Big Birds Don't Cry

Gee, I play footsies in the lav all the time, but does a cop ever come along and bring ME down to the station? Nooooooooo. All I ever get is some old, leathery octogenarian who borrowed her grand-daughter's Jimmy Choos.

Goshdangfreakin' nabbit. My house has turned into the suburban version of the Bermuda triangle. After a long and aggravating day, I foolishly decided that I would COOK, and not only would I cook, I'd pan blacken salmon. Hmm, hmm, hmm. Some spicy Mrs. Dash, a little cayenne pepper, and some cornmeal. Of course, when I reached for the cornmeal, my fingers fumbled and the cornmeal came a-crashing down upon the counter, stove, floor and feet. My feet. With the still damp touched-up pedicure. My Yahoo messenger icon is smiling at me, but is refusing to open, and my cell phone is saying, "Wait a minute" as it flashes every color of the rainbow, which is scary, 'cause believe me, no-one is special enough to me to get rainbow flashies.

As an aside, we have a new librarian in our school. Very tall. Very dark. Very handsome. Mr. Professional with a diamond earring that just hints at a little thug. Oh Mr. Librarian, have you Chaucer, Rabelais or Ballllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllzac?

And then...there's this. http://www.courant.com/news/local/fv/hc-whdrats0822.artaug22,0,441687.story I USED to be afraid of the squirrels. NOW I am willing to bribe them and enter an unholy alliance if they will just...keep... (ugh, can't stop shuddering) ...them...away.