I like pie

After a night of barfing boy (the Eli), and 3 a.m. (and 4:20 a.m., and 5-ish a.m.) laundry chores, and too much xanax (two mg. in three hours is probably overkill if you need to be 'sober' enough to operate the washer at three a.m.), I made it to the shop. For my valiant efforts, I was rewarded with a visit from Melly, who did indeed bring me fried rice and banana cream pie. Rob popped in after her massage, and Mandi (get a blog, geez, girl!) and we ate good stuff. I had nearly half a pie left, so I brought it home. Sharing the day's bounty with the spouse and you know what? He wouldn't eat it... he claims not to like bananas. Well, I had a fork in my hand so fast I scared the silverware in the drawer, and I ate. it. all. Yum. As I told Miss Melly, I can make a rhubarb custard pie so good you'll swear you saw Jesus, but I'm pretty sure she'd wipe the floor with my ass in a "banana-cream-bake-off". It was that good. Oh yes, it was.

The sequel-sock continues on, after having to rip back the heel turn (I blame the lack of sleep) and re-do. I left my "notes" on this sock scrawled on an L.L.Bean coupon, so as soon as my ten-bucks-off shows up, I'll be able to get everything straightened out. If I would just stick to the 'formula', these problems wouldn't exist. Like I care, though, seeing as how I'm stuffed to the gills with pie. Some "quality time" with the likes of 'Boris' is in order... once I've made a reconnaissance trip around the house to check for dirty, icky things. I'm choosing to ignore the flopped out Siamese on the dining table. It has become her 'salon de bain', and she's way too into grooming her toes. I almost can't watch. More drivvel to follow... and don't forget, we're just three days away from the Mother's Day drawings. Are you entered?