- The fundraiser preparations are going great. It's nine days away, eeek! I think I'm pretty much prepared, with the exception of a few last minute details I'm working on. If you haven't already, please email me with the number of tickets you'd like, and I'll put on you the "pay at the door" list. Thank you to all who have RSVP'd already. We're gonna have a great time!
- We have additional auction/raffle items now - an autographed Blues hockey puck from Andy McDonald; an autographed football from Tory Holt; a Hannah Montana basket; wine baskets galore; a movie basket, complete with DVDs and popcorn; two more sets of Cardinals tickets, and *drumroll* an autographed guitar from Brooks and Dunn. So Boot Scoot Boogie your way to the fundraiser for a chance at this gorgeous guitar.
- As for holiday weekend plans, I'm taking Maddy to see Wall-E tomorrow afternoon. Craig and I are going to the Cards/Cubs game tomorrow night. I'm so excited! The weather is supposed to be gorgeous too. High in the 80s and the rain is supposed to move out by the afternoon.
- Saturday we're having a barbecue, complete with a homemade slip and slide fashioned from a painter's tarp, baby shampoo and a hose. Can you say redneck? We'll be lighting fireworks once it gets dark. I should go ahead and put 911 on notice now.
- Sunday we have no plans, so far. Maybe I'll take Maddy to Splash City, and I can work on my tan.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
This 'n That
Just a few random blurbs before the holiday weekend (and fun with bullet points!):
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Play Ball!
To continue the saga of our Dallas trip, after perusing the livestock, hitting the bar and two-stepping, we piled into the truck and headed for Arlington to see the Texas Rangers play ball.
I love this stadium. It is about thirteen years old and was one of the first to adopt the "old-time" ballpark look, similar to how the new Busch Stadium was constructed. The new Texas Stadium, where the Cowboys play, is currently under construction near the ballpark. Hopefully the City of Arlington will be more successful at implementing their business and condo construction plans than St. Louis' Ballpark Village turned out (fishing in Lake DeWitt, anyone?).
Ahem.
Anyway, as you enter the stadium, they have games for the kids to play. Of course, Maddy tried them all. We also had our picture taken with the Nolan Ryan statue. He's my favorite ball player. I named my greyhound for him. Ironically, Nolan Ryan owns a minor league team named The Rockhounds. Coincidence?
We headed to the seats, which were on the second level, second row, overlooking first base. They were decent seats. My Uncle Tony was eyeballing a group of better seats over on the third base side, so after the third inning, we headed over there. We're seat pirates, we're not proud.
He has a "connection" into the Jose Cuervo Club, so after the fourth inning, and before the imminent rain started, we headed to the club. Luckily we grabbed a table just as another group was vacating it. I was hoping they all hadn't decided to head to the bathroom at once. That would have been awkward.
My uncle also knew one of the ushers in the VIP section, and she was kind enough to let Maddy stand over out of the way and watch the game through the big window. Eventually, the VIP seats started to clear out and Maddy was able to sit in the leather recliners up on the glass. I even brought her a soda. Such service for the princess!
After the game was over, (we lost), they had fireworks. We went back down to the seats and ooohed and ahhhed over the fireworks. I need to learn how to photograph fireworks, because out of the 945 pictures I took, 5 were clear. Craig asked if I'd like to watch the actual fireworks instead of seeing them through the viewfinder. I am a dork.
We were hungry post-game, so my uncle took us to my favorite place, Whataburger. Sadly, they're only in the South. Dang it. They are fantastic. I don't know what makes them so special, other than I don't eat them once a week, so maybe that's the attraction.
We headed back to the house, ate our Whataburgers, and hit the hay. It had been a long day.
Tomorrow, Sunday's trip to the Galleria and our flight home. Good times.
Pics up on Flickr.
I love this stadium. It is about thirteen years old and was one of the first to adopt the "old-time" ballpark look, similar to how the new Busch Stadium was constructed. The new Texas Stadium, where the Cowboys play, is currently under construction near the ballpark. Hopefully the City of Arlington will be more successful at implementing their business and condo construction plans than St. Louis' Ballpark Village turned out (fishing in Lake DeWitt, anyone?).
Ahem.
