No time to blog. Mr. Frick and the Biscuit left five minutes ago, and Girls Only Weekend II is officially underway. Joan Jett on the stereo*, fridge stocked with Izzie Clementine, mozzarella balls, and farm tomatoes, good also-knocked-up-with-baby -two girlfriend on the way, the first season of "Angel" waiting on top of the tube, and two monster projects on deck- Fricklet's baby blanket and Biscuit's baby book. It's a pressure cooker up in here, albeit with good snacks.
I was remarkably easy to seam, once she quit her bitching.
My tail is a tale of errata. Blue Sky Alpacas calls it an "update." Seems they've been taking semantics lessons from our President.
Also, as this aerial view would prove, we are clearly not fish. But we don't expect ichthyology degrees from our pattern designers, now do we?
(While writing this post, the mix on the stereo, a leftover from when I was official DJ at my MFA program's dance party, has sailed through: 1. Todd Rundgren, 2. J. Giles Band, and 3. The Ramones, which has made me think of the following:
1. Crap, I should also spend some of this weekend working on sub notes for my maternity leave. ("Bang on the Drum All Day")
2. Crap, don't forget to send them over here to Rich's recap of Rock of Love, which I will never watch but instead read every recap Rich writes. ("Centerfold")
3. Crap, maybe I should also work on the Birth Plan. ("I Wanna Be Sedated")
Just kidding on that last one. My plan is to have a baby. Period. Now I'm going to turn off the music, because nothing else is fitting on this list of to-do's. See you on the flip!