It's like that old expression: "Give a sister a sorted spreadsheet and she'll be grateful. Give a sister instructions on how to sort a spreadsheet and you'll spend more time writing out the instructions and she won't nearly be as grateful."
Theo, hilarious.
So I think Oz may have eaten a small bit of ribbon. I gave him some ice cream, thinking his lactose intolerant self would throw the ice cream and ribbon back up. Is he throwing up? NO. He squawking for more ice cream.
The NYT review of the same book wasn't nearly as bad. A lot of that, I think, is the reviewer's own projections.
I don't think people should be mean about Gandhi. I also don't think he should have erections. I don't care to be rational on that front.
Hot stockings.
Hot stockings.
Huh. It turns out that for me, stockings, like tattoos, shouldn't have words in them.
Huh. It turns out that for me, stockings, like tattoos, shouldn't have words in them.
See, if they had only said "bite me", then I would have coveted a pair unreasonably.
Argh. Got a notice on my door that the water will be off for 8 hours on Monday. I should probably find something to do away from the house then. And do laundry now.
I'm not sure I like these as much, but these are really pretty.
I *love* 311. They know everything!
The only time I regretted calling them was during the first "maple syrup smell" event a few years back - they immediately transferred me to 911 because apparently odors are considered emergencies no matter what, and then I felt really guilty for wasting the 911 operator's time. (911 transferred me to the fire department who thankfully did not dispatch anyone because I was the zillionth person they'd spoken to that night about the exact same completely harmless odor.)