A Card For the Season

It’s that time of year when Americans everywhere dig deep into their card boxes for their address book to address their 2 boxes of brand new sparkly assorted design Christmas cards. And discover…yup, 3 boxes from previous years. Now there are 5 boxes lined up, enough cards that if all sent will cost almost $50 in postage, besides the fact that, in order to use them all in time before next year, each house listed in said address book will receive roughly 3.5 cards.

So…the smart and parsimonious person will think (roughly) “I will send cards to everyone, and just not buy new cards next year, and then send the same cards out. But, because I am smart, I will make a list of who received what card so that they don’t get the same one next year. Brilliant!!”

Uh huh. Brilliant deduction Sherlock. Brilliant that is, except that when it come to anything involving a time span longer than our next paycheck, we notoriously have the brain of a goldfish. Oh look…a wall, I’ll turn around…oh look, a wall, I’ll turn around….

And after going through the address book and realizing that Aunt Skanky died 3 years ago and so can’t possibly live at 145 Walters, writing a personalized note on the first 5 cards and then abandoning it on the rest from writers cramp, and then suddenly recognizing the fact that the puppy-dog-in-the-stocking- card looks so familiar because that’s the only design you sent last year, you come to a startling conclusion. If you have the brain of a goldfish, it came from somewhere. In fact, it’s likely genetic. Which means there is a strong chance that if you can’t remember what you sent, they won’t either. Cheers!

Pumpkin Post

OK.

In yesterday's post, I hearkened back to a year ago when I waxed eloquently (and rather whine-ily and self righteously) about people who leave their pumpkins out to melt in progressively drooping and moldy stages throughout the year.

Today, I have come to 'fess up. I threw stones...because I had not yet committed my pumpkin crime. Now I submit myself to be pelted with seeds and other innards in my contriteness.

This is Larry.
I bought Larry at the local pumpkin patch (Safeway).
I defaced and carved into Larry, removing his innards and a face that (likely) mirrored the sadistic look on mine while eviscerating him.

But hey. Pumpkins don't have feelings, right? Even ones named Larry.

I took it inside because I was having a thought.


Yup.

Would she fit? I mean, here's this pumpkin...and a kitten...it was the most natural and normal thing in the world!!

And she liked it. Uhuh *noddnodd* She would have stayed in there had I let her. Look how happy she is!

And yup, Larry looked amazing on our little patch of gravel outside the front door.

And lit, Larry was even more lovely!


So.

Time passed.

A lot of time.

Like, in pumpkin years, a lifetime.

To put it bluntly, Larry had died when no one was really paying attention, and the gnats had started to spring forth from his moldy pulp. The gnats would swarm the passerby. (my advice? Breathe out dear roomies!)

I didn't want to believe that Larry had died. We had become so close in those...few....days?

Or more possibly, once I admitted he was dead, I would have to actually do work to get rid of him. (One can only recall the Christmas tree...I rest my case)

Sooo...I avoided the slow splooshy spreading of his gourd-corpse.

And this isn't the worst he got, I am ashamed to say. He was *wince* kinda *wince* one with the stones.

But hey! That poor plant needed fertilization, by golly! I was only doing my environmentally friendly green recycling Al Gore tree hugging thing.

At least that's what I told my roomies.

And now you.

Other than that, my lips are sealed. In fact... here.

These are my lips, completely sealed from telling the tru--

*ahem* From repeating filthy lies perpetrated by the roommate who actually used a shovel that fateful day. So here's a shout out to you...Thanks Em!

So I'd like to know...how late have you left out/left up holiday decorations?

Pumpkins!

Below is something I wrote last year around this time. This was before I had created my blog. After you have read this, you will be prepared for tomorrow's post...

(hang on...vroom!! Back in time!!)

I’d like to start with a question…when was Halloween? (and you all say…why, it was the 31st of October!) And then I say…what day is it today? (and YOU say…well, it’s November 26th.) Very good! That puts almost a month between the official jack-o-lantern day and today.

