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Dalmatians are an interesting breed of dog. They’re noble looking, sleek, and groomed to run along English carriages of the 18th and 19th century. They’re famously inbred to attain the perfect blend of black spots and white fur, and they tend to be skittish and ill-tempered, given the right (or wrong) circumstances.
I gave a dalmatian the circumstances this morning. (more…)
(Get your mind out the gutter, potty mind. I’ll explain below.)
On the ride to work the morning, a couple of things caught my eye and made me say, “Hmmmmm.”
The Carson Nugget installed some new electronic slot machines called, “Trailer Park Party.” These machines have a characature of a chubby white guy with a beer and a sleeveless (torn) white t-shirt. What are the manufacturer and the Carson Nugget thinking? What’s next? Barrio Boogie Nights? Get-down Ghetto Gala? Those examples may be a little extreme, but so are the slot machines.
Had a good ride this morning. Went to Smith’s to get healthy stuff and shampoo, having left my other one in the gym last week, and rode with intermittent spurts of energy. Funniest sight this morning: big, honking semi-truck hauler walking his itty, bitty little dog who was wearing on orange t-shirt (the dog, not the dude).
After the Big Move yesterday, my back was again reminding me of its existence, so I go up early this morning so I could soak in the spa at the gym (which is right next door to where I work). As I write this an hour or so later, I’m still not quite awake after the soak. Since work is not challenging right now, all is good.
Today is Aunt Lilly’s birthday, and what better way to honor her than spend it grunting and groaning over some heavy frinkin’ furniture? Well, wasn’t doing much else, anyway.
Liz and I finally got motivated around 1000ish and drove both vehicles over after taking the center seats out of the van (which are still in the garage…somewhere). We got on a roll with the twenty or thirty bins, loading them up and unloading them in the garage. For the last trip, we shoved as much as we could in the van and packed it tight. Then the darn thing’s engine wouldn’t turn over. It was dead.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY to Aunt Lillian Musclebound Fruitbat!!! Girlfriend, you may not agree but you look damn good. In my mind, you’ll always be, in some way, the college undergraduate who visited us at Fort Lee in the 1960s. You were (and are) the coolest thing on four wheels (I still remember your VW bug and Sunny). :-)
That’s Aunt Lilly’s baby picture and she’s the blonde in the picture from yesterday’s blog.
Low and slow this morning, getting ready to go over to storage. Gotta do some grunting, masculine lifting. Maybe later I’ll head over to the gym later for a long soak in the spa. And a crappy movie. Love crappy movies.
Another prescription when you’re down: big, honking stacks of pancakes. Maybe they’re not the healthiest thing in the world, but the world looks a lot brighter after some fried flour, the sap from a thousand trees, and a gallon of solidified, churned cowmilk melting all over the place. Did that last night for dinner. Yum.
Time to get rolling.
