So. It’s Sunday night and I didn’t win the mega-lotto jackpot. Again. I guess this means tomorrow is the start of yet another work week. Damn.
Sunday
Sunday Evening Contemplations
Well then, what does a Sunday spent hungover bring? Just asking. You know. For a friend.
A Cat’s Sunday
Oh, to be a cat. No chores, no cares, no worries. But then again, they can’t have alcohol or chocolate. So I guess it’s a fair trade.
Sunday Evening Confessions
So, another weekend gone and I didn’t go to the gym. That’s like a gazillion weekends in a row now. Had some damn good cheesecake though and learned how to make a London Fog. So all in all, not bad…
click the pic for a London Fog recipe!
Sunday Blues
Even though tomorrow is a holiday, Sunday still sucks.
Ahhh…President’s Day, a holiday honoring the respected leaders of our fine country – originally dedicated to George Washington and in recent years, including Abraham Lincoln as well – has devolved into massive sales at the car dealer and department stores if the commercials are any indication. Nothing says “respect” and “honor” like 50% off a flat screen t.v. or 2% interest on a 300 year loan for a new all bells and whistles included four-door. Unless you’re employed by a bank, the feds, or schools, you still go to work…so no fun there. And as far as I know, no-one is going to suddenly be inspired to fill my wallet with spendable paper images of those bygone leaders either. It’s just not one of those Monday holidays that can justify a wicked hangover and blank spaces that force you to inquire of every friend you meet throughout the day: “hey, did we see each other last night? what the hell was I doing? no, seriously, WHAT was I doing, and more importantly WHERE? I can’t find my shoes!”
So, yeah. Laundry it is…
