Friday, October 29, 2010


I have this beautiful friend with this skin you would not believe and she and the Internet are not friends so it's OK if I talk about her here.

I've known this girl since I was 8 years old, so since I'm 32 now I guess math says I've known her 24 years, even though that's impossible because only old people know each other for that long.

Moving right along.

I only get to see my friend every so often because she's one of these overbooked types with too much going on. Some people love that shit, but me -- I need a lot of time to sit and stare out of windows. She teaches special ed kids and is getting her master's degree, so that right there pretty much puts the kibosh on her social life.

This woman is astounding, and the way she lives and the things she intends to do -- well, I wonder if it all would have been the same if her brother hadn't died. He collapsed three years ago at age 30, dead instantly of a heart attack. To say that his absence equals nuclear war aftermath in his family even three years later is an understatement.

Shortly after her brother passed, my friend explained to me that she wasn't sure anymore if God existed. If he did, the only reason for him to take her brother would have to be that he was needed more in heaven. And she couldn't see how heaven could need him more than she did.

She decided to buy a nice car. She'd been driving something old and sensible for years, and she wanted something racy, bright and convertible. Life is too short to drive a shitty car, if it matters at all to you.

She just bought a condo. She's not waiting for Prince Charming to come along and create her fantasy family for her. She is building the foundation herself.

She plans to get a dog and name it Potato.

She is wearing braces in preparation for major jaw surgery. I'm going to have cheekbones! she says. She already has cheekbones and if she gets more beautiful she will wreak havoc on the men of San Jose, and enjoy every moment of it.

She is living with such intention, with so many goals. It reminds me of how we are when we are younger, in high school, with things yet to accomplish. Many people, even at our young age, are resting on their laurels and seem to be waiting for death. My friend seems to have decided death can kiss her ass and she's going to make as much happen for herself as she can before her time comes.

She inspires just by being. I leave her and feel renewed energy, reminding myself of my own goals.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

It's decorative gourd season

Allow me to state for the record that I have never in my 32 years on this planet made a wreath. Until now.

I come from a long line of women who enjoy crafts and who fancy themselves crafty. Whether or not any of us are any good at it is up for debate. Nonetheless, we persist.

For as long as I could remember, my mom had a huge stash of pine cones. If we went somewhere and there were pine cones on the ground, she'd be out collecting them and then they would make their way back to our home, where they would get added to the stash, ostensibly to be used for some Major Pine Cone Project eventually. Then we moved and the pine cone stash mysteriously disappeared. I'm not pointing any fingers, but suffice to say that my dad harbored a burning hatred for the pine cones.

"Burning hatred" might be a bit strong.

Thankfully, it turns out my grandmother was a pine cone hoarder, too, and my mom recently inherited a sizable collection of authentic Tahoe pine cones that were likely foraged from forest floors in the 1960s. Vintage pine cones, if you will. They just don't make them like that any more.

And to her credit, my mom has been getting pretty crafty these last few years, constructing wreaths and topiaries and fake pumpkins with festive fake plants sprouting out of them. It's inspiring, really.

So during a recent mother-daughter outing to Michael's, I purchased a number of wreath-making materials. They were 50% off. I don't see that I had any choice, actually.

My wreath-making materials. A pre-made twiggy wreath, some fake plants, wire cutters and my trusty glue gun.

A couple of adorable little owls to perch in my wreath.

 I threaded my plants into the wreath. Easy peasy.

 I stuck these hoobie jobbies in there, too. I think it gives it an extra festive punch, don't you agree?

 Bally doo-dads. What is that stuff, holly?

 It wouldn't be a fall wreath without a few gourds thrown in for good measure. 

 Thar she blows!

I stuck this sucker to the front door with a giant suction cup. It's working beautifully. I'm really quite proud of myself. 

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

A shocking turn of events

If I never see or smell or taste another cookie again, it will be too soon.

That was a lie. But that is how I feel right now. I am all cookie-d out.

I brought my four and a half dozen chocolate toffee cookies with toasted walnuts to the cookie party last night and tasted 16 other people's cookies (which sounds kind of dirty if you have a twisted mind like me) and of course I lost the contest. The winner, my friend and hair stylist Ashley, made little butter thumbprint cookies with chocolate brandy something-or-the-other. On the way to the party she bragged that she had MICROWAVED her chocolate sauce. So there you have it. Double boiling is for suckers.

