friends to avoid inhaling mold fumes in her sleep. Always sumpin', right?
Hey, guess what? I remembered the brand I wanted to tell you about the other day. I found a great new product. Bottled water. Bottled water you can actually OPEN the top without permanently gnarling your wrist in the process. I tell you what, I'd had it with some of these dopey bottles. One brand, to save money and the earth, no doubt, made their caps so small you could barely find the it much less get a grip and...hello...open it. These caps are clipped on so tightly it's beyond absurd. I'd have ten monkey fits three times a day, just opening my bottles of water. Seriously, life is too short for this kind of nonsense.
So, I saw a new brand of water at Sweetbay grocery store. Kelley Springs. Looked good to me, pure spring water from right here in Florida. But boy, when I got it home and gave the usual death grip to the lid, I was in for a MORE than pleasant surprise. This cap just spun off like a charm, so easily, in fact, I wondered if the seal had been broken. But all the bottles are like that. It's because they only have about three points (instead of the usual 20) where the plastic is attached, you know, the perforated little plastic nibs. BRILLIANT! Even my mother could open it, and that is the grand test of all. It's effortless, I'm telling you. It even feels good, try it.
I can tell you this much, Kelley Springs is the only brand I buy from now on. Period. And there is actually a swimming hole at the springs, too. (Probably not the point where they bottle the water). My mother was great to take us to visit the Florida springs when we were kids. Nothing like jumping in an ice cold natural pool of the purest clearest water. Somehow, though, we never got to this spring, and it's right near Apopka, I think, where we went to boarding school.
Of course I had to Google Kelley Springs, this is how I found out about the swimming. I was Googling because I wanted to THANK them for saving wrists and tempers everywhere. But I couldn't find the exact website...somehow. Now I shall have to telephone instead.
So, I am spreading the word. And just you watch, when I go to Sweetbay tomorrow, there will be no Kelley Springs bottled water and they will tell me they stopped carrying it, in my honor.
My house look so bad that I told Mike he could not bring his visiting boss over here or he might lose his job. Gads. I feel the mood descending to turn into a whirling dervish. But first, tomorrow is my friend's CAbi clothing party, which I wouldn't miss for anything. The refreshments and her house are too fab.
Then I have to pick up a painting I commissioned for Mike's boss. It's a picture of his product can. That's one thing I figured he might not have. Man, I hope he likes it. It's a thank you for the Germany trip he gave us. The artist, my friend, is hoping I like it, too. Jeepers, I hope I do like it. We went out to dinner and we got home there was a message that she wanted to drop it off at our house because she was eating dinner on our side of town. THANK THE LORD we were not home, NO ONE can see my house right now. Not even you.
Okay, run out and buy Kelley Springs water and save your wrists. PLUS, it tastes wonderful, better than any of the others. Robby and Jazzi love it. Robby has been a wild man lately, totally insane, the little sweetheart. He has learned to open the kitchen cupboard doors. Rats.
Good night, my blogging babies,
KEM
Aha! It is Mike's old car which DT-sD now drives. So she pulls off to the side of the drive to gather her wits and banking materials. I pull up right next to here, stop and roll down the window. HA! Nice little surprise! I suggest after her banking transaction she come to the house to pick up her mail, which includes this dirt cheap jewelry she orders online, to the tune of .25 cent earrings. How you make a living selling that is quite the mystery. Why don't they just pay us to relieve them of their earrings?
Her mail also includes a solicitation from Bob Jones University. They want money to transform the dining common. DT-sD wants to know why they didn't have such a modernized dining room and food when she was a 9th grade academy boarding student several years ago. Beats me why they didn't.
She wonders why I bother handing her a letter from BJU, it hits the trash faster than even the postcard reminder from her former dentist, my childhood friend. The postcards remind that DT-sD might want to consider coming in for a cleaning appointment since it's been 1 year, 2 years, 3 years, etc. since the last time she had her teeth cleaned. To no avail have I tried to tell the dentist's receptionist that DT-sT has moved on.
Then she has an invitation to rejoin her monthly hair care products club. And a something or ruther from the bank.
