So here are some pictures of stuff, it's faster than writing.
Shiny refinished hardwood floors. I am afraid to stand on them.
Our old apartment is...rustic. We were cleaning up killer dust bunnies last night when we discovered that the bedroom floor has been held up all these years by a pickle jar. I hoped it was filled with moonshine, but alas, it must just be for support. Thank you, pickle jar, for being there even when we didn't know you existed. It's kinda like the Footprints in the Sand poem, right?
Do you all recognize this cow-on-a-stick? It's been with me since college. There's a longish story attached, but the point is, the cow's going away. Cows-on-sticks don't belong in grown-up houses. It's sad, but true. Enjoy that great big pasture-on-a-stick in the sky, cow-on-a-stick.Movers are here now, gotta go. One of them is a guy I went to college with. Dave Rudnik, anyone? Small world.