Anyway, as you enter the stadium, they have games for the kids to play. Of course, Maddy tried them all. We also had our picture taken with the Nolan Ryan statue. He's my favorite ball player. I named my greyhound for him. Ironically, Nolan Ryan owns a minor league team named The Rockhounds. Coincidence?
We headed to the seats, which were on the second level, second row, overlooking first base. They were decent seats. My Uncle Tony was eyeballing a group of better seats over on the third base side, so after the third inning, we headed over there. We're seat pirates, we're not proud.
He has a "connection" into the Jose Cuervo Club, so after the fourth inning, and before the imminent rain started, we headed to the club. Luckily we grabbed a table just as another group was vacating it. I was hoping they all hadn't decided to head to the bathroom at once. That would have been awkward.
My uncle also knew one of the ushers in the VIP section, and she was kind enough to let Maddy stand over out of the way and watch the game through the big window. Eventually, the VIP seats started to clear out and Maddy was able to sit in the leather recliners up on the glass. I even brought her a soda. Such service for the princess!
After the game was over, (we lost), they had fireworks. We went back down to the seats and ooohed and ahhhed over the fireworks. I need to learn how to photograph fireworks, because out of the 945 pictures I took, 5 were clear. Craig asked if I'd like to watch the actual fireworks instead of seeing them through the viewfinder. I am a dork.
We were hungry post-game, so my uncle took us to my favorite place, Whataburger. Sadly, they're only in the South. Dang it. They are fantastic. I don't know what makes them so special, other than I don't eat them once a week, so maybe that's the attraction.
We headed back to the house, ate our Whataburgers, and hit the hay. It had been a long day.
Tomorrow, Sunday's trip to the Galleria and our flight home. Good times.
Pics up on Flickr.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Boots and Chaps and Cowboy Hats
While in Texas this past weekend, we went to the Ft. Worth Stockyards. In all my years of living near and/or visiting the Dallas Metroplex, I have never been there. I highly recommend going, if you're in the area. These are the actual stockyards that the longhorns were herded to and loaded up on trains headed to St. Louis, Kansas City and Chicago. They have restored the holding pens, the train depot now houses restaurants and shops, and most of the there businesses on the boulevard date from the early 1900s, like the Stockyards Hotel and Fincher's Western Wear, where there is a bar in the store. I may do all my future shopping there.
Let me tell you - it was a blast. It was also like a blast furnace - it was HOT. The high on Saturday was 98. But there was a breeze, so if you did burst into flames they'd be blown out by the wind.
What did we do? I think the question is what didn't we do:
Maddy rode a longhorn; rode a horse; ate some mesquite-smoked ribs; saw a cattle drive; got a cowboy hat; got a charm bracelet; got a western shirt and boots; two-stepped at Billy Bob's; sat on a saddle barstool and had a drink at the bar of the Stockyards Hotel; and, had a good ol' time.
Meanwhile, I took her picture on a longhorn and on a horse; ate barbecued bologna (yes, it was good); bought her a cowboy hat, bracelet, shirt and boots; danced with her at Billy Bob's; sat on the saddle next to her at the bar, and watched her have a good ol' time.
And that was just Saturday during the day.
Watch this space for Saturday night and Sunday's festitivies. I'll be uploading the 9,487 pictures on Flickr later tonight.
Let me tell you - it was a blast. It was also like a blast furnace - it was HOT. The high on Saturday was 98. But there was a breeze, so if you did burst into flames they'd be blown out by the wind.
What did we do? I think the question is what didn't we do:
Maddy rode a longhorn; rode a horse; ate some mesquite-smoked ribs; saw a cattle drive; got a cowboy hat; got a charm bracelet; got a western shirt and boots; two-stepped at Billy Bob's; sat on a saddle barstool and had a drink at the bar of the Stockyards Hotel; and, had a good ol' time.
Meanwhile, I took her picture on a longhorn and on a horse; ate barbecued bologna (yes, it was good); bought her a cowboy hat, bracelet, shirt and boots; danced with her at Billy Bob's; sat on the saddle next to her at the bar, and watched her have a good ol' time.
And that was just Saturday during the day.
Watch this space for Saturday night and Sunday's festitivies. I'll be uploading the 9,487 pictures on Flickr later tonight.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Nervous Flier
I'm a little nervous about flying. I'm not a white-knuckle flier anymore, but I have a certain amount of apprehension before boarding an airplane.