Also in her mail pile, for lack of a better place, a blue beads on elastic bracelet that was part of a bunch of blue beaded bracelets on elastic I gave her for a Christmas present. This stray one I discovered recently, this little set came from my gift box. DT-sD scorned these bracelets many moons ago. But this year after opening her Christmas presents she announced, What do you know, I like everything you gave me this year. She even liked one of the gift bags. She was as shocked as I was. Even though I love to spill beans, I refrained from telling her the beloved blue beads on elastic bracelets were her rejects from long ago. Now they are fashion recycles. He, he, he.
She has been having this sinus trouble for a month. Yet she worked the lunch shift at the restaurant. She said the tables look at her funny when she opens her mouth and sounds like Darth Vader. She has been spending the night with friends to avoid inhaling mold fumes in her sleep. Always sumpin', right?
Hey, guess what? I remembered the brand I wanted to tell you about the other day. I found a great new product. Bottled water. Bottled water you can actually OPEN the top without permanently gnarling your wrist in the process. I tell you what, I'd had it with some of these dopey bottles. One brand, to save money and the earth, no doubt, made their caps so small you could barely find the it much less get a grip and...hello...open it. These caps are clipped on so tightly it's beyond absurd. I'd have ten monkey fits three times a day, just opening my bottles of water. Seriously, life is too short for this kind of nonsense.
So, I saw a new brand of water at Sweetbay grocery store. Kelley Springs. Looked good to me, pure spring water from right here in Florida. But boy, when I got it home and gave the usual death grip to the lid, I was in for a MORE than pleasant surprise. This cap just spun off like a charm, so easily, in fact, I wondered if the seal had been broken. But all the bottles are like that. It's because they only have about three points (instead of the usual 20) where the plastic is attached, you know, the perforated little plastic nibs. BRILLIANT! Even my mother could open it, and that is the grand test of all. It's effortless, I'm telling you. It even feels good, try it.
I can tell you this much, Kelley Springs is the only brand I buy from now on. Period. And there is actually a swimming hole at the springs, too. (Probably not the point where they bottle the water). My mother was great to take us to visit the Florida springs when we were kids. Nothing like jumping in an ice cold natural pool of the purest clearest water. Somehow, though, we never got to this spring, and it's right near Apopka, I think, where we went to boarding school.
Of course I had to Google Kelley Springs, this is how I found out about the swimming. I was Googling because I wanted to THANK them for saving wrists and tempers everywhere. But I couldn't find the exact website...somehow. Now I shall have to telephone instead.
So, I am spreading the word. And just you watch, when I go to Sweetbay tomorrow, there will be no Kelley Springs bottled water and they will tell me they stopped carrying it, in my honor.
My house look so bad that I told Mike he could not bring his visiting boss over here or he might lose his job. Gads. I feel the mood descending to turn into a whirling dervish. But first, tomorrow is my friend's CAbi clothing party, which I wouldn't miss for anything. The refreshments and her house are too fab.
Then I have to pick up a painting I commissioned for Mike's boss. It's a picture of his product can. That's one thing I figured he might not have. Man, I hope he likes it. It's a thank you for the Germany trip he gave us. The artist, my friend, is hoping I like it, too. Jeepers, I hope I do like it. We went out to dinner and we got home there was a message that she wanted to drop it off at our house because she was eating dinner on our side of town. THANK THE LORD we were not home, NO ONE can see my house right now. Not even you.
Okay, run out and buy Kelley Springs water and save your wrists. PLUS, it tastes wonderful, better than any of the others. Robby and Jazzi love it. Robby has been a wild man lately, totally insane, the little sweetheart. He has learned to open the kitchen cupboard doors. Rats.
Good night, my blogging babies,
KEM
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
JEO says she has no use for restaurants that have their tables two inches apart.
I love someone who doesn't mince words.
Here is what DT-sD had to say when she calls tonight and sounds like she's dying. (Don't you just love when your kids call you late at night and sound like they were just shot or run over and with their last little lift of a finger are calling to gasp their farewell words?)
All raspy and breathless-like, with a lot of commotion in the background, she exhales, If you still claim to be my mother, why didn't you give me your curly hair instead of sinus trouble? (Remember, she insists she is adopted, but I have sad news for her, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.)