What I concluded was that if you're entering a cookie contest in which everyone has to taste 17 different cookies, you should probably make something that isn't too overwhelming. I admit my cookies were just too rich and chocolaty, and really quite brownie-like in taste. I'll give it another go next year with something a little lighter.

Here are a few photos of some of the entries.

 The winning cookies.

 My personal favorite, made by Holly, the daughter of our host Jackie.

 Red velvet cookies with cream cheese frosting. 

 Pumpkin cream cheese cookies. 

 Oatmeal cranberry white chocolate cookies

 Spice cookies, by Christie. 

 Triple threat chocolate cookies with pecans, by Andrea, who also foolishly used a double boiler.

 German chocolate thumb print cookies.

 Mint chocolate cookies by Jackie.

Monday, October 25, 2010


Today is the first day in the history of my life that I do not want to eat cookies. Incidentally, today is also the first day in the history of my life that I am baking seven dozen cookies and attending a giant cookie party/contest. (I only have to bring four and a half dozen, but making fewer cookies would require me to do math, and I am so far beyond that today)

So anyway. I searched the Internet far and wide for a really tasty looking cookie recipe, and found one on a new (to me) favorite cooking site called Smitten Kitchen. She has a recipe for a chocolate toffee cookie that she said rivaled the World Peace cookies she'd made, and I thought: Hell, if these cookies are better than world peace, I'll make 'em.

Belatedly, I realized I would have to toast walnuts in the oven, melt chocolate in the double broiler I don't own, and chill each batch for 45 minutes before baking. About ten minutes into making my second batch, I began to giggle hysterically and sing snippets of Roy Orbison songs spontaneously.

In the end, I forced myself to eat some of these cookies, and I'll be damned if they aren't durn good. Each batch has a pound of chocolate and five Heath bars: How could they not be good??

Still, I have no hope of winning the contest, which takes place tonight, seeing as how several cookie veterans will be there, cookies in tow. I'll try to bring you some pictures of the other contestants' cookies tomorrow, and especially the winning cookie.

Here are some photos from my own cookie making adventures today.

 Walnuts, toasted

 Bittersweet chocolate, Safeway brand. That's how I roll.

Improvising a double broiler. I placed this bowl on top of a simmering pot of water, and ...

Gooey, melty chocolate. I refrained from rubbing this all over my body and running up and down the block.

 Brown sugar and eggs. Beat it, just beat it.

I got a new camera for my birthday. Is it obvious?

 Num nums. 

 Good day, sir! That is toffee melting out of the side of that cookie. Don't mind if I do! 

That was exhausting. I need a nap.

If you hate yourself and would like to make these cookies, please visit this link. Also, I highly suggest you follow her suggestion regarding sea salt. Adieu!

Friday, October 22, 2010

A trip

I hate to fly, but love to travel. Two warring sentiments.

So because I love to travel so much, I never let my fear of flying deter me. I only worry about the flight starting the night before I have to get on it. Then, it's all I can do to stop myself from putting my head between my knees and yelling for my mommy throughout the whole flight.

Then we get off the plane and I'm fine again, until I have to fly home!

Las Vegas is a mere 1 hour, 15 minute flight from San Jose. You can get an alcoholic beverage about half an hour into the flight, which is 30 minutes after I've already remembered the plane crash I covered in which everyone died and imagined the vast space between the bottom of the airplane and the ground. It's 30 minutes after I've started reasoning with myself that surely everyone on this plane is much too attractive to die. They probably all have some grand purpose they've yet to fulfill on Earth, so this plane probably will not crash. No matter that it's simply impossible that I'm hurtling through the atmosphere in an aluminum tube.

All that to say that I braved certain death to visit Las Vegas, and returned unscathed, although I needed 24 hours to recuperate from lack of sleep and over-consumption of alcohol.

We stayed at New York New York and I am stating for the record that the decision to stay at this shit-tastic hotel is entirely my fault because for some reason I thought it was a nice hotel. I think someone told me it was nice. Perhaps that was 13 years ago, shortly after it opened. It probably was nice, at that time.

We arrived and they told us they could not guarantee us a king bed, which would leave us with two queen beds, which is straight up retarded. Our other option was to upgrade to the Ziggurat Room, which was 1,100 square feet and had a hot tub. We upgraded.

