* * *
The spam seems to have mostly stopped, but I’ll give it a few more days before I stop moderating the comments, just in case. Spam just pisses me off, and comment spam pisses me off even more. I mean, who in the holy hell sees a comment spam and says “My goodness, I hadn’t realized before now that I want to do some online gambling, but I think I’ll check this link out and give it a try!”? I guess if even one person tries it out the spammers have done their job though, eh?
Fucking spammers. I think they should all be strung up by their tender parts until such a day that all the spamming stops.
* * *
I made a huge batch of
roasted chick peas for Fred yesterday. Because he likes his food spicy, I dumped a ton of chili powder and tabasco on them, along with spicy creole seasoning, and some garlic salt. At one point I thought to myself “Boy, I hope this isn’t going to be too hot for him…”
When the chick peas were done, he tried some and then every time he passed through the kitchen he grabbed a handful.
“So what do you think?” I asked. “Are the spices good?”
“Yeah,” he said. “They’re not hot enough, though.”
If that’s not a challenge, I don’t know what is. It’s now my goal to make him CRY when he tries the next batch of chick peas.
Bastard.
* * *
The spud went to a party Saturday. It started at 2 in the afternoon and went until 10:30. It was more than a little weird to see her get into the car with a friend (and his mother – he doesn’t have his license yet) and drive away, since pretty much anywhere she’s gone in the last eight years, we’ve taken her.
She was supposed to call when she was ready for us to come pick her up, but she called sometime after 6 to ask if it was okay for her to get a ride home with the same friend who brought her. We said yes, and then I spent the evening worrying.
“What if they’re doing drugs? What if they’re drinking? What if they’re sneaking off into rooms to have sex?”
“She’s with a bunch of church kids,” Fred said. “(This one) goes to church, (that one) is home-schooled so he probably goes to church*, (the other one) is a church-goer. She’s fine, I’m sure they’re behaving, no one’s going to get pregnant!”
“Oh, right. YOU were a church-goer when you were a kid. Are you trying to tell me you didn’t do things you weren’t supposed to?” I said.
“Not with my church friends,” Fred said.
Oh, yeah. THAT made me feel better.
She got home a few minutes before 11, and Fred and I were waiting at the top of the stairs to interrogate her.
She had a good time, there were lots of kids there, there were parents present (yes, I’m a dumbass for not asking that particular question BEFORE she went), and there was no wild drugging or drinking. She went to the party, had a good time, and came back in one piece.
MAH BABY IS GROWING UP!
* No, we realize that not all home-schooled kids’ parents are religious types. But we’re in the south, and chances are good that they are. NOT THAT THERE’S ANYTHING WRONG WITH THAT.
* * *
Ugh. It’s a crappy, rainy, wintry day (hush up,
Jane! 61 degrees IS TOO cold!), but I have the space heaters (one at each end of the room) going, so I’m not suffering too much. I think I’m going to go take my shower, do some laundry, and curl up under a quilt in the chair in the corner of the master bedroom while I try to finish reading the book I’ve been reading for, like, five days now.
(I’ve been catching up on my magazine reading, which cuts into my book reading time considerably)
See y’all tomorrow!
* * *
“How YOU doin’?”
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