So I simply MUST ask the question…why do I still enjoy the *pleasure* of viewing these timeless orange gourds where ‘ere I walk? It would indeed be a pleasure…if they still had some semblance of the happy shape we love and adore, but they have been transformed into piles of black and orange *moving* sludge. And I do say moving, because a rotting pumpkin seems to breed its OWN little swarm of insects, no matter what Fransesco Redi says.

There are two ways to get to my apartment door. About three doors down, there is the stealth pumpkin. You cannot see this pumpkin until it is too late to hold your breath…it sits in a recessed doorway. The exhibitionist pumpkin sits at the very end of the walk on the corner, so a person can enjoy it for their entire journey. It might have been more than one pumpkin at one point, but now it sits like burnt squash on a bed of leaves. Yum! The trick here is to breathe normally until you think you’re in range, then stop. But it changes daily…so beware.

Route number two goes by people’s patio walls. There is only one here, but so disturbing I try not to look. This pumpkin began on the 6-foot high wall of the patio…perfect to watch collapse on itself at eye level. Until one day, it wasn’t there anymore. I was happy. There was actually a smile on my face. Until I passed the edge and saw the streak of pumpkin blood slimed down the side of the wall with a yucky pumpkin splat on the ground.

I don’t understand. Is it laziness? Possibly. (I have waited too late at times and had to use a shovel) Is it interest, so that one can post a video like the link I have below? (nope…there’s at most 5 on YouTube, and there are more pumpkins than that) Or it might me, that in this world of concrete, postage stamp lawns, and a sincere desire to be GREEN, people want their own little compost heap. Now they can say “I’m doing my part for the environment.” I’m sorry to break it to you folks…it’s concrete. It won’t go anywhere.

Here you can watch a pumpkin melt :P
http://youtube.com/watch?v=GUKRzyDMyfA&feature=related

In a Pot

To begins today's post, I must first ask for the forgiveness of my little sister.

Lorlor?

I'm sorry.



Ooookaaay. Now that we've got that out of the way, let's get on with it.



I was reading the Reader's Digest for the current year, and there was an article called "What Mall Santas Don't Want You to Know". In the article, one Santa shared that, when bouncing sticky toddlers on their velveteen laps taking gift requests that boys were direct. "I want a pogo stick and a remote control airplane." The girls, on the other hand, had a need to explain:



"I want pony 'cause ponies are just so gosh darn cute! And then we could go for rides in the country with my frilly white nightgown flowing majestically behind me and I would call him Twitterpat, and he would be mine. And he would be my Twitterpat."



With this in mind, I post a portion of the Lorlor's recently released Christmas list:

• house plant (must survive on little sun/water, be VERY hard to kill .... like if the Terminator was a house plant...)


• stickers(you CAN'T go wrong with stickers)


• front bike light (I have a Bell brand one, but don't feel like it does a very good job... maybe because I dropped it and put it back together with Elmer's glue)


• pot (medium to large, a good size for making soup and the lot)

Although it's true "you can't go wrong with stickers", I find the explanation of the front bike light akin to the little girl wondering why the frog she dunked in boiling water to kill the germs isn't moving.

Then I see pot.

She wants pot!

My poor leetle seester I send off to college and she's already past alcohol and into drugs! And she wants a medium to large amou--

Oh. Wait. Cooking pot. Heh heh heh. Then I look back up at the top of the list. She wants a houseplant. Presumably in a pot. Weeds are plants. Weeds are called pot. And I assume you could make pot soup... (in a pot...)

*ahem*

Not that I have all sorts of experience with that noble substance. (Reduces nausea! Cures Headaches! Fixes Insomnia! It's Like Magic! Oh. And it can get you fired from your job too...)

There I was, sitting outside a movie theater waiting for my roommate (minding my own business...duh) and this dude came up a bit behind me. I turned around to keep him in sight; you can never be too careful you know.

