Happy Valentine’s Day. You are hereby ordered to be my valentine, whether you like it or not.
Comment-answering extravaganza tomorrow! Get ’em in!
Readers, Suzy is dying – DYING! – to shave her head again this year. Who are we to deny her? She’s shaving her head in memory of an 8 year-old named John, who lost his life to leukemia.
Donate and help her meet her goal!
I had nothing pressing to do yesterday aside from getting a couple of Netflix DVDs to the mailbox (god! I’m exhausted!) so after slacking for most of the morning, I finally sucked it up and did what I’d been putting off for months and months – got my freakin’ recipe box organized. I’ve had piles of printed-out recipes sitting in a pile next to my desk waiting to be put on recipe cards (I don’t write them on recipe cards – I use Word and print them out on sheets of post cards) since at least October. I have the bad habit of printing out a recipe, using it, and then the next time I need it, I print it out again since I haven’t got it on a recipe card in the kitchen. I also tend to not bother to look through the recipe box and print the recipe out instead, so those got added to the pile of recipes too, so it actually ended up taking me all freakin’ day to sort through the recipes, type them in Word and print them out.
My recipes are organized, though, so I can rest easy that THAT happy little task is done.
Bad, bad Joe Bob Brown (he’s the baddest cat in the whole darn town!) didn’t get a chance to escape the back yard yesterday. It was cold, never got out of the 20s (yeah, I know your heart is BREAKING for me), so I didn’t let the cats out into the back yard. Maybe later today – it’s supposed to get up into the low 50s, so having the back door open won’t be so painful.
Fred reinforced the two spots we think Joe Bob is getting over, so hopefully that’ll stop the escapes. We shall see.
Planning his escape.
The chickens escaped yesterday, actually. I didn’t latch the gate after I checked for eggs, and round about early afternoon my attention was caught by McLovin getting some Buff Orpington lovin’ (that link leads to a picture of a Buff Orpington, not chicken lovin’. In case you were worried.) and I realized that the chickens were out of their yard and exploring. All I had to do was get a cup of cracked corn, carry it into the chicken yard, and call them. They were so excited that there was food to be had that they flocked around me, so I didn’t have to chase any of them around to get them back in their yard.
I imagine that when we have 40 chickens, it will be a wee bit more difficult to coax them back into their yard after they’ve escaped.
We watched Gone Baby Gone last night. It was an okay movie, but about five minutes in, I paused the movie and turned to Fred and said “Do you understand one fucking word they’ve said so far?”
It’s funny that the Yankee had to ask the Southerner to translate the Boston accent. Though Fred didn’t know it was a Boston accent he was translating, either – he thought it was New Jersey or New York ’til I told him I was pretty sure it was Boston, since I think Dennis Lehane’s novels all take place in Boston.
The funny thing is that this morning I checked my reading list to see which Dennis Lehane book I’d read (I knew I’d read one at some point), and it was… Gone Baby Gone, back in January 2005. The one and only thing I remembered about the book was the name Angie Gennaro, nothing else at all.
Casey Affleck kind of disturbs me. There’s something about him that reminds me of someone I know who’s… uh… what’s the politically correct phrase? Oh, right…. batshit loony, and so it bugs me to watch him. He seems… flat to me. Emotionless. Anyone else?
He don’t need no stinkin’ valentine.
Previously
2007: I should have asked him to be my valentine, no?
2006: “Stop following me,” Sugarbutt said. “Or I shall call the gendarmes and they shall kick your ass all the way back to Paree.”
2005: “I wasn’t worried,” Fred said to me. “Because any party where the invitation suggests bringing Dance Dance Revolution pads is not one that’s going to get out of hand.”
2004: No entry.
2003: No entry.
2002: Be our valentine, bitch!
2001: Could this get any more exciting, talking about the weather?
2000: Is it wrong that hearing about that incident gives me a whole new respect for Maria?