My first impression of the Ziggurat Room was that it was hella green. It soon became evident that the tinting on the windows was green, and regardless of the time of day, it always looked like nuclear winter outside.

I am so not joking

My second impression of the room was that it was hella big. Bigger than four out of the five apartments I've lived in. My third impression was that it was hella ugly.

1992 called. It wants its disgusting mural and track lighting back. 

 In homage to the room, I wore leggings and my new dirty pirate hooker boots. I was crippled upon our return from dinner at the MGM.

Dinner at Il Fornaio in NYNY. It was surprisingly decent, but I was unimpressed with my surroundings. 

There! Over the Statue of Liberty's left shoulder -- that's our green dungeon. 

All right! Enough bitching about the dumb room. It served its purpose.

Things I did not take photos of but which were totally awesome:

- Dinner at Craftsteak. This is Tom Colicchio's fancy schmancy restaurant in the MGM. We got the Chef's menu, and it was So. Much. Tasty. Food. Course 1: Heirloom tomato salad, caesar salad, grilled prawns, and mozzarella with sun dried tomato chutney. Course 2: Ribeye, filet mignon, mushroom risotto, grilled asparagus, potato puree. Course 3: Caramel apple cake with caramel ice cream, raspberry & chocolate sorbets, a fruit plate (that I completely ignored), and creme brulee. Never mind that this meal cost more than a month's rent on most of the aforementioned apartments.

- Blue Man Group. I know what you're thinking: "WTF?" My husband has always wanted to see it and although I was leery, we went. It ended up being really entertaining. Word to the wise: Do not be late, do not wear all black, and be prepared to participate.

- Le Reve. This was "my" show, as in we went to Blue Man Group for him, and Le Reve for me. It might have been the two glasses of chardonnay, but I almost cried during it, it was so beautiful. The show is partially aquatic and partially acrobatic and you find yourself wondering how in the world they are doing what they are doing.

- Society Cafe at the Wynn. I've heard they have a delicious breakfast there but we had dinner. They had these delicious macaroni truffle things that are kind of beyond description. My wedge salad was wonderful. Our orrechiette pasta with sun dried tomato and asparagus dishes were light and delectable.

- Gambling. My husband was glued to the Monopoly machine and I played several hours of video blackjack. I think we came out ahead, but who knows?

- Hanging out with my charming husband. We didn't watch TV, we didn't spend every waking hour on our iPhones, we didn't play video games (other than gambling). He's all right. I think I will keep him.

Friday, October 15, 2010

The boot

I bought this boot yesterday.

A salesman named Abraham talked me into it. I walked into the store and he, probably sensing my hopelessness, asked me if he could help me, and I explained that I needed a high boot that would fit around my calves. Then I sat down and let him bring me a number of different options. This one won, after I spent about 45 minutes tugging boots on and off and sweating profusely. I worried momentarily about butt sweat. It was not pretty.

So now all I need is a reason to dress like a hooker. Curse you, Jessica Simpson, and your slutty footwear.

In other news, I have decided I may not be blogging daily, starting ... now. I sometimes am just blogging to blog -- if it is a weekday, I feel I should blog, because I blog Monday through Friday, but if I have nothing of interest to say then you're just coming here for no reason and reading another mind-numbing post that you probably could have done without. The Internet is filled with drivel. I am going to try to provide you with less of that.

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Big brother

I have assumed for several months that at night my husband logs onto our computer and pulls up the file containing my as-yet unfinished book to check on my progress.

Do not ask me why I believed this was happening. My husband is not in the habit of spying on me normally, so I had no real reason to think he was doing this. Yet I was certain, beyond a doubt, that it was happening.

Sometimes when he would ask me, How is the book going?

I would think to myself, You know very well how the book is going. But I was intent on helping him believe that I didn't know what he was up to, so I would say this or that about the progress I was making.

I considered for months changing the password to the computer or installing password protection on the document. 

Last night he asked How's the book? Are you feeling blocked? 

As it happened, yesterday there was little progress. I'd attached a new beginning (probably the 20th new beginning to the book) and gone through what I have so far and made some tweaks. There was no noticeable growth in the word count, and there may have even been a decline in the word count as I was cleaning things up and eliminating unnecessary stuff.

But how could he have known that little progress had been made if he wasn't reading the book?