Well, that's what I thought she said, so I repeated it back to her and she agreed that that's what she had, indeed, said.
I suggested she move out of her moldy apartment, since she's had said sinus infection for a month. And she does live in a moldy apartment. She can have her old room back here at the house, as long as she doesn't paint it.
Then she wants to talk to Mike. And guess what? Remember that French restaurant I told you about and JEO referred to above? Where we ate for our anniversary 3 nights ago, 5 days after the fact?
Well. It was a cold night and as we left the restaurant, we saw all these people seated at tables outside. And it was chilly, I'm telling you. Now I know why they were eating out there, it was roomier.
But guess who two of those peeps were? DT-sD and her young man. But we didn't see DT-sT and her young man. We were too busy heading up the street to go visit DT-sT at the restaurant where she works. Three blocks in the cold later we are informed she is not working tonight.
So back we go, three blocks. We end up in the French Bakery next to the Cassis restaurant and buy a chocolate eclair because Mike needs change for the valet. Then we slip into our car with our little sacks of French morsels and off we go. TOTALLY unsuspecting.
But in actuality, DT-sD and young man have watched this whole scene unfold. Yes, they have observed our every step while we were in sight. We have never met young man, even though he's been around for 8 months, in and out. Thank the dear Lord my hair looked good that night (for me). It's very unnerving when someone meets you but you don't meet them, even when you find out about it 3 days later. I feel like I was a player in a movie or something. Pretty tricky of them, wasn't it? And now I've lost my big chance. I mean, not two days earlier I asked if we could meet him one of these centuries.
And if this isn't ridiculous enough, I texted DT-sD right when we got home. I said, We stopped by your restaurant to see you tonight. She replied immediately, I didn't work today. I said, We found that out. Then we chatted how she wants a big house and will never have one and I said, Who needs a big house anyway, and then she said, Me. Then I said, Well, be sure you can afford a maid then, and btw I'm reading The Help.
Now, you think about this for a second. She was probably sitting at the very same spot where we walked by not 17 minutes earlier. And I'll just bet you they were laughing all the way to the bank...or whatever.
Now young man is back up north. Can you even believe this? I hope I get invited to the wedding...when there is one...if there is one.
Speaking of The Help, the author is not afraid to have one of the main characters regularly taking the Lord's name in vain (I had to look up how to spell vain in Exodus 20 just now, remember way back when I blogged about the three spellings of vain, but I could only think of two and forgot there was a third spelling until my mother spelled vain for me and I was surprised to find it was spelled not my two ways, I really have a hang up with vane, vain, vein). Hey, maybe that character gets saved in the end.
Anyway, it is definitely not THE HELP who swear like that, they are church going women who have respect for God. Still, it really takes away from the book for me, TOTALLY UNNECESSARY to swear using Jesus and Christ like that. In fact, it curdles my blood. I hope Kathryn Stockett, who is otherwise a brilliant author, is reading this. There, my piece, peace, peas is spoken.
And with that, my friends, I am out of here. You know what? I had a day where I woke up feeling rested, even after small sleep. And not only that, I made chicken salad, felt good all day, my back didn't hurt and I got a lot done in general. I was calm and happy even though my mother got her cast soaking wet...again. And I picked out bricks for our new walkway we have to have installed before someone trips on uneven boards or rides a board to some region under the earth and we get sued. I picked these out with minimal fuss. Fuss, yes, but minimal. AND I feel totally confident about my decision. Will someone please tell me what on earth is going on? This person I just described is definitely not moi (I use moi because I never know if I should use me or I in these situations, so I play dumb). Thank you.
I suddenly have a sore throat. Please pray this is not a you-know-what. Oh dear, I was excessively grouchy yesterday and positively giddy today. This is not a good sign...at all.
KEM
I love someone who doesn't mince words.
Here is what DT-sD had to say when she calls tonight and sounds like she's dying. (Don't you just love when your kids call you late at night and sound like they were just shot or run over and with their last little lift of a finger are calling to gasp their farewell words?)