He smiled at me and the following happened:

Him: Are those dreadlocks?

Me: No....just curly hair that isn't particularly styled...(ie, I wasn't concerned with being presentable and had just patted at it till it resembled less horns and more general confusion)

Him: Oh. I was hoping they were dreadlocks.

Me: (smile. silence.)

Him: 'Cause if they were dreadlocks, I figured you would know where I could get some weed.

Me: (confused. silence.)

Him: Do you know where I could get some weed?

Me: No...sorry....(not entirely sure why I apologized....maybe my hotel persona wanting to help someone get what they wanted..)

Him: Oh, ok. Thanks anyway.

So, gentle beings, does anyone have the idea behind the "dreadlocks for weed" campaign? Is this just a stereotype, or does it actually have basis in fact?

I was actually hoping someone would offer me some. I have hoped for this all my life. My dream, if you will.

Why you ask?

Fourth Grade. When all young children receive beautiful red pencils that say "Don't Do Drugs!" to be whittled down to the even more alluring "Do Drugs!".

I want to make Mrs. Morris proud and say "No!"

Talk about indoctrination :D

Bartering For Tips

I always enjoy bartending. The people you meet….the drinks you mix…the money you make…from tips.

I’m pretty good at chatting with people; they tend to like me. This comes in very handy when it comes to getting paid in (almost) direct proportion to how well you can chat someone up. This might sound to some a little unsavory, but consider:

The drinks are free; they aren’t paying for them anyway.

Our normal cliental aren’t ones to drink alone. They want someone to chat with, to make them feel more comfortable. That is where I come in.

Tipping is really the payment for non-corporeal services. Every time you go to a restaurant, get your hair cut, or get a drink at the bar, you pay set rates for the product you get. The tip is to pay for the thoughtfulness of the server going beyond what they had to; giving you that smile, the bartender remembering you to actually see if you want something else. The hairdresser for letting you talk about your life and acting like she’s actually interested.

But here’s the thing with me. As long as you’re not an incredible boor, I am interested.

At least, I want to know more. I have figured this is just a basic quest for knowledge. I like to know things, to find things out. This is why all these stories exist in the first place. Recall the conversation I had with the coworker upon the conclusion of the artist? (you come to my room and I paint you reeel good). I’ll refresh your memory: “RedGirl, you’ve got to stop getting into conversations with these people. One day, it's going to get you into trouble.”

I will admit she had a point, but where’s the fun in safety like that? That’s right, not a whole lot. Plus, I've already seen the trouble that comes, and in most instances, is tot-ally worth it. The point is, people can tell that I really am interested. They don’t realize why I’m interested (ie, not in them personally, but stuff people have to tell me in general), just that I am. This means my harvest is rife with juicy personal details.

But every now and again, I get someone I don’t know what to do with.

Let’s call her Lorna.

Lorna is an older woman with skinny bird legs, but with enough up top to weigh normally for her height. Upon this woman, put eye-searingly short pink shorts. Now place in sun for 50ish years and let bake to a golden brown. Yes folks, she makes the person who invented tanning wants to put a legal limit on the darkest you can get and still apply that adjective to yourself.

Not only did she bring up the two “death topics” (religion and politics) in a badgering fashion with my only other tipping person, but she had a tendency to ignore the current line of conversations with a completely random question. You need an example you say? Of course I will oblige you!

Current conversation is with the man about his sons and where they were attending various colleges and how they were considering the college where I live. At the smallest possible lull (more of a pause to draw breath, really), she says in a loud voice straight at him “What do you think of the bill the senate passed last week?”

Man: Pretends to watch the football game on TV and therefore *didn’t* hear what she said.

Lorna: swivels head to me, making it clear the question is now all mine.

Me: doesn’t want to get into that, makes some weak laughter. “heh heh….well, I know I should read the news more. I’m afraid I don’t know anything about that.” Unspoken…and I don’t want you to tell me about it either...