I'd had enough of the ruse. I finally told him I knew he was reading the book. He denied it and then laughed for about half an hour because I wouldn't believe him.

Then he looked at me very seriously and said I would never invade your privacy like that. You will show it to me when you are ready. 

And I finally believed him.


I live in half real life, half fantasy land, and in both worlds I am paranoid.

In both worlds I am not quite enough. Self-doubt can be crippling, although I do believe I need it in order to be a writer. If you meet a writer who believes what they write is wonderful ... well, do not introduce me to those kinds of people. It would not end well.

My husband is earnest. We are lying in bed and I'm playing with his hair and he is looking at me with his blue eyes I've always envied and he says that I don't know how intelligent and funny I am, and he is a very sweet man. Who obviously has not read my book.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Day off

I have decided that this week I am not going to write about how I am constantly wracked with self-doubt, therefore I am not sure what this post is going to be about, since all I can think about is my impending failure and how I probably have an incurable disease.

So! It's going to be a special week.

I'm going to take the day off from blogging. See you tomorrow.

Monday, October 11, 2010

They're climbing in your window, they're snatching your people up

There is this anti-Jerry Brown commercial right now in California, talking about how Jerry Brown is going to tax you within an inch of your life and then WHAT WILL YOU EAT FOR DINNER? The commercial might be a little stretching the truth just a tad.

It ends with a warning to "hide your wallet" if Brown gets elected.

(Sidenote: I'm not going to tell you how to vote, but if you'd like Meg Whitman to be governor then I suppose there is nothing wrong with electing the personification of evil into office. Plus, her hair? Sweet mother.)

And every time I hear "hide your wallet," I think of the video below. If you haven't seen it, it's a remix of a news report about an attempted rape in Alabama. Sounds hilarious, right?! The good news is, the girl who the would-be rapist was trying to rape? Her brother, Antoine, was home and chased the guy off. And then he talked to the news, and now he is an Internet sensation. And in case you're wondering, I've seen him interviewed, and he thinks it's rad.

I challenge you to watch this video and then not sing to yourself for the rest of the day, Hide your kids, hide your wife, hide your kids, hide your wife.

Also, you can stop watching around 1:18. The kids who make these videos feel the need to insert themselves into the last minute of their videos, and it kills the funny, fer sure. And also? Makes them look a little racist.

P.S. Please vote!

P.P.S. So you can run and tell that, run and tell that, run and tell that, homeboy, home home homeboy. 

Friday, October 08, 2010

The story of how we decided we hated the bed

So we got this bed when we got married.

The Sleep Number bed! The bed that will save your life! The bed that everyone will covet to the point that they will scratch out their own eyeballs in envy!

And my first clue that this was not the bed for us should have been that my parents recommended it.

God love 'em.

My parents slept on a waterbed for, oh, 30 some odd years. Have you ever slept on a waterbed? Sleeping on waterbeds is comfortable if you enjoy being perched at the apex of a giant plastic bubble all night long.

How my parents managed to stay married for 30 years while sleeping on a waterbed is completely beyond me.

Eventually they decided they needed something that was better for their backs, so they bought a Sleep Number bed.

The heavens cracked open and shone down upon their bedroom. The angels sang. My parents slept blissfully and raved about the new bed.

Cue me and my husband purchasing a Sleep Number bed a couple weeks after our wedding. At first it was bliss, particularly compared to the craptastic piece of broken crap bed we'd been sleeping on before - a double bed of dubious origin that sagged in the middle.

Fast forward four years and we hate the bed.

On the off chance you're not familiar with Sleep Number beds, the gimmick is that you and your partner can sleep at your own "numbers." You pump air in or let air out to get it to your desired firmness. Unfortunately this means that between the two sides of the bed, there's this uncomfortable lump that you can't lie on. You must lie on your side of the bed. This does not encourage romance.

Add to that the fact that the air pockets seem stabby, now, even on a low firmness setting. My husband complains that it feels like someone is pushing up against him, and his side of the bed looks broken - the side of it is pooching out and looks deflated. I'm convinced I would be more comfortable sleeping in a hammock.

So in conclusion, there is no purpose to this post other than to advise you to do your homework if you're looking to make an expensive purchase. I found out four years too late about all of the people who are extremely dissatisfied with their Sleep Number purchases. My husband and I have made a number of mistakes by going solely off the recommendations of friends and family members for goods and services, and the only people we can blame are ourselves.

