Some pictures for you:
I took this when I was in LA a couple months ago, and I guess I forgot to post it. It just struck me as funny. "Under New Management. Now Serving Falafel." Those other managers were falafel haters, apparently. And that is why their business failed. These new managers are bringing the falafel and they are ready to make some money. 
I saw these in a bookstore this weekend. They are laminated pocket guides of sorts. You buy them, I guess, and then you have a nice little pocket guide for whatever topic you might need a pocket guide for. Such as? Western Civilization (this is a lengthy topic, so it needs TWO pocket guides). Or maybe you were looking for some help with your public speaking? I can think of no better way to learn about public speaking than a laminated pocket guide. I'm sure Martin Luther King carried one of these around right before his Dream speech. The most alarming has to be Personal Finance. Please. People. Do not make personal finance decisions based on a laminated piece of paper at the local independent bookstore. I mean geez, at least go to a chain store for that kind of information.
My new lovely car has a lovely feature that tells you how many miles you have left until the lovely car runs out of gas. When you push the button and you get nothing but stars? That is not a good thing. That means there are no more numbers, no lower the lovely meter can go. Ru roh.
This is not the first time I've seen the stars. See, another lovely feature of this car is that not only does it burn gas like a fool, but it also has a problem with the gas tank thing. Depending on the gas pump sometimes my gas tank just won't let me put gas in. It does that ANNOYING thing where it clicks the gas pump off, as if it were full. But, uh, not full. Not even $3 in the gas tank yet. Good god.
So here I am trying to hold the gas pump just so, to convince the gas to come out. Of course holding it just so makes the gas come out as if it were mud coming through the nozzle. So I end up having to hold it for minutes and minutes at a time. But guess what? I don't have a functioning hand that is able to hold it for that long without needing some sort of pain medication and/or arm transplant. So I usually end up only putting like 10 bucks in. Which in SUV speak is like 4 feet worth of gas.
So then. I've been seeing a lot of the stars.
Speaking of mud. This is the underside of my puppy. Can you see it? It's not the best shot. But it's a lot of mud. All over his belly. Oh, aren't puppies just a joy?
When he goes with my parents to the dog park by their house there is a little kiddie pool there that he has become quite fond of. Can't get enough of that cool water, promptly plops himself in it right when he arrives at the park. But at the dog park by my house there is no pool. Never one to let a little thing like that slow him down my brilliant K9 found the nearest thing that resembled water and plopped himself down in it. Unfortunately it was a mud puddle.
The funniest part (besides me trying to hold him off of my new leather seats while I drove home) was right before he sat down everyone in the park went, "Uh, ooooh," plop "Ohhhhhhhhhh no." They all got a chuckle out of it. Mostly because they weren't the ones holding a mud-drenched puppy out from their body.
And this is just a little picture of Nola saying hi. Post-mud bath.
