My knitting continues (okay, mostly ripping out stuff I've attempted to knit), I managed to get devoured by any number of biting insects in places I can't begin to scratch in public, and my Mother is still able to get on my last nerve, even while she's asleep (as she has mastered the art of whining while snoring while farting and flopping about restlessly like a dying fish). I've developed some kind of weird addiction to Arby's Sourdough Ham & Cheese Melts (mostly because they're not fried and they're cheap), and as if this place isn't already repressive enough, the town is overrun by Britney Spears wannabees serving as groupies for the shitload of baseball players here for the annual College World Series. Once upon a time, baseball used to be fun for me to watch, however in my middle-age, my patience for sweaty, drunken midwesternerers and their slack-jawed offspring has essentially evaporated. They're all so "wholesome" and oozing with how-do-you-say, "family-values" it's enough to induce projectile vomiting. (I hate them so much, right now...)
That's about all for my rant--now, I have to go strip down and commence to scratching like a baboon. The only calamine lotion in the house is so old, it doesn't even have a UPC code on the bottle. You think that stuff goes bad after say, 17 years?
Wish me luck...ciao fo' now.