Thursday, October 07, 2010

Me, blinged.

Me Blinged
Glitter Graphics

Annoying introspection

I have very little for you today.

I've been tripping around the Internet this week and feeling down and irritated about the state of my blog. And also irritable in general, which my poor, put-upon husband can attest to.

I've been having my dreams, my usual weird funky stupid death dreams, and last night (in my dream) I was taking part in a user-experience survey led by a friend who does contract work for user-experience stuff. To participate, I had to plug myself into a machine that completely changed how I looked. It was explained to me that this helped eliminate bias from the study.

When I changed my appearance, I was super-hot. I was like a young Robin Wright-Penn. In my dream, I stood in front of a mirror and touched my face - my new cheekbones and perfect eyebrows.

I've been thinking about cleaning my kitchen sink for about five days now. And also about going for a walk. And writing more. Much more. 

I've been reading chick lit books - it's my genre - and wondering exactly how long this whole book-writing thing is supposed to take. And then wondering if there will come a day when I actually feel OK about the book. And then wondering if there will come a day when it will be published or I will self-publish.

There will. I know that.

A few months ago my gynecologist asked me what genre my book falls into and I said chick lit and he stopped asking questions. First of all, why are gynecologists so nosy? And secondly does he think I am writing a romance novel? Oh, and thirdly, can we cut the chit-chat out of gynecological exams and just get that shit over with?

I can barely think straight because there is too much shit in this room I am sitting in. It's smothering.

My friend Christina, with whom I ruminate at length about the state of my laziness and why it seems impossible to diet/exercise/clean/motivate in general, mentioned the three legged stool theory, which I was not familiar with but which boils down to this:

You can really only adequately focus on three areas of your life at any given time. So could my three things be: My relationships, my book, and my blog? Or is my blog not enough to be a leg on the stool? Is the house a leg of the stool? If I want to exercise, does something else suffer? Does my problem really boil down to simple lack of motivation and laziness?


Wednesday, October 06, 2010

Team! Sugar! Free!

So Sunday was the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation's Walk for the Cure, which I participate in every year since my sister was diagnosed about four years ago.

We raise a little cashola and then meet up and walk at a snail's pace for about 45 minutes and then eat something and it helps us feel like we are doing something good, something that might actually lead to development of better drugs or even a cure.

(Sidenote: Juvenile/Type 1 diabetes is genetic, not a result of eating too many french fries.)

This year the walk was at Great America in Santa Clara, so there was a good turnout.

And there were some excellent people-watching opportunities.

Before the walk, a woman and a kid led a "warm-up" that was way more vigorous than the actual walk. Besides which, who warms up for a walk? Walking is a warm-up in and of itself, no?

 The "warm-up," to the tune of the Black-Eyed Peas' "I Gotta Feeling." Charlie Brown and Snoopy are getting their groove on.

 Walkers. Rollercoasters.

 Cute lil' pumpkin ride.

 Walkers & cobwebs. Sounds like a good name for a band.

This woman's legs were so skinny, I had to take a photo.

And then, of course, there was Team Sugar Free. We walked in front of this team of about ten 8-year-olds for about 5 minutes before deciding to let them pass because they were yelling quite angrily "Team! Sugar! Free!" over and over. I tried to catch it on video but this really does not represent how ... vocal they were. 

They're the little squirts in blue shirts scurrying on by. The video's only 11 seconds and you'll hear my sister telling me I need to get closer to them and me saying "Ugh, no." We sound like the same person and we both sound really weird.

So that was it for this year's JDRF walk. Next year we want to get a really big group together and make our own T-shirts and yell something obnoxious as we're walking. Who's in?!

Tuesday, October 05, 2010

Palacial destinations

Two years ago after a bunch of the family got together at Chukchansi Gold Resort & Casino for my grandma's 80th birthday, most of us got sick. My theories included food poisoning and norovirus. My aunt believes it could have been Legionnaire's disease, which us facilities wizards are familiar with: it's a bacterial thingy that grows in your air conditioning system. One more thing to worry about, right??

Anyway, we were a little wary of going to a casino again for my grandma's birthday, but the fact is there is simply nothing that woman loves doing more than pushing the "deal/draw" button on the video poker machine. So this year, we went to another Native American-run casino in Lemoore -  Tachi Palace.

