Alrighty then. I finished The Book this afternoon. It really helped to refresh my memory, though hasn't helped too much with my looming NaNo project next Monday. I hope when I sit down to start Book Two, my brain will engage and the continuation of the story won't seem as elusive as it does right now. I hate this part. The angst and the worry and the can I do it again bit. My stomach roils. Ugh.
The house painting hasn't progressed one jot either. The guys come, the rain pours, they leave. We just missed the window on this...of course. Two weeks ago I was still sweltering in the high 70s; since last Thursday we've been in the 50s and under deluge after deluge.
On Sunday I watched a major storm front come across the valley from two directions. When the two merged, there was thunder, lightning, lashing rains...it was great. Except for the house painting part.
One part of the storm came from the right, and down the center, sweeping across the valley...
...to imminently collide with the other part coming from the left.
It rained and stormed all day Sunday and Monday, and most of yesterday. Today wasn't as bad, though everything is soaking wet and dripping. Tomorrow is supposed to be better, though only for the day. I hardly think the entire house can be painted and dried in one day, so who knows when (if) the job will actually be started, let alone finished. And I was worried about finding the right paint colors in time. Buggers.
Since I've spent the last two+ days reading The Book, I haven't done much else to blog about really. Ozzy seems to have recovered from his back thing, Alan drives me nuts (as only a husband can), and I'm fretting about NaNo. Same ol', same ol' then.
Maybe what is needed here is this, from Miss Cellania:
A man goes into a restaurant and takes a seat. All the waitresses are gorgeous. A particularly voluptuous waitress, wearing a very short skirt and legs that won't quit, came to his table and asked if he was ready to order. "What would you like, sir?"
He looks at the menu and then scans her beautiful frame top to bottom, then answers, "A quickie."
The waitress turns and walks away in disgust.
After she regains her composure she returns and asks again, "What would you like, sir?"
Again the man thoroughly checks her out, smiles, and again answers, "A quickie, please."
This time her anger takes over, she reaches over and slaps him across the face with a resounding "SMACK!" and storms away.
A man sitting at the next table leans over and whispers, "Um, I think it's pronounced 'quiche'."
He looks at the menu and then scans her beautiful frame top to bottom, then answers, "A quickie."
The waitress turns and walks away in disgust.
After she regains her composure she returns and asks again, "What would you like, sir?"
Again the man thoroughly checks her out, smiles, and again answers, "A quickie, please."
This time her anger takes over, she reaches over and slaps him across the face with a resounding "SMACK!" and storms away.
A man sitting at the next table leans over and whispers, "Um, I think it's pronounced 'quiche'."
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