All raspy and breathless-like, with a lot of commotion in the background, she exhales, If you still claim to be my mother, why didn't you give me your curly hair instead of sinus trouble? (Remember, she insists she is adopted, but I have sad news for her, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.)
Well, that's what I thought she said, so I repeated it back to her and she agreed that that's what she had, indeed, said.
I suggested she move out of her moldy apartment, since she's had said sinus infection for a month. And she does live in a moldy apartment. She can have her old room back here at the house, as long as she doesn't paint it.
Then she wants to talk to Mike. And guess what? Remember that French restaurant I told you about and JEO referred to above? Where we ate for our anniversary 3 nights ago, 5 days after the fact?
Well. It was a cold night and as we left the restaurant, we saw all these people seated at tables outside. And it was chilly, I'm telling you. Now I know why they were eating out there, it was roomier.
But guess who two of those peeps were? DT-sD and her young man. But we didn't see DT-sT and her young man. We were too busy heading up the street to go visit DT-sT at the restaurant where she works. Three blocks in the cold later we are informed she is not working tonight.
So back we go, three blocks. We end up in the French Bakery next to the Cassis restaurant and buy a chocolate eclair because Mike needs change for the valet. Then we slip into our car with our little sacks of French morsels and off we go. TOTALLY unsuspecting.
But in actuality, DT-sD and young man have watched this whole scene unfold. Yes, they have observed our every step while we were in sight. We have never met young man, even though he's been around for 8 months, in and out. Thank the dear Lord my hair looked good that night (for me). It's very unnerving when someone meets you but you don't meet them, even when you find out about it 3 days later. I feel like I was a player in a movie or something. Pretty tricky of them, wasn't it? And now I've lost my big chance. I mean, not two days earlier I asked if we could meet him one of these centuries.
And if this isn't ridiculous enough, I texted DT-sD right when we got home. I said, We stopped by your restaurant to see you tonight. She replied immediately, I didn't work today. I said, We found that out. Then we chatted how she wants a big house and will never have one and I said, Who needs a big house anyway, and then she said, Me. Then I said, Well, be sure you can afford a maid then, and btw I'm reading The Help.
Now, you think about this for a second. She was probably sitting at the very same spot where we walked by not 17 minutes earlier. And I'll just bet you they were laughing all the way to the bank...or whatever.
Now young man is back up north. Can you even believe this? I hope I get invited to the wedding...when there is one...if there is one.
Speaking of The Help, the author is not afraid to have one of the main characters regularly taking the Lord's name in vain (I had to look up how to spell vain in Exodus 20 just now, remember way back when I blogged about the three spellings of vain, but I could only think of two and forgot there was a third spelling until my mother spelled vain for me and I was surprised to find it was spelled not my two ways, I really have a hang up with vane, vain, vein). Hey, maybe that character gets saved in the end.
Anyway, it is definitely not THE HELP who swear like that, they are church going women who have respect for God. Still, it really takes away from the book for me, TOTALLY UNNECESSARY to swear using Jesus and Christ like that. In fact, it curdles my blood. I hope Kathryn Stockett, who is otherwise a brilliant author, is reading this. There, my piece, peace, peas is spoken.
And with that, my friends, I am out of here. You know what? I had a day where I woke up feeling rested, even after small sleep. And not only that, I made chicken salad, felt good all day, my back didn't hurt and I got a lot done in general. I was calm and happy even though my mother got her cast soaking wet...again. And I picked out bricks for our new walkway we have to have installed before someone trips on uneven boards or rides a board to some region under the earth and we get sued. I picked these out with minimal fuss. Fuss, yes, but minimal. AND I feel totally confident about my decision. Will someone please tell me what on earth is going on? This person I just described is definitely not moi (I use moi because I never know if I should use me or I in these situations, so I play dumb). Thank you.
I suddenly have a sore throat. Please pray this is not a you-know-what. Oh dear, I was excessively grouchy yesterday and positively giddy today. This is not a good sign...at all.
KEM
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Hi Strangers,
I think you could safely say I am a Blogging DUD right now.
But thank you Dr. Deb and BJH for your helpful comments. Dr. Deb wonders why I didn't heat up my baked beans. L-A-Z-Y, is why. Her family likes Bush's Baked Beans, but she personally doesn't "get" the combo of beans and sugar.