It was muy, muy caliente in the Valley on Saturday.

There were 11 of us, and we made off toward the buffet right away. For the record, Tachi Palace has an excellent buffet. I'd venture to say it's better than Chukchansi's, and so far none of us have fallen ill from eating at it, so that's a win!

This was my first plate. That's nachos, a taco and a piece of lasagna. Later I went back for biscuits and gravy and a piece of bacon. A truly healthy meal, obviously.

My aunt's plate: A rib, fried chicken, mac & cheese and some fruit. Fiber is important. 

I am so coy post buffet-gorging. I am ready for a carb nap. 

After the buffet, the group divided. I made a bee-line for the bar and had a $9 martini. If I was going to lose money in a casino, I wanted to get at least one thing in return.

My sister and I tromped on over to some machines and collectively lost about $30. I found a place I could buy a latte. My sister had mint-chip ice cream (my half-Chinese friend tells me white people love mint chip ice cream. How do you feel about that, white people?).

We tromped on back to the machines to watch my grandmother play video poker. She has Parkinson's and can barely walk, but I truly believe she would stay in that chair, pressing the "deal/draw" button for two days straight, before collapsing in exhaustion. On a normal day, she takes a nap before lunchtime, but on Casino Day, she taps into some vast reserve of energy.

Problem is, she's the sweetest lady you'll ever meet and she looks totally heartbroken when you tell her it's time to stop feeding ten dollar bills into the machine because we have to go. Best to just hand her another $10.

We did finally get her out of Tachi Palace by promising her we would come back on Thanksgiving. I'm already planning my buffet meal...

(sidenote - I said the phrase 'Indian casino' twice to my Indian friend on Sunday. Like, she is actually Indian, not Native American. Are we still calling these things Indian casinos? Am I the most politically incorrect a-hole roaming the Earth? And also, curses upon the pilgrims for calling Native Americans 'Indians' and putting me in this situation in the first place. That is all.)

Monday, October 04, 2010

Dedicated to the sunset

Following a trip to Tachi Palace in Lemoore for my grandmother's 82nd birthday, we were treated to a beautiful sunset on the return trip. 

It started with this double rainbow, which was, sadly, not "full on" but still led to the recitation of the Double Rainbow Guy monologue. By the way, Hungry Bear, you are so right -- it was so bright, and so vivid, but it just didn't translate to film. 

This was followed by me obnoxiously repeating: "What does it mean?!"

Then the sunset began. You can see the reflection of my camera in many of these shots, as I'm shooting through the car window.

We drove past an ethereal rain cloud.

Near the end of the sunset, the clouds were glowing hot pink. 

It was a busy and good weekend. More tomorrow.

Friday, October 01, 2010

Hideous Microwave Contest! (& Giveaway) Winner!

The other day I entered a Pioneer Woman giveaway for a camera that costs almost $1,000. I frequently enter her KitchenAid mixer giveaways -- and she doesn't give away just the basic mixer, she gives away the super-fancy expensive ones. I imagine she has sponsors that are assisting her in being so generous.

Perhaps I should wait for sponsors, too. A $10 gift card to Starbucks doesn't seem to be much of a motivator! Also, I imagine it was sort of obnoxious to have to take a photo and email it to me in order to enter, rather than just leave a comment. My intentions are good: I want the opportunity to reward loyal readers without requiring too much of them in return.

So lucky for me, Trisha Q, who is one of my most loyal readers and commenters, entered the giveaway and has won the $10 gift card. Trisha is an absolutely gorgeous mother of two who is celebrating her three-year wedding anniversary and just yesterday posted several photos from her spectacular honeymoon.

Not so lucky for me, her microwave isn't nearly as hideous as I would like it to be, although - God bless her - the inside of it is completely filthy.

Trisha, I think you are a soul sister.

And here's a tip from another loyal reader and friend, Michelle - try the pumpkin spice frappucino, if you enjoy the pumpkin spice lattes. And get the whipped cream. It's like eating a piece of pumpkin pie. Delicious!

I hope you all have a great weekend! I'll be back Monday with pictures and the post mortem on my own weekend, which includes a walk with the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation. We are looking for a cure for Type 1 diabetes, which my sister has. If you feel inclined to donate or would like to read more about the cause, please visit my donation page.