Hard act to follow. Also known as rambling.

How in the world do you follow up after posting a panty girdle? Y'all, I put panties on my blog. Now what's left to talk about? Ummm....well...oh I know! I had a brave moment last night and went back in the box of horrors (Yes, I threw out the panties. You guys are sick) and I contemplated the bag of yarn intestines. Then I opened the bag. No smell. Good sign, that. So I very tentatively reached in and touched the yarn guts. Oh. My. Goodness. I cannot describe how soft and silky it is. I want sheets made of this stuff. Actually I want a long dress made of it and then to slip it on after a nice exfoliating shower where the legs have been shaved and to walk along and have it rub against my skin. Yeah, it's that good. It's sex yarn.

What do I do with this stuff?? Do I leave it white and once I use it hide it somewhere it will never get dirty? Do I take a small sample and see if I can dye it a satisfactory color and make myself something with it? Does anyone have a clue as to what this stuff could be??? It's like silk. It's jumbled in that bag but not knotted or frayed. A clue? Anyone?

So I went yesterday to get my passport for the cruise cuz you need one now to go that far south into Mexico. I went on my lunch break because I live in a small town. They wouldn't be busy. Nobody goes anywhere. Ri-iight. Two hours folks. That's 2. Hours. Sitting there. And since I was coming from work, did I have any yarn with me? NO! I did not! I had to sit there like a lump and smile at the nice lady with the screaming child like I didn't mind the screaming and there was no yarny goodness to be had. I didn't even have a book. I felt really stupid. It says something when you feel stupid because you're NOT crocheting in public, y'all.

Thanks to all of you who sent well wishes for the boy. He is feeling much better but now gets in trouble if I think he's breathing wrong. He now growls at me when I go to pick him up. If I see him trying to get on the couch, I tell him "No, sir." Then I go and pick him up by his front and back to put him lovingly on the sofa. The entire time he is smiling and growling in gratitude for helping him. I know he is. He loves his momma for taking such good care of him. He loves me so much right now, he is nice and stays out from under my feet by hanging out with Daddy all day. He's so considerate he doesn't even come to me when I call him and offer treats.

He also gratefully growls at me and shows me his pretty smile when I get out the peanut butter. See, his meds have to be taken with food, and if I roll the pills up in peanut butter, he doesn't spit them out. And of course, I went and got him organic peanut butter. The hubby gets Kroger brand. Nothing but the best for Boy though. I have a wonderful sense of priority. Anyway, to get him to take the peanut butter, I have to gently pry his mouth open and rub it on his tongue then quickly remove my fingers before he bites them in his zealousness to get to the yummy peanut butter. Then he gazes at me with love and makes appreciative noises that only SOUND like growling while he takes his medicine. I've had to remind him lately that kisses don't involve teeth, but he's such an affectionate little bugger.

I've been reading a lot lately and I highly recommend The Time Traveler's Wife, by Audrey Niffenegger and Memoirs of a Geisha, by Arthur Golden. Both of them very nice reads. But then, I read a variety of things and use books as my escape from reality. My ultimate brain candy series is the Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter series, by Laurell K. Hamilton. Y'all, I really like her stuff. Not because it's deep or cause me to rethink my life or anything like that. I don't read books to better myself. Pffft. I read because I have an over active imagination and this gives it some place to burn off. Also, don't talk to me if I am reading. I will bite your face. It's not pretty. If you have to get my attention, bring a brass band and then run away until I finish the section. But yeah. Laurell K. Hamilton is my not-so-secret-any-longer vice. The books get a bit....umm...racy, but not in a Harlequin romance sort of way. Ugh. I really don't want to read about how he was pulsing and she was heaving and there might have been throbbing involved. And it's not that I mind a good sex scene in a book, but let's call a spade a spade and not a "moisture missile" or "throbbing python of love." Please? Can we NOT call them that?

Well, enough rambling. Now that I've broken your brains and horrified with my choice of questionable literature *snerk*, I'll end this silliness and call it a day.

Hope everyone has a great weekend!

Update: Y'all, I just read through this post again and it's all sex and peanut butter. I'm not sure what that says about me or what kind of people are going to end up on my blog now. I'm frightened.