(But first, I want to let the owner of Stupid People that alas, she is squatting on some seriously stupid space. Because I've been reading her blog for a while tonight, and I can't figure out what her name is. And it's too late. I've bred--twice. Yes, I have boldly littered the world with little stupid people. )
Anyway, it's a very well-written blog with a great template, and if you submit your blog for inspection, she'll review it for you. Her reviews are fair and constructive. I don't know--I guess I have a soft spot for blogs that review other blogs, like Mystikal Incense. I mean, maybe, just maybe, if I read enough reviews, I'll end up understanding what's up with this whole blogging thing. So I might submit mine to Stupid People Shouldn't Breed. As soon as I find out whom I'm talking to.
Also--and this is not entirely coincidental--the Emily the Strange art and general color scheme look AWESOME on my site. (What's black and white and red all over? My blog! HAHAHAHAHA! Funny!)
But even if the design didn't complement my design perfectly, I'd rend the space to her/it/him. Really, I would. Honestly--I'm not that shallow. It's a good read. Check it out.
OK, this was another busy day at Poppy's Institute of Desktop Publishing, but I finally got the stupid program for the Tinkerty Tonk Ladies' Organization's annual meeting done. What a relief that was. Of course, it ain't over 'til it's over. Tonight I had to totally eviscerate my accessories closet because I knew that somewhere in there, I had a few pairs of white cotton gloves. I need to wear gloves tomorrow because before the
I know what you're thinking: "White gloves? Corsages? Does Poppy know how to party or what?" Hell, yeah. (Three guesses what the average age of the members of this organization is. I'll be one of the youngest women in the room. If I drop the flag, they'll probably spank me. Or make me sit in the corner.)
We finally got around to using the new gas grill today. Once we figured out how to regulate the heat, it was easy and fun to grill so many pieces of chicken at once. It looked and smelled great, too. It didn't taste all that great, but whatever.
My daughter went in for a second day of brain weighing today. Since my son has gone through this process, too, I was a bit put off when the weigher suggested we walk through the bill. The dialogue went like this:
Brain Weigher: And now, I'd like to go through the bill with you.
Poppy: Hey, do we have to do this? Because we went through this in January, when you weighed the boy's brain--unless things have changed, I think I know the drill.
BW: No, nothing's changed since then.
Poppy: OK, so let's make sure I understand the process. You bill for the eight hours you spent weighing her brain, then you bill for the hours you spend writing your report. Then, after a reasonable period, say, three or four weeks, I start deducting $100 per week for each week past four weeks that I have to wait for the report.
BW: [Silent look of shock]
Poppy: Just kidding!
Poppy: [Rising to exit the room] I would like to see that report on my son, though. It has been a while.
Proof that I married the right man? I reported that interchange, and he laughed. Loudly.
If anyone asks me my secret to a happy marriage, I'll tell him the secret is to agree on who's an asshole. Nothing gives us a warmer glow than abusing a common enemy.