My dear, if you are reading this then it means I have been captured, or worse, force fed black tea and stale crackers while Stabilo’s Flawed Design repeats over and over on an old phonograph. I didn’t even think they made pressings anymore. So the movement has been betrayed from the inside, and my persecutors have knowledge they should not have. But I will remain strong! They will not get the information they seek no matter how much they play Stabilo. I am bringing along a Robertson screwdriver to puncture my eardrums if they continue to play that dreaded song. My one regret is that Stabilo outlived me…well, that and time lost with you, the children, yada yada….

Actually, all kidding aside, I really do hate that song. If you haven’t heard it, I suggest a quick download just to see the type of tripe they play on the radio nowadays. Ugh! I’d rather listen to Britney, and that’s saying something.

Not much happened this weekend. Went to Calaway Park with Roger, waited for an uncaring gentleman to clean the carpets, and just tooled around, really.

Calaway Park is almost unchanged from when I went to it last. The rides are short, but it provides enough amusement to keep you in 45 minute line-ups to get to them. Roger and I went on four rides before we had to quit due to stomach related reasons. Seeing as most of the rides spin, this was not much of a surprise. Felt a little weird going to an amusement park without the kids, so I probably won’t go again before they get here. We got season’s passes, so we’ll be able to go many, many times before the year is up.

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but the place I’ve rented for me and my family wasn’t quite as clean as I would have liked it to be when I moved in. I actually typed up a huge list detailing all the bumps, dents, marks and stains that I would not be responsible for and sent it to my landlord who resides in Minessota. He actually responded pretty quickly and got a carpet cleaner in immediately. He came on a Sunday, and I could tell by his haphazard manor that he didn’t give a, um, bleep about whether the carpet was clean or not after he was finished. Roger is currently in what will be Kristen’s room sleeping on a futon, and when this, ahem, gentleman seemed to be finished in that room, I asked him if he wanted me to move the bed. I knew he hadn’t done underneath. He just looks at me with a surprised look on his face and says that he didn’t know that I wanted him to do that. What the?!? Of course I want him to do that, I say, my daughter’s going to be sleeping in here. Sheesh! I’m glad I wasn’t paying him, but now I have to live with his shoddy workmanship. I feel like giving out his company’s name just so people avoid it, but I’m afraid of the repercussions. Just phone or email me if you want to know which company to avoid.

But it smells better now, anyway.

Roger and I rented The Ringer which was a very funny movie about Johnny Knoxville fixing the Special Olympics. You could tell that the Farrelley Brothers, the guys who produced the movie, really care for these guys by the way they cast them and handled the material. Most of the jokes came from the special people and just goes to show they can do anything. To those of you who’ve gotten into the current century and have gotten a DVD player (ahem, not my mom and dad)watch the deleted scenes.

And seeing as it’s Monday, I’m back to work. There may be a field trip in store for my future. Apparently, for one to understand what they are actually doing it may be a good idea to see the outcome, so I’m probably going to go out to Brooks (the land of fetid meat) and check out a compressor station out there. Should be a hoot, I guess.

Oh, and I guess it just wouldn’t be a complete post without a roommate story, eh? We share a Kitchen; that was part of the deal. And he keeps such odd hours. So after Roger was done with me humiliating him on the PS2, at around 11pm we decide that it’s time to turn in. However, while I’m in my room getting ready for bed, I start to hear this intermittent scraping noise coming from the kitchen. I go to check it out, and there’s my roomy shredding carrots into a big bowl. I asked him what he was doing, and with a big smile on his face he responds, “Making salad! You want?” I said thanks but I was going to bed. That man keeps some odd hours. I mean, I hate sleeping but I don’t think he does. Guess I better wrap my neck up and hang garlic on my door knob.

Wow! On a scale of one to boring, this post wasn’t very exciting. Sorry. I’ll try harder next time. Ciao!