Alabama's Trying For None

h/t MW.

I Can't Be Left To My Imagination

Pete's house is wonderful, and I am happy to wake up here in the morning - provided I fall asleep at night. In places to which I am unaccustomed, I lie awake and think terrible thoughts: I'm so tired breathing hurts, and What the fuck is wrong with those mouthbreathers at CNN? So: once again, I'm a bleary wreck.

We're off to Home Depot to rent a spray-painting machine and five gallons of white paint. What could possible go wrong?

Right Here, Right Now

I'm not much for swiping images. This spa is from the Grand Hyatt in Dubai, where I will never, ever find myself. At this point in the moving, where menfolk will move large objects in larger vehicles, when one wishes one were anywhere else in the whole world one notes: this spa is, in fact, an anywhere and it looks pretty good. After a week or two in such a setting, one might be able to stand upright again.

Hey! Nice shoes. By the way.

When I'll Be Back Again

Pack that for me, will you, darling?

This weekend, we'll work our shapely rears off getting into the house and out of the apartment. No one said it would be easy but with Almanzo out on the prairie, my sisters scattered across the Northeast, and my friends perfecting their dog-days ennui, someone should have said moving would be diamond-hard, though my ex-husband is lending me a truck so I can move in with my boyfriend.

But far be it from me to disappoint you! If it will positively ruin your weekend if you can't help me walk a couch six blocks, email me. It's going to be some parade.