BJH had never heard of comparing baked beans to houses before. Hey, I wonder if that is an idea original to the Universe so far, baked beans and houses.
Mike and I celebrated our anniversary tonight at Cassis, a French Brassario, or whatever it is. I am far from sophisticated in foreign things. When BJH and I were looking at condos recently, we went in this one ultra mod townhouse stlye condo, in a high rise, too. The owner was there and it turns out he is none other than the owner of Cassis, too.
Now doesn't that just beat all, as Barney Fife would say? There are literally hundreds upon hundreds of condos along Beach Drive and we go in about six of them and Mr. Cassis is there. This is interesting to me because for Christmas my dear church friends gave us a gift card for Cassis. And we hadn't used it yet but were saving it up for our anniversary.
Mr. Cassis, does he really live there? By all practical appearances, No, he does not. Nor does his wife. The place was so spotless you could have taken a magnifying glass to the shower door and not found one speck of a dried mineral marring the sheen.
So the Realtor said, This place is so clean it doesn't look like you live here. Mr. Cassis says, in a thick French accent that allows me to completely lose the essence of what he's saying, You are either clean...or you are not. I know he said this because the Realtor translated later. So, I'm assuming they take showers.
I will not be inviting Mr. Cassis to my house anytime soon.
So, at the dinner tonight, where the tables are pretty much stacked on top of each other, which is the French way, I guess, well, when one table of four two inches away from our table got up to leave, I told Mike, QUICK!, say something romantic before the next people land. There was still the other couple on the other side of our table, two inches away, but we had already exchanged pleasantries because she had stolen my napkin before we arrived, which I didn't know yet, and I was looking all over for it. Then she 'fessed up. Was that as clear as French Onion Soup?
Okay, so Mike said, Thirteen years of wedded bliss I wouldn't trade for anything. I said, Even though I'm not the world's greatest housekeeper? And he said something like, Small taters. I wish I remember exactly what he said because it was very sweet and freeing (he may live to regret saying it), but by then the romance was over as we were surrounded again.
But the food is very good, and I'm pretty sure the kitchen is clean, rather than not clean. Mr. Cassis himself was running around enjoying himself, but I didn't say, Hey, remember me?
Today was fun. I went in Borders and all their calendars are $1.00. So what that the year is half gone, I helped myself to Mensa calendar, the kind you tear off a page every day. And each page has a puzzle. This ought to be good. And then I scooped up the tear-off-a page Joy of Cooking. I had that cookbook once upon a time, but it was too deep for me. Too bad I find out now that it is THE cookbook of and for all time.
But I succumbed to the JOY calendar because on the back of the box it showed a cast iron flat pancake griddle, the exact kind I bought at Crate and Barrel with my gift card, which I told you all about in the blog that disappeared. JOY says, How to make the perfect pancakes. So, I bought her calendar, too.
Then there were the little Moleskin date books, miniature ones, adorable. I bought two of those because, after all, they were originally $9.95 for $1.00. One is a monthly calendar, which I bought just for looks, and one is a page for every day where I plan to "journal" houses tasks I need to get to. Maybe if I write it in this sweet little moleskin booklet, I will actually do the jobs, so as not to let Mole down.
I really had something to say besides everything I just wrote. I thought of it while I was vacuuming. And it has to do with brands. Brands of what, Please, somebody tell me. It must be the French banana split freezing my brains. The waiter said he doesn't eat sweets. I always ask the waiter what to order, and he couldn't help me with dessert except to say root beer float. Heck, I can make that at home.
People who don't eat sweets are a breed outside my realm of comprehension, btw. He said he was born like that. Whatever.
One night I was driving around looking at houses in the dark. And I found the perfect bungalow on the perfect street and I was, once again, all moved in.
I drove by the next day, in the daylight of all things. The bungalow had gone from white to yellow in that short span. So I moved out.
Hope I remember what I was going to blog about by tomorrow.
HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY pretty soon.
Frenchy KEM
I think you could safely say I am a Blogging DUD right now.