First, security. They're not nice. Well, I'm sure they are nice people away from their jobs, but in that line, they're all business. I've gone through my purse and made sure I don't have anything that might be considered a weapon or an explosive...crap, better take out that lotion...what about my nose drops? Better check the TSA site...oh hell, they have to be in a quart size ziptop bag. Never mind, I'll leave them here. I'll just have chapped hands and a dry nose.
Second, boarding the plane. It's like getting on the bus on your first day of school when you just moved to the neighborhood - I feel like everyone is looking at me. Luckily Maddy, Craig and I have the whole row so I don't have to climb over my seatmate. That's one way to break the ice - sit on a stranger's lap while trying to get by them while simultaneously ducking your head to avoid the overhead bin. I smack my head on that all the time. You'd think with all our advances in technology someone could figure out how the make the plane ceiling all the same height.
Third, take off. Whoever told me that takeoff and landing were the most dangerous parts of a flight really should have just kept it to themselves. The plane backs away from the airlock, I look out the window to make sure the luggage handlers aren't running for the lives (first sign of a wayward plane), and we begin our taxi to get in line for takeoff. I remember sitting on the tarmac for 30 minutes in Detroit and it was like rush hour traffic, speed up to move six feet, then slam on the brakes. I really thought we were just going to drive back to St. Louis.
The plane gets to the end of the runway, and the engines wind up with that high-pitched whine. Everyone tenses as we accelerate down the pavement, picking up speed. The ground is beginning to blur, the wheels are bumping on the concrete and you're being pushed back into your seat. Suddenly it all goes smooth and you watch the ground recede a few feet at a time, until the cars are toys on ribbon roads and the clouds cast shadows on the earth below.
Fourth, landing. Circling the airport, dropping altitude until I think my ears will explode with the pressure and then finally having the ground rush up to meet the plane's wheels with a thump, whoomp, and screech of the brakes. Once again, you're slammed into your seat by the force. This is my favorite part of the flight, when it's over. I circled Raleigh-Durham once in overcast weather, and it freaked me out, because I couldn't see the ground. The pilot had to hover for about 15 minutes before he could make his descent, and we didn't see the green, green grass of our home planet until seconds before we landed. When traveling at a high rate of speed, I like to see where I might wind up. It's just a quirk I have.
Once you land, people start gathering up their magazines, books and coats. If you fly Southwest they will also remind you to take your children. The lucky aisle sitters open the bins and start rifling through looking for their carry-on (or someone else's, if it looks better). Then they all stand in the aisle for 10 minutes until the flight attendant opens the door. Honestly, people, have you never flown before? The door doesn't magically open upon contact with the runway. Sit DOWN! You're making me claustrophobic. And of course I want to join them but I'm stuck under the overhead bin and I'm too tall to stand up straight.
Fifth, luggage retrieval. I really want to ride the luggage carousel. I don't know why. It just looks like fun. My luggage has pink and white polka dot ribbons on it. Some people put so many ribbons on their luggage - just pin a homecoming corsage on it already. I really want hot pink luggage. Or one of those old fashioned Samsonite round cosmetic cases. Tres retro!
Anyway, if you're lucky, your luggage comes quickly, and you're not standing all alone watching a forlorn cardboard box making an endless loop.
The best part of flying? When you find your ride, give him or her a hug, load your luggage into the car, crack open a nice cold one (if you're met by my family, coolers are de rigeur), and thank God you're there, safe and sound.
First, security. They're not nice. Well, I'm sure they are nice people away from their jobs, but in that line, they're all business. I've gone through my purse and made sure I don't have anything that might be considered a weapon or an explosive...crap, better take out that lotion...what about my nose drops? Better check the TSA site...oh hell, they have to be in a quart size ziptop bag. Never mind, I'll leave them here. I'll just have chapped hands and a dry nose.
Second, boarding the plane. It's like getting on the bus on your first day of school when you just moved to the neighborhood - I feel like everyone is looking at me. Luckily Maddy, Craig and I have the whole row so I don't have to climb over my seatmate. That's one way to break the ice - sit on a stranger's lap while trying to get by them while simultaneously ducking your head to avoid the overhead bin. I smack my head on that all the time. You'd think with all our advances in technology someone could figure out how the make the plane ceiling all the same height.
