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Pray tell, darling readers, does there exist a site where I can go and download video or mp3s of the American Idols singing their songs? I know there was last year, because I downloaded (you just shut up) Joshua Gracin singing… something. Something country, I’m sure. I don’t care, bite me, I liked the kid.
Aaaaaaaaanyway, surely these sorts of sites must exist. But where? Won’t you help a bitchypoo?
Also, speaking of TV, if you are a viewer of The Newlyweds: Nick and Jessica, go over to the Tater, read this post and help me out, because I MUST know who that adorable curly-haired girl is.
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1. Where are you right now? In front of the computer, in the computer room, in the downstairs of our house, in Madison, in Alabama, in the US.
2. What time is it? 9:45 am. The spud’s already up and about. Eeek!
3. What are you wearing? A purple pullover shirt, an off-white bra from Lane Bryant, gray cotton pants and my favorite blue pan-tays. Oh, and my green Land’s End slippers.
4. Any people or animals around you? Describe them. Not a one. All the cats are hanging out upstairs with the spud, who’s either watching TV or sitting in front of HER computer.
5. What are your plans for the weekend? I have none, aside from vacuuming the upstairs and downstairs, and maybe dusting the upstairs. Other than that, nothin’.
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Fred had to go to the Doc in a Box (walk-in clinic) this morning because he pulled his back when he was lifting weights. He tried to get an appointment with his usual doctor, but they were booked, and there’s a Doc in a Box near his office, so he just went there.
After he got back to his office, I called to make sure he was going to live (he is), and asked which doctor he’d seen.
“I think she might be from South Africa,” he said. “She had the cool accent, but I had a hard time understanding her a couple of times. She was really nice, we talked for ten or fifteen minutes.”
“Last time I went to that clinic, I got a doctor who looked at my eye from across the room and diagnosed me with pinkeye,” I said. “In and out in 30 seconds.”
(Requisite sex joke here)
“She was pretty,” Fred said. “Her skin was the color of Cafe Au Latte.”
I groaned. “Har har.”
“What?” Fred said, completely serious. “Is that not how you pronounce it?”
“Cafe au LAIT!” I said, and then laughed at him.
Another reason I love the man: he makes me laugh every day. And sometimes it’s not even AT him.
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All pictures taken by
Himself.
Pretty Bean.
Stretchy Bean.
“Whatcha doin’, Dad? Whatcha doin’? Huh? Whatcha doin’?”
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