Fast forward to the next evening. I am again doing double duty--bar and front desk. As I pour her the *first* drink, she yanks out a plastic bag and sets it on the bar. Out of the bag, Lorna pulls a small tray-like object with tall sides. It is filled with vegetables and covered with plastic wrap.

Lorna: I want you to have this.

Me: Um...it's lovely!

Lorna: I thought the colors were pretty. I got them from the (local organic grocery store) for you.

Me: Thank you...what kinds of peppers are those? (trying to think of what...to think)

Lorna: Oh I don't know. I just picked them for the colors.


Then she pulls out another bag. This one is from Borders.

Lorna: I bought some books on their bargain rack. Look at this cookbook! (hands me cookbook)

Me: (I take it, leaf through it trying to think of something nice to say) It has some nice lamb recipes...

Lorna: Do you want it?

Me: (aack!) Well, I--

Lorna: Oh, take it. I want you to have it!

Me: I couldn't (I'm not a fan of "southern cooking" in general...too much fried food)

Lorna: I insist!

Me: Okaay...


So. Point here. I (as is my usual custom) tell the story around the workplace. One person's response "Maybe you'll get a fruit basket tonight! Hahahaha!"

Yeah. Thanks.

But that did bring to mind the thought of putting out a list of what acceptable tender is for tipping. So far, my list includes:

Chickens
Pounds of Whole Bean coffee (no flavored please, French Roast preferred)
Coupons for free taxi rides
Border's Gift card
Folding chair
Thick homemade quilt
Vodo Bunny

Actual MONEY

*Sigh*
We shall see I suppose.

Women Behaving....Like Cougers!

Hmm...why am I feeling so prolific today? Posting what will probably be 4 posts in 24 hours?

It might be because my famfam came to visit today and I had the most epic cal zone.

Possibly because I feel free tomorrow, and don't have a (scheduled) shift.

Even more likely, I got 2 yards entered on Life's Highway Game and got a whopping 2 points--SQUEE!! (my first points ever...mostly for lack of trying)

Or maybe it's because I have a new regular that I look forward to sharing with you all frequently: Leopard Lady.

Leopard Lady was just going to be a nice add-on to the previous post; a way of introducing her because I just *know* there will be future snippits. But then the rest of the evening happened.

So now, in order to do my true duty to all you faithful readers, I shall start from the beginning :)

A couple of weeks ago, a woman in leopard-print checked in; now to be further known as Millie. She was blond, classy looking, around 50/55, and loaded with that sort of chunky jewelry you can tell is expensive. Problem was, she already seemed kinda out of it. As in tipsy.

As in drunk. ....though older. and more blond.

Which was strange...considering she hadn't been to our free bar yet. But OK. What evs. Let's call the 30-year-old bartender "Dave". Dave wants to be a pilot, and it getting his hours in. Poor Dave was actually excited to have a hopefully well tipping evening (bartenders work for min. wage + tips). Once Millie showed up though, it didn't matter.

She was smitten with Dave.

And I mean smitten.

As far as I, Redgirl, could tell; they were having a perfectly happy conversation for those two hours. But as Dave began leaving the bar, Millie followed him.

Dave: I'm clocking out...

Millie: OK.. (follows)

Dave: (uuuh....not quite what I meant....)


So, from a co-worker who witnessed it (Greengirl, actually) and Dave himself, I know know what happened. Millie followed him out while he clocked out. She followed him back *into* the bar when he returned the key. Then followed him back out to the parking lot. Then put her hand on his arm to *steady herself*. Then attempted to follow him down to his car.

I'm not sure how he lost her.

If you happen to be reading this, "Dave", I'd like to know ;P

Dave later told me that she had had but two white wines....not nearly enough to do any damage. Her condition appears to be Millie-as-lightweight + Millie-already-drunk = Millie-more-drunk.


Fast-forward to this weekend:

She has been in the hotel Saturday night, but it was too crowded (see previous post) for any real goodies. I see her approach the door with her arms full of bags.

