I should just stop watching ER. I've always liked this show, since the days of living in Manhattan and meeting Flo and Raiha on Thursdays to paint our nails and order in. (Raiha taught me how to be a girly girl.) It's the first/only show I watched weekly.
But lately... it's that pregnant thing I think. I'm so fascinated and involved with these characters, I almost cried when one of them got crushed by a helicopter. I am outraged at the calous behavior of the playboy characters, and sympathize with the hardworking but misunderstood nurse.
It isn't quite the crying-at-an-AT&T-commercial pregnant stereotype, but it's a little too close for comfort.
We've been a little busy with the Bach Dancing and Dynamite festival going now and for the next two weeks. Picking up artists, schlepping stuff to the Farmer's Market, data entering, and then, oh yeah- actually going to the concerts. Hey Tiffany! Those Russian Tea Cake cookies we made got a review in the paper!! "And at last the crowd was rewarded with dessert as they left the opera house: a platter stacked with delicious Russian tea cakes." Here's the whole article.
So there's been that.
And the cars have needed work, so J's went in. Have you ever noticed that when you take something in- a car, the dog, your teeth- more and more seems to turn up that is in dire need of fixin'? Sooooo, after redoing the brakes for a million billion dollars, now we need new ball joints. We thought we'd wait, but then I had to go and snoop around on the internet and found out that if the joints fail so do the brakes. That just wouldn't be any good at all, what with J being my sugar daddy meal ticket day laborer and all.
We're getting ready to get the house ready to sell. Mental preparation is like 90% of the game, right? We're thinking of selling absolutely everything we're not attached to. Couch, table. Who knows, maybe the doorknobs. Definitely the ball joints.