But thank you Dr. Deb and BJH for your helpful comments. Dr. Deb wonders why I didn't heat up my baked beans. L-A-Z-Y, is why. Her family likes Bush's Baked Beans, but she personally doesn't "get" the combo of beans and sugar.
BJH had never heard of comparing baked beans to houses before. Hey, I wonder if that is an idea original to the Universe so far, baked beans and houses.
Mike and I celebrated our anniversary tonight at Cassis, a French Brassario, or whatever it is. I am far from sophisticated in foreign things. When BJH and I were looking at condos recently, we went in this one ultra mod townhouse stlye condo, in a high rise, too. The owner was there and it turns out he is none other than the owner of Cassis, too.
Now doesn't that just beat all, as Barney Fife would say? There are literally hundreds upon hundreds of condos along Beach Drive and we go in about six of them and Mr. Cassis is there. This is interesting to me because for Christmas my dear church friends gave us a gift card for Cassis. And we hadn't used it yet but were saving it up for our anniversary.
Mr. Cassis, does he really live there? By all practical appearances, No, he does not. Nor does his wife. The place was so spotless you could have taken a magnifying glass to the shower door and not found one speck of a dried mineral marring the sheen.
So the Realtor said, This place is so clean it doesn't look like you live here. Mr. Cassis says, in a thick French accent that allows me to completely lose the essence of what he's saying, You are either clean...or you are not. I know he said this because the Realtor translated later. So, I'm assuming they take showers.
I will not be inviting Mr. Cassis to my house anytime soon.
So, at the dinner tonight, where the tables are pretty much stacked on top of each other, which is the French way, I guess, well, when one table of four two inches away from our table got up to leave, I told Mike, QUICK!, say something romantic before the next people land. There was still the other couple on the other side of our table, two inches away, but we had already exchanged pleasantries because she had stolen my napkin before we arrived, which I didn't know yet, and I was looking all over for it. Then she 'fessed up. Was that as clear as French Onion Soup?
Okay, so Mike said, Thirteen years of wedded bliss I wouldn't trade for anything. I said, Even though I'm not the world's greatest housekeeper? And he said something like, Small taters. I wish I remember exactly what he said because it was very sweet and freeing (he may live to regret saying it), but by then the romance was over as we were surrounded again.
But the food is very good, and I'm pretty sure the kitchen is clean, rather than not clean. Mr. Cassis himself was running around enjoying himself, but I didn't say, Hey, remember me?
Today was fun. I went in Borders and all their calendars are $1.00. So what that the year is half gone, I helped myself to Mensa calendar, the kind you tear off a page every day. And each page has a puzzle. This ought to be good. And then I scooped up the tear-off-a page Joy of Cooking. I had that cookbook once upon a time, but it was too deep for me. Too bad I find out now that it is THE cookbook of and for all time.
But I succumbed to the JOY calendar because on the back of the box it showed a cast iron flat pancake griddle, the exact kind I bought at Crate and Barrel with my gift card, which I told you all about in the blog that disappeared. JOY says, How to make the perfect pancakes. So, I bought her calendar, too.
Then there were the little Moleskin date books, miniature ones, adorable. I bought two of those because, after all, they were originally $9.95 for $1.00. One is a monthly calendar, which I bought just for looks, and one is a page for every day where I plan to "journal" houses tasks I need to get to. Maybe if I write it in this sweet little moleskin booklet, I will actually do the jobs, so as not to let Mole down.
I really had something to say besides everything I just wrote. I thought of it while I was vacuuming. And it has to do with brands. Brands of what, Please, somebody tell me. It must be the French banana split freezing my brains. The waiter said he doesn't eat sweets. I always ask the waiter what to order, and he couldn't help me with dessert except to say root beer float. Heck, I can make that at home.
People who don't eat sweets are a breed outside my realm of comprehension, btw. He said he was born like that. Whatever.
One night I was driving around looking at houses in the dark. And I found the perfect bungalow on the perfect street and I was, once again, all moved in.
I drove by the next day, in the daylight of all things. The bungalow had gone from white to yellow in that short span. So I moved out.
Hope I remember what I was going to blog about by tomorrow.
HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY pretty soon.
Frenchy KEM
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