I stitched a dot on Anna's bird last night before I packed it in at 9:30. (It's okay, the doctor said I couldn't um, you know, what every other married person in America did last night.) But the meds have kicked so I should be able to stay up like a normal person. This is good because I have to finish the blanket. Today is the little one's 7th. Not so little; I still ended up feeding her lunch today--she gets so distracted--when we went to Jones. She had the Thanksgiving Dinner. I had calamari salad. (Just for a full report mom had grilled cheese and tomato soup, and Lala had chicken parm with plain pasta on the side. The dog pretended to eat the bread and some fries, but I saw him eyeballing the turkey.) This time the green glow is from the banquette and shag carpet.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Can I Really Talk about My Niece and Pamela Anderson in the Same Post?
If you ever have to use the word "classy" to describe something, it never is. And I don't care if it is your outfit, Pamela Anderson stripping, a brass objet, a dame; if you use the word classy to describe it, it most certainly lacks it. Trust me: I'm from New England, and I went to women's college.