WHOOT. Anyway, Madam Z's comments reminded me to update about Die Hard man's chin follicle issue. I've nipped that in the bud, in a way. DH didn't admit to wanting a "chin caterpillar" -- thanks, Steph! But a massage-cum-shave deal over the weekend was warmly accepted ... get your minds out of the gutter, people, I don't mean that "cum." OK, I meant to take you to Guttersville, so never you mind.
Besides that, I've got nothing. Nada, mi gente. Except to tell you that it's been DELICIOUS just lying around after work catching up on books and reading--and-writing along to the one I've been meaning to get to forever. It's great to actually get out of the office when my job description says I'm supposed to.
AND even my dreams have been as ho-hum as my waking life. The only good news there is I finally remembered one upon waking and jotted it down in my very neglected dream journal, which is also very squished from having been pushed into the crack between bed headboard and mattress under a pillow.
I dreamt that I stopped by for dinner at a place called Norman's. There's no such place around here, that I know of. It had the feel of an oldster high-end hangout, much like Melvyn's Restaurant and Lounge in Palm Springs. Like Frank Sinatra's ghost still lurking at the bar would be no shock. And the owner of the dream restaurant, Norman, kept repeatedly passing by my table and others, asking us how our dinner was, and twice I choked out "Great, it's great" between mouthfuls. It's like Norman would forget he just asked two minutes ago. Anyway, now that I think about it, the owner also reminds me of Sherman, of Sherman's Deli in Palm Springs. Seriously, if you're ever in Palm Springs, Sherman's Deli is the place to go for kosher and OHMYGOD the made-from-scratch, deep dish apple pie is HEAVEN.
.... mmmmkay, asleep yet? Yes? Good :)