Consumer Reports recommended and wrote down their top picks, so ended up with the AT&Ts (these, I think). I can’t say how well they work just yet, because they needed to charge before I could use them, and then I was up and out of the house fairly early this morning so I didn’t get a chance to give them a try. Hopefully they’ll work out better for me than they did for some of you, though I’m saving the box and the receipt until I know for sure whether they work worth a shit.
I’m back to being internetless in Smallville again; when Fred left Smallville last night, he took the router with him because he’s a bastard. He left Smallville earlyish with the intention of doing some packing, but that’s okay – I spent the evening watching 30 Rock and Weeds on the laptop.
I like 30 Rock, but I don’t love it. It’s definitely worth watching, but I get bored just sitting and watching it so tend to flip through a magazine while watching it. Once we’ve got our TV and DVR in Smallville (TV moves to Smallville Friday; DirectTV comes on Saturday, woot!), I might record 30 Rock, but I don’t think I’ll download anymore episodes via iTunes. Worth watching, but not for $1.99 a pop.
(And excuse me, it is patently UNFAIR that a one-hour show and a half-hour show both cost the same on iTunes.)
The show I’ve discovered that I absolutely love is Weeds. That Mary Louise Parker is just the shit. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in anything and not loved her. She’s got such an expressive face* and she’s unbearably adorable. I know nothin’ ‘bout no pot or drugs or anything, but I find Weeds very entertaining – and I don’t feel the urge to flip through a magazine while I’m watching it.
(Love Elizabeth Perkins, too.)
*Jesus Christ, it just took me five minutes to come up with the word “expressive.” All I could think was “expressionless”, and I knew that wasn’t it. Alternately, I came up with “expressional”. I fear the full-blown Alzheimer’s is right around the bend. I hear the Alzheimer’s comin’, it’s rollin’ ‘round the bend, and I haven’t seen my brain cells since I don’t know when.
* * *
Yesterday after Fred got home (to Smallville) after work, he went out and visited with his bitchez, snuggled with Frick for a while, and then a guy showed up to give him an estimate on filling in the pond. The price was far more reasonable than we’d expected, so I guess in a few weeks, we’ll be pondless. I feel bad for filling in the pond, because I know there are frogs and shit in that water, but the fucking thing is always way too low for fish (I think I mentioned), and it’s taking up prime real estate, so buh-bye pond.
We ate dinner after the pond-filling guy left, and then started work on the garage. Fred wanted to get it set up so that he could start parking his car in the garage** and also so he could work out regularly. It took us a couple of hours of moving shit around and putting stuff upstairs in the garage (once the windows in the upstairs are replaced, I’ll be organizing all the shit we’re storing up there), but now it looks pretty decent. There are things still to be put away, but it’s functional enough for now.
**Once the tractor shed is built (it’s a little further down on the list than the side steps and the clothesline and the fence around the back yard, to name a few) and the tractor implements are out of the other side of the garage, I’ll be parking in there as well. I love that the garage is big enough to park both our cars in it AND have all our gym equipment out there, too.
* * *
The chickens have apparently decided that if someone approaches their yard, it means there’s food on the way. They came to this conclusion because every time Fred goes near their yard, he has a handful of worms or a cut-up tomato or some lettuce or bread for them. Yesterday, I had to walk by their area to get to the burn pile, and when I walked by, one of the black chickens with speckles saw me go by, and she started running alongside me, clucking excitedly. By the time I’d dumped the wood on the burn pile and began walking back toward the garage, at least half of the chickens were running along the fence, clucking at me. I didn’t give them any food (only because I didn’t have any with me), and eventually they went back to scratching at the ground and eating bugs and running around flapping their wings.
I think when I die, I’d like to come back as one of our pets. They definitely live the life o’ Reilly, the spoiled bastards.
Chicks on a rainy day.
* * *
Judging by some recent searches, people are wondering what Snood level I’m playing on these days. I’m still playing on medium, because my percentage won at that level hovers right around 36%. Should it suddenly rocket to 45 or 50% I might think about going up a level, but for now I’m happy on medium.
Last night I got my highest score ever, 11,829. I took a picture of the screen with my phone and sent it to Fred with the message “in ur face!”, because he’s a bastard who has been playing Snood for way less time than I have, and already his high score is in the 13,000 area. Before last night, my high score was under 9,000.
323 total games? Feels like more – WAY more.
* * *
“STOP TOUCHING ME WITH YOUR TAIL, SUGGIE!”
Tommy, keeping an eye on the squirrels.
* * *
Previously
2006: A belly rub is a religious experience for Our Tommy.
2005: Friday sucked ass for the following reasons
2004: No entry.
2003: I am apparently married to a 100 year-old man.
2002: “Your air gap floopy.”
2001: And thought about putting my motherfucking fist through my motherfucking monitor because my motherfucking internet access has been going down every 9.8 seconds.
2000: “There’s no Easter bunny, there’s no tooth fairy, and Bruce Willis is DEAD, he’s DEAD, DEAD!”
]]>