Daily Archives: June 6, 2008
Virgin Mary, Sacred Cooter, Potayto, Potahto
Can I See the Future with Google Reader?
So, I was just about to tell you about my dreams for built-in bookshelves and how I had been reading over at Dooce’s and saw a room that had just the kinds of shelves I want only to realize it’s a picture of a bookstore and I go over to Dooce to link to it and…
No picture of a bookstore full of bookshelves.
Has it not been posted yet? Can I use Google Reader to see the future?
Oh, wait. I’m stupid. Here it is.
Anyway, we’re doing the home inspection next week. I’m trying to figure out what color to paint the places that are painted that weird red/purple, something that really shows off the wood, which past owners have been smart enough to leave untouched.
For a while there was this show on HGTV where they’d show you what your room would look like in different colors and explain what certain colors made a room feel like and which ones would blend in with your wood and which would set it off. I need color advice like that.
And, I wonder, if the home inspection goes well, if I can plant my wisteria ahead of time…
But the main thing I wonder is this. What will Mrs. Wigglebottom make of the back yard? In the whole time she’s lived with us, she’s been allowed off-leash outside for longer than from the car to the front door a whole grand total of four times. It’s hard for me to imagine what that will be like for her to have a whole yard to run around in or lay in the sun in. It makes me so happy to be able to do this for her.
I mean, don’t get me wrong. I am pants-pissing excited about doing it for myself (shoot, just the thought of putting in real bookshelves and ditching the pressed board messes makes me so happy I about can’t stand it). But letting my dog into the back yard?
Damn. That’s going to be something.
Things Like this Just Didn’t Happen in the Methodist Church
A Knoxville dude is suing his church for not catching him when the Spirit moved him.
When I was growing up, in the Methodist church, at most the Spirit moved you to bring a casserole some place, which, though often meant 12 green bean casseroles at a funeral dinner, never meant anyone got sued.
Bake at 100 Degrees Until Done
Every day, when we get home from our walk, Mrs. Wigglebottom gets a treat and then she comes up to my bed room, climbs onto the bed, and gets right in the morning sun. It’s hot and she’s covered in dark brown and black fur, so she’s sitting there panting like she’s running a race, but she looks over at me like she couldn’t be in any better spot in the whole wide world, so what can I tell you?
It doesn’t make sense to me, but she loves it.