Third, take off. Whoever told me that takeoff and landing were the most dangerous parts of a flight really should have just kept it to themselves. The plane backs away from the airlock, I look out the window to make sure the luggage handlers aren't running for the lives (first sign of a wayward plane), and we begin our taxi to get in line for takeoff. I remember sitting on the tarmac for 30 minutes in Detroit and it was like rush hour traffic, speed up to move six feet, then slam on the brakes. I really thought we were just going to drive back to St. Louis.
The plane gets to the end of the runway, and the engines wind up with that high-pitched whine. Everyone tenses as we accelerate down the pavement, picking up speed. The ground is beginning to blur, the wheels are bumping on the concrete and you're being pushed back into your seat. Suddenly it all goes smooth and you watch the ground recede a few feet at a time, until the cars are toys on ribbon roads and the clouds cast shadows on the earth below.
Fourth, landing. Circling the airport, dropping altitude until I think my ears will explode with the pressure and then finally having the ground rush up to meet the plane's wheels with a thump, whoomp, and screech of the brakes. Once again, you're slammed into your seat by the force. This is my favorite part of the flight, when it's over. I circled Raleigh-Durham once in overcast weather, and it freaked me out, because I couldn't see the ground. The pilot had to hover for about 15 minutes before he could make his descent, and we didn't see the green, green grass of our home planet until seconds before we landed. When traveling at a high rate of speed, I like to see where I might wind up. It's just a quirk I have.
Once you land, people start gathering up their magazines, books and coats. If you fly Southwest they will also remind you to take your children. The lucky aisle sitters open the bins and start rifling through looking for their carry-on (or someone else's, if it looks better). Then they all stand in the aisle for 10 minutes until the flight attendant opens the door. Honestly, people, have you never flown before? The door doesn't magically open upon contact with the runway. Sit DOWN! You're making me claustrophobic. And of course I want to join them but I'm stuck under the overhead bin and I'm too tall to stand up straight.
Fifth, luggage retrieval. I really want to ride the luggage carousel. I don't know why. It just looks like fun. My luggage has pink and white polka dot ribbons on it. Some people put so many ribbons on their luggage - just pin a homecoming corsage on it already. I really want hot pink luggage. Or one of those old fashioned Samsonite round cosmetic cases. Tres retro!
Anyway, if you're lucky, your luggage comes quickly, and you're not standing all alone watching a forlorn cardboard box making an endless loop.
The best part of flying? When you find your ride, give him or her a hug, load your luggage into the car, crack open a nice cold one (if you're met by my family, coolers are de rigeur), and thank God you're there, safe and sound.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
I Hope I Don't Break Anything
I'm going to Dallas this weekend to visit my Uncle Tony. He is my dad's youngest brother. Tony has always been the fun uncle, like Travis is to my kids.
Tony has a son, Brent. When Brent was younger, he was a shit, to put it kindly. One of my favorite stories is when he was staying with my mammaw he stole the neighbor's gun out of his car. The neighbor was a Roby cop, who had come home for lunch and left his holster in his car. (The town had 600 people, no one locked their doors, let alone their cars). Brent has since grown up and become all responsible. Now he's a motivational speaker and counselor. Who knew he had it in him?
I remember one trip to Tony's house, when I was about 10 or 11. His house had a game room with a big sliding glass door that opened up to the pool area. Brent and I were in the game room, and he started throwing darts at me (steel tip, of course). One of them hit the glass door just right, because it made a little "pop," then Brent and I watched it spiderweb into a million little pieces. Here came my mom from the pool to see what damage I had inflicted. Brent 'fessed up, and even though it wasn't my fault, Tony teased me about it for a long time.
Fast forward several years - I took Jessica and Kelli to Dallas to visit him. Jessica was five and Kelli was two. It was their first (and only) plane ride. I was going to drive down but Tony paid for my airline tickets, because as he put it, "You love those girls but it's a long drive and you'll probably put them out in Joplin." He was probably right.
We went to dinner our last night there, and it was not a success. Kelli was being a brat, throwing chips, and crying because I wouldn't let her have her binkie. She was also not sleeping much (strange house, strange room) and consequently I wasn't sleeping well. So I was not a patient parent. Our waitress was slow and sullen, and I really thought Tony was going to make her cry too when she finally brought our beers. She perked up a bit after he got done with her. I finally got a few bites of Kelli's taco in her, managed to bolt down my dinner, and drink my beer. In the meantime, Jessica hunkered down, ate her dinner and kept her head low, God love her. I guess she figured the best way to escape my wrath was to stay quiet.
