I love Dooce. Love love love. So much of it. Hers is practically the best diary I ever read and it's so dang purty too. Funny and sometimes heartbreaking and always awesome. Go read. I did and lord if I didn't almost kind of get the hell over my damned self.

The blasted rain pours down, still, and forever it seems. Jeff says he'll make the new and hundreds of baby tomato transplants safe from the high winds. Wish I were home and warm. Jeff's sad his parents have gone. He's a momma's boy. And a poppa's boy. This morning when I was just about to head out the door, I ran into his dad coming into the big room and he got caught up in the blanket we've used to cover the doorway (that's what we call insulation!) and he teetered and almost fell but then he did a little jig and pulled himself upright. Cute cute.

Shankle's baby is coming--today or tomorrow. We have a pool here at work. Baby gets $75, winner (she/he who guesses the time of birth within 15 minutes) gets $21. I'm down for 5 pm and 11 pm. I don't know why. No reason.

Right. I'm going for lunch and I've got the new Laurie R. King book (she's one of my very very favorites, wahoo. I found her first book (well, first book she wrote--not the first book she published), quite by chance, the day sfitz dumped me and I took it down to the park and stayed there late into the day because I could not bear to go home and I read it almost straight through and I have not, since that day, delayed even a second when it comes to gobbling up anything new she writes.) to read. Life ain't bad a-tall.