I confessed my love for Holmes on Homes today to a co-worker. THAT'S my kinda dreamboat. Give me a master at what he does over a pretty Mario Lopez type any day. I think I horrified her.
Along those same lines, Jack Reacher may be my new literary husband (Sorry, Atticus Kodiak). Jack Reacher doesn't believe in laundry. My heart went pitter pat.
I heart cheap, mass market fiction and strong, capable men. Who don't believe in laundry.
Tuesday, April 27
Thursday, April 15
Knock Knock...
When I was growing up, my father would announce on long car trips that it was time for another Humor Lesson (OH, yes, it was capitalized).
groan. We would talk about the definitions of satire and sarcasm until he felt that I had a grasp of it all.
As Miss Priss pours over her highlights magazines, she tells me the jokes and then we talk about the ones she doesn't get.
Incoming teacher at two o'clock.
am or pm?
And I'm off, totally over-explaining about pilots orienting themselves in the sky based upon the face of the clock, and then testing her...so if I say there's a dog at six o'clock, where is it?
I am SO my father.
groan. We would talk about the definitions of satire and sarcasm until he felt that I had a grasp of it all.
As Miss Priss pours over her highlights magazines, she tells me the jokes and then we talk about the ones she doesn't get.
Incoming teacher at two o'clock.
am or pm?
And I'm off, totally over-explaining about pilots orienting themselves in the sky based upon the face of the clock, and then testing her...so if I say there's a dog at six o'clock, where is it?
I am SO my father.
Thursday, April 1
Blogger, I've been Two timing you.
I have a new love...
No, Facebook doesn't count. That's like crack. It's different.
I just finished reading another fabby post by Maria, at Just Eat Your Cupcake. I have a long blogroll, but nothing makes my day like seeing that Maria has posted something new.
When I was little, my father brought home a treasure from one of his trips. It was a book, Conversations with a Pocket Gopher, by Jack Schaeffer, the man who also happened to write Shane, the western. (Total side story, when I was running my bookstore in Hanford, my fella took me to Yosemite, and when we saw the little bookstore on the way, you know I had to stop. I had always looked for another copy of my book in all the hippy granola bookstores, to no avail. When we walked in, I began the title and the lady who owned the store finished it for me. Her dad WAS Jack Schaeffer, and she had multiple copies, so I bought one for me and one for my dad. COME ON, that was cool.) Back to the point, Maria can make folding laundry with her dog at her side into poetry. She reminds me of that book. Whether she's talking about her partner, her daughter, her dog or her dishes, she takes you there. The lady's got soul, folks.
I've been cheating on Blogger with my new favorite, Open Salon. It's fun to browse their blogs and see who strikes a chord. My favorite so far has been Ann Nichols.
I'm not really blogging much these days, but I had a late latte, and Little O was quietly sobbing in her bed because of growing pains. The Honey doesn't remember having growing pains, but I DEFINITELY had 'em. Based upon Miss Priss' misery, my kiddo is gonna have some gams, let me tell ya. A little tylenol and some back rubbing and she is back out, but I am wide awake, too wired to even play a little bejeweled. It doesn't help that I've been off for the last week and am due back to work tomorrow (yikes, make that in 4 hours).
No, Facebook doesn't count. That's like crack. It's different.
I just finished reading another fabby post by Maria, at Just Eat Your Cupcake. I have a long blogroll, but nothing makes my day like seeing that Maria has posted something new.
When I was little, my father brought home a treasure from one of his trips. It was a book, Conversations with a Pocket Gopher, by Jack Schaeffer, the man who also happened to write Shane, the western. (Total side story, when I was running my bookstore in Hanford, my fella took me to Yosemite, and when we saw the little bookstore on the way, you know I had to stop. I had always looked for another copy of my book in all the hippy granola bookstores, to no avail. When we walked in, I began the title and the lady who owned the store finished it for me. Her dad WAS Jack Schaeffer, and she had multiple copies, so I bought one for me and one for my dad. COME ON, that was cool.) Back to the point, Maria can make folding laundry with her dog at her side into poetry. She reminds me of that book. Whether she's talking about her partner, her daughter, her dog or her dishes, she takes you there. The lady's got soul, folks.
I've been cheating on Blogger with my new favorite, Open Salon. It's fun to browse their blogs and see who strikes a chord. My favorite so far has been Ann Nichols.
I'm not really blogging much these days, but I had a late latte, and Little O was quietly sobbing in her bed because of growing pains. The Honey doesn't remember having growing pains, but I DEFINITELY had 'em. Based upon Miss Priss' misery, my kiddo is gonna have some gams, let me tell ya. A little tylenol and some back rubbing and she is back out, but I am wide awake, too wired to even play a little bejeweled. It doesn't help that I've been off for the last week and am due back to work tomorrow (yikes, make that in 4 hours).
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)