We headed home in Tony's big Ford F350 diesel pickup with the 4-door crew cab. I needed a stepladder to get in the damn thing. When we got to his house, I handed Kelli out to Tony and as I got out, my exit was abrubtly stopped when my my shorts cuff got hung on the door handle of his truck. I was hanging about 4 inches off the ground by my pants. My beer bottle chose that moment to roll out of the truck and shatter on on the driveway. Tony turns around and says "Child, what are you doing," and then the door handle broke off, I plummeted to the driveway, landing on the glass and further grinding it into the driveway, and burst into tears. He took Kelli and Jessica into the house, and let me cry. A few minutes later he came back outside to make sure I was over my hysterics, handed me another beer and said "feel better?" I said "well, I've broken your door and your truck. What's next?" He said he wouldn't let me drive his truck for a few years. We sat in the backyard and drank a few more beers, just talking about goofy stuff. It was so nice to have an adult conversation without having to stop to get someone some juice, wipe a hiney, or tie a shoe.
So tomorrow we'll fly off for Texas, on Maddy's first plane ride. She's half excited, half nervous, and she's already claimed the window seat. Hopefully when we get there she won't break anything, but if she does, Tony will know she's definitely my child.
Tony has a son, Brent. When Brent was younger, he was a shit, to put it kindly. One of my favorite stories is when he was staying with my mammaw he stole the neighbor's gun out of his car. The neighbor was a Roby cop, who had come home for lunch and left his holster in his car. (The town had 600 people, no one locked their doors, let alone their cars). Brent has since grown up and become all responsible. Now he's a motivational speaker and counselor. Who knew he had it in him?
I remember one trip to Tony's house, when I was about 10 or 11. His house had a game room with a big sliding glass door that opened up to the pool area. Brent and I were in the game room, and he started throwing darts at me (steel tip, of course). One of them hit the glass door just right, because it made a little "pop," then Brent and I watched it spiderweb into a million little pieces. Here came my mom from the pool to see what damage I had inflicted. Brent 'fessed up, and even though it wasn't my fault, Tony teased me about it for a long time.
Fast forward several years - I took Jessica and Kelli to Dallas to visit him. Jessica was five and Kelli was two. It was their first (and only) plane ride. I was going to drive down but Tony paid for my airline tickets, because as he put it, "You love those girls but it's a long drive and you'll probably put them out in Joplin." He was probably right.
We went to dinner our last night there, and it was not a success. Kelli was being a brat, throwing chips, and crying because I wouldn't let her have her binkie. She was also not sleeping much (strange house, strange room) and consequently I wasn't sleeping well. So I was not a patient parent. Our waitress was slow and sullen, and I really thought Tony was going to make her cry too when she finally brought our beers. She perked up a bit after he got done with her. I finally got a few bites of Kelli's taco in her, managed to bolt down my dinner, and drink my beer. In the meantime, Jessica hunkered down, ate her dinner and kept her head low, God love her. I guess she figured the best way to escape my wrath was to stay quiet.
We headed home in Tony's big Ford F350 diesel pickup with the 4-door crew cab. I needed a stepladder to get in the damn thing. When we got to his house, I handed Kelli out to Tony and as I got out, my exit was abrubtly stopped when my my shorts cuff got hung on the door handle of his truck. I was hanging about 4 inches off the ground by my pants. My beer bottle chose that moment to roll out of the truck and shatter on on the driveway. Tony turns around and says "Child, what are you doing," and then the door handle broke off, I plummeted to the driveway, landing on the glass and further grinding it into the driveway, and burst into tears. He took Kelli and Jessica into the house, and let me cry. A few minutes later he came back outside to make sure I was over my hysterics, handed me another beer and said "feel better?" I said "well, I've broken your door and your truck. What's next?" He said he wouldn't let me drive his truck for a few years. We sat in the backyard and drank a few more beers, just talking about goofy stuff. It was so nice to have an adult conversation without having to stop to get someone some juice, wipe a hiney, or tie a shoe.