Her: Oh! I forgot my car keys

Me: Not a problem. You can leave your stuff her and grab them. I'll keep an eye on it.

Her: Thanks! (then sees Dave walking up to clock in...makes detour towards front door again) Hey..!

Dave: Hi.... (he grabs key to clock in)

Millie: I've got to put some stuff in the car...follows him, though hands are empty. (I'm imagining a scene where she sees her car and makes a bit deal about how she "didn't know" she'd "forgotten her car keys".)

Bar starts up. Dave acts normal. Millie flirts with him. Chick Millie has met the day before with a Milwaukee accent (Iris) is now fast friends with her. New woman (Lindsay) is there with her two adult children...but only *she* is taking a place in the convo.

The following seeped through from Iris: "I just can't live with college boys...I can't be the cougar on campus."

Heh heh heh.

Millie has to leave for some party or other. Finally, Dave ends up leaving (his shift is over).

While he is gone, both Iris and Lindsay have an intense discussion. They both agree that while Dave is young enough to be their son, that he is is cute, attractive, desirable, worth taking up on if "certain offers were presented" and just downright sexy.

'Twas all I, Redgirl, could do not to laugh.

Millie literally jogs in her heels back in the bar.

Millie: Did he go clock out?

Iris: (Lindsay is over with her kids) Yup, he ran out at 7:15...

Millie: Darn (she has missed him...and is sad) He ran...?

Iris: Yes, he ran for his girl. The one he talked about liking.

Millie: Did he propose??!!! (alarm, shock)

Iris: Last night, he told me he was halfway there...--he's smitten

Millie: Oh, I see. While, you should be at least glad you notice these things


They both end up taking it out to a bar in the nearby area. I have alerted "Dave" to the dangers in his situation. Have urged him to take out Cougar insurance.

He would if he could find a place they were selling the kind he needed.


:D

KK...so it seems like no one is able to identify the show playing...Look closely! It's Dr. Who in his second face! Click on the picture! Examine his clothing! Make a hypothesis!

And no, there are quite a few more rabbits/hares/bunny-wunnies/jackrabbits than 3.

Drifting Tidbits

I'm sitting here at my desk, MMOBAU (minding my own business as usual...soon I'll have to come up with a list of personal acronyms), and the bar is certainly lively tonight!

Last night, it was full of the college home team families along with the opposing families all in town for a game. So loud that I just imagined a war was taking place, and as long as it didn't spill out into accorded neutral territory, I would assume there was a treaty in place. As I sat there reading my tasty Dick Francis Novel, a woman came up:

"How can you READ in this?"

I just replied I was used to it. And so I am.

But on nights like this, when I forget a book, blogs are still sitting annoyingly on yesterday's post, and the shakespeare troupe refuses to check in when I want them to, I cast my ears about for the sounds of the evening.

Mother to her 3-4 year old son: Austin, so do you have girly parts? (she's not joking folks..she was being kinda mean)

Austin: uuuhh...?

Mother: you know, girly parts. Do you have any?

Hehehe. I fear for today's youth. No boy has "girly parts" unless:
A) Tranny!
B) Klinefelter's Syndrome (XXY)
C) A Delusional Schitzophrenic**
D) and...um...every guy. b/c the X chromosome is technically "girly" and we all have them >:D

**such that a female believes she is a male...thus a male having "girly parts"

But anyway. Moving on.

Before I tell you about women behaving badly, I'd like to share about a man. A man who *thought* he was being smarmily manipulative. I'll give him smarmy, but the question remains, if you know someone is trying to manipulate you, can you really say that they are then?

So, I'm just sitting at my desk, MMOBAU and reveling in the relative silence, and a man comes up.

