Living Dead Dolls. I can't tell if these are really evil or reallly cool. What I do know is that the poetry that describes each doll is realllly bad. Couldn't they have found a better writer, like me, for example. I could have written better rhyming dead doll poems than that in my sleep. The little Catholic school girl in me doesn't like the dead nun dolls, they scare me, and seem sacreligeous. Yes, they got me good. I get upset when Scott makes too many jokes at God's expense.
We're going to the desert tomorrow. I'm used to saying Palm Springs, been saying it my whole life, but everyone corrects me because our new house is really in Palm Desert so I'm practicing saying the desert, we're going to the desert.
I've been so sensitive and grouchy lately. It's got to be something hormonal. I went off the pill, anything to help me lose some weight before my surgery in March, and that might have something to do with it. My acne has come back. I guess it missed me, sigh.
We had our neighborhood block captain's meeting at the local church tonight. I was dreading it, but it always turns out to be a nice thing. I adore our president. She is such a terrific lady. I think she might be in her seventies and she's just, well, incredible. I like her so much.
The gardeners spread fertilizer all around the garden today. Isn't there any kind of fertilizer that doesn't smell that bad. Here are my roses and here are my little piles of ground up cow poop.
I am just too tired to be writing, tired, grouchy and hungry. Talk to you later.