So tomorrow we'll fly off for Texas, on Maddy's first plane ride. She's half excited, half nervous, and she's already claimed the window seat. Hopefully when we get there she won't break anything, but if she does, Tony will know she's definitely my child.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Going to the Chapel
No, not me. Sheesh.
My girlfriend is getting married in February, and I'm a bridesmaid. I know, I'm 40 and being called a "maid." I guess "bridesmatron" hasn't caught on yet. Maddy will be the junior bridesmaid. She's going to be so frickin' cute!
Anyway, my friend will sometimes send me links for various dresses. I find myself browsing through the rest of the designer's website looking at dresses. And thinking "WTF?"
For example:
Rhett, Rhett! If I wore this, I'd probably whack people with my hips as I walked down the aisle.
I kid you not. This is even too tacky for Vegas.
Got any good wedding fashion stories? Share them, won't you?
My girlfriend is getting married in February, and I'm a bridesmaid. I know, I'm 40 and being called a "maid." I guess "bridesmatron" hasn't caught on yet. Maddy will be the junior bridesmaid. She's going to be so frickin' cute!
Anyway, my friend will sometimes send me links for various dresses. I find myself browsing through the rest of the designer's website looking at dresses. And thinking "WTF?"
For example:
Is dressing like the cake the new thing? I'd be afraid someone would try to slice me.
Rhett, Rhett! If I wore this, I'd probably whack people with my hips as I walked down the aisle.
A new use for grandma's old tablecloths.
And for the bridesmaids:
The 80s called - they want my prom dress back.
I kid you not. This is even too tacky for Vegas.
Got any good wedding fashion stories? Share them, won't you?
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Seven
Yesterday I had a vague feeling that I was forgetting something. Of course, that's standard operating procedure for me lately. Case in point - I ran through Wal-Mart last night after work (literally) grabbing a few things for dinner, including a couple of cans of mushrooms. I dashed through the store, found a remarkably quick check out line, hustled to get Maddy, ran home, got her changed into her ball uniform, grabbed a soda and ran out the door to her game. At the game, I was digging for my phone and found one of the cans of mushrooms. In my purse. My first thought was that my phone wound up in the pantry but no, it was in my purse. I'm still baffled as to how mushrooms wound up in my purse. (And yes, I paid for them, I didn't shoplift). And then I realized I had forgotten to bring fundraiser tickets to the game. But I did bring mushrooms. Head - firmly lodged in ass. Which is probably why I don't lose my head, because I'd just have to look in my butt for it.
Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, forgetting something.
We have our trip to Dallas this weekend and my mind is clogged with "remember to do this" and "don't forget that" thoughts. I have a list, actually several, because I keep misplacing the one I started last week, or I can't find one when I think of things to write down. I just remembered this morning to call the doggie sitter. That's kind of important.
I'm also in the home stretch of fundraiser preparation and trying to keep ticket sales and donations and phone calls and thank you cards all together. That is a whole 'nother set of lists.
I'm also starting pre-travel prep lists for my trip in August. I know it's 40 days away, I'm just a list-freak that way. And I'll probably still forget something.
About 10 minutes ago, I just remembered what I was forgetting yesterday. It's been seven months since they died. Seven. I feel a little guilty for not remembering. Especially since the fundraiser flyer is on my desk, and I'm starting to shop for decorations that represent them. It was staring me right in my face all day yesterday. How'd I manage to forget?
Perhaps the positive is starting to outweigh the negative.
Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, forgetting something.
We have our trip to Dallas this weekend and my mind is clogged with "remember to do this" and "don't forget that" thoughts. I have a list, actually several, because I keep misplacing the one I started last week, or I can't find one when I think of things to write down. I just remembered this morning to call the doggie sitter. That's kind of important.
I'm also in the home stretch of fundraiser preparation and trying to keep ticket sales and donations and phone calls and thank you cards all together. That is a whole 'nother set of lists.
I'm also starting pre-travel prep lists for my trip in August. I know it's 40 days away, I'm just a list-freak that way. And I'll probably still forget something.
About 10 minutes ago, I just remembered what I was forgetting yesterday. It's been seven months since they died. Seven. I feel a little guilty for not remembering. Especially since the fundraiser flyer is on my desk, and I'm starting to shop for decorations that represent them. It was staring me right in my face all day yesterday. How'd I manage to forget?
Perhaps the positive is starting to outweigh the negative.
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