Him: I need plates, forks and knives...like for take out. (pauses...maybe sees something in my face...) It would really mean a lot to me .... and my wife...we have a room here...on the third floor (Like I care *where* his room is)

Me: I have sporks in the back...but you're welcome to see if there's any plates and cutlery set out in the breakfast room.... (The restaurant should have provided you with those)

**Well, I meant him to "check the breakfast room for things left out". Instead, he grabs my poor maintenance man and gives him the entire sob story. I can't exactly holler out "Only what's out! Don't get him anything special!", so while my guy is checking, I hear the following phone conversation:

"Honey, I'm not mad at you. (pause) Look, I took care of it. I took care of everything. (pause) Can you just grab the wine and pull out the plug? (huh?) Yeah, just pull the plug out so it can air--oh. Cork. (rofl) I just want you to know I'm not mad-- (pause) I'm waiting for the silverware!!!"

Apparently, he gets what he wants, then comes over to me to let me know that "that man" should get a raise.

Huh?

Get a raise for catering to your crazy whims? I think not...

Kay, so I think lengthwise, I need to post the women version separately.

Time to Get Down and Dirty: Inside-Out Girls

Ok Folks!

Prepare yourselves. Things are about to get skanky.

What flavor of skanky you ask?

Trollop flavored!

Let's get down to business (It's business tiiime!!).....*ahem*


It was the Friday before Halloween...anticipation in the air...candy in little chillin's pockets as they swarmed the down town area.

I hate having to dodge pedestrians with my bike.

I get to work and find out that today is "businesses hand candy out to kids" day. Great. At this point in my life, I'm not really liking the idea of kids so much. And I was in a bad mood. That is my excuse for the following exchange:

Me: It's candy day? Ug.

(male co-worker, boss, and lady from accounting are all standing there looking at me)

Boss: Yes. You get to hand it out (smirks)

Me: Great. Tweeny tweakers. I'm just gonna shove the bowl in their face and say 'take your candy and beat it, little b*st*rds'

Co-Worker: Woah...someone's not ready for work today

(they all laugh at me)

Me: Grrrr (leaves to go change)

I change out, pants, shirt, tie, and vest. I pop back in, smile flashing. Lady-from-accounting's kid is now there, in costume.

Me: Hi! You must be after my trick-or-treat bowl! (he nods dumbly) Well aren't you just the most precious thing! Here you are!

(They are all laughing at me...*sniff*)

Me: (after the kid runs out) See? All I do is put the tie on and happiness springs forth unfettered from my mouth. It's a magic tie.

In my defense, Spoon Man was due to arrive the following day, so I was a bit trepidatious. I was also training the new night auditor in day procedures. I do not normally train. We had an arrivals list of epic proportions. I would not get to read my book.

But the magic tie hides it all.

The first team of high school girl's water polo checked in. We'll call them "Mountain High". They were tired and relatively quiet, and each took ONE piece of the candy sitting out. Then Valley High water polo showed up.

Or should I say, Valley High and parents showed up. And like cicadas, my lobby filled with screeching, scantily clad banshees who promptly finished off the candy. They were still in their water polo swimsuits...which is not really appropriate for a hotel lobby. But OK. I'll let it pass.

They left (thank goodness) and I went back to training. Mainly by pointing after them saying "See that? THAT's why the Annex building is nice. And that's why I put them there."

Her: *nods comprehendingly*

The parents were easily identifiable by their matching sweatshirts. I'm going to choose orange and white as Valley High's colors. The parents are mostly in the main building.

Then.

Valley High comes back (after changing). I'm going to paint a picture for you now. Close your eyes.

Wait.

Don't

Pretend you are closing your eyes. Imagine an average high school student. Attractive. Athletic....*Developed* lol. (because they are it seems like these days) Now put her in short running shorts. Now put on a basic t-shirt with Valley High Water Polo emblazoned on it.

Got it? Good.

Now put panties of your choosing over the top of those shorts....the scantier the better. And put a brassiere on top of the shirt fastened very firmly. And as for the rules...it has to be as risque as possible.

I give you....the Skanky Trollop!


It was worse than you can imagine. Trust me on this. Aaand. Each girl had a piece of paper written on hotel stationary that read "inside out!".

I guess it was some bizarre Halloween costume. I was just waiting until their parents saw them.

But their parents seemed proud of their little Skanky Trollops.

I mean, I know that I, myself, tend towards more modesty than mainstream society does. I recognize this, so I have my personal line that I won't cross, but am in no way judging those who are a little less modest or revealing.

But these girls showed no decorum in dress, attitude or behavior.

So they leave. Mountain High comes up to get something, and I hear one of the girls say to her teammate "Did you see that other team? So classy...."

I turned towards her: "I couldn't agree more" and then we all laughed. See, even their contemporaries thought it just a bit too far out there...

The evening progresses. I don't see much more of Mountain High....but Valley High makes up for it. The took my bar chairs out and began having "rolling contests" on my marble floor.

Me: Put the chairs back in the bar

Them: Huh?

Me: The chairs need to go back in the bar...NOW

Them: Why?

Me: Safety concerns (I love it! So vague...)

Them: What if we don't?

Me: I will send someone to kick you out of the bar


Strangely enough, following that, they all wanted to be my friend. (Can anyone say....desperate for an authority figure in their life?) One of the mothers had witnessed part of this, and seemed proud that her daughter "was a rebel...I bet you can tell where she gets it!" *simper*

Later, when one of the girls ran through my lobby with a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc under her arm giggling wildly, I didn't care. It's not my job to babysit. I was just .... disgusted. I asked myself why they would turn out that way...little brats....skanky trollops. Then I heard chanting in the breakfast room. All of their parents were getting as drunk as possible as quickly as possible, to the point that a bottle of beer exploded and my GM was forced to intervene.

I realized. They couldn't help it. It was in their genes.

They need to work on their street smarts though...when I called the room check in for a parent (who wanted to go to a bar rather than keep an eye on them), they told me the truth. "Oh, there's EIGHT of us in here!" Me: "Thanks!" Thinking: you should have lied....

Because apparently, we're all friends now.

Guurkgleluurk

Picture Blog

So. Mel did this thingy where she tried to take 10 pictures a day...or something to that effect. I thought to give it a try. Of course, considering my subject matter, I have to be careful about anything too identifying. (murdered in my sleep and all), so I've got some without pesky road signs and town names.

Problem is...many of these pictures inspire little anecdotes...snippets if you will. I will attempt to limit my ramblings and give an insight on the landscape of Friday.

Part of my bike route home from work. Rarely will I come this way in the light...

Rabbits!! I love rabbits :)

But wait. There's more rabbits...

This brings up the task I have for you. After examining the third picture, I want you to count the rabbits and submit your number in the comments.

Mmmm....happy giggle :)

I really like the lighting on this....when the sun makes the earth both light and dark at the same time. With some unfortunate timing, developers decided to do something with the undeveloped land to the south. They finished with some awesome pits.....and then it rained. Big time. Then a flock of ducks moved in. Then a gaggle of geese moved it and kicked the ducks out. I think it's safe to say production will be stalled until next year sometime.

So, the fact that I can't look straight at the sun has always been an annoyance to me. Much like the mysterious object behind the curtain, I am sure that the sun must be magnificent, fully of vitality, and hot. It's this last one that ends up being the problem for my weak little retinas. Digital cameras are the next best thing.






My trusty steed











Points to anyone who can correctly identify show, season, and episode:





The bane of my existence:

The other bane:



Notice the evil shadow it casts on the wall...reminding me I have to iron my work shirts not later but now!!

But this makes it all worthwhile. Dick Francis!! Yummmmm.....

Well, now that I have bored you all with pictures, I think you deserve a sneak peek at what's destined for tomorrow's postings.



We have the Inside-Out Girls, the Pumpkin Post, and maybe a quick foray into some special bar guests. I leave you with a tidbit :P



Overheard at Borders: "So for her birthday, he bought a pole and installed it at the foot of their bed. She said she'd been taking classes...."