i can haz pilot lite!
Sep. 10th, 2008 11:23 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
keladry_lupinIt's official. I want to marry Joe, the chiropractor's son. His dad had stuff to do, so he was the one who gave me my pre-adjustment massage. Ooooohhhhhh, yeah. Marry me, Joe, and we'll ask your dad to give us a vibrating massage machine thingy as a wedding gift, and we'll never leave the flat.
Okay, that's turning a bit kinky, but you know what I mean. By the time Joe was finished and his father came into the room, I was a huge puddle of vanilla pudding on that table.
In other news, Dave the landlord showed up about five minutes after I got home from the chiropractor and went straight to my kitchen floor and laid down on it. He opened the broiler and spent ten minutes on the floor, telling me how to light the oven pilot light if it blows out again. (I'd need arms like a gorilla to reach the pilot light and the knob at the same time.) So once he left, I pulled out a mix and baked corn muffins for breakfast. *checks clock* Though it's more like lunch, since I just finished my muffins and ham and cheese omelette.
I think autumn has arrived. The weather will probably turn warm again -- we always have a heat wave or three after the first cool wave of autumn -- but it's crisp and breezy this morning. (I need to do an icon swap and put in some autumn icons this week.) I keep opening and closing the big glass door; opening it because I want the breeze, but then closing it because Dave keeps starting up his very loud tile saw to do some repairs in the upstairs apartment AND STOP THAT LEAK FOREVER! Plastering and painting in the bathroom will commence two weeks from Saturday, and painting everything else will commence as soon as I have all my stuff boxed and stowed in the garage or Dad's.
Am watching Series C of QI, and while I've always loved Stephen, Dara, Alan, and Phill, I am sort of halfway starting to fancy Clive Anderson, too. Can't figure that one out. Though I still love Stephen best.
Poor Alan. The blue whale will be the correct answer to something someday, and he's not going to have a clue, and he's going to get it wrong.
Well, it's noon. Time to make my lunch and get ready for work.
Okay, that's turning a bit kinky, but you know what I mean. By the time Joe was finished and his father came into the room, I was a huge puddle of vanilla pudding on that table.
In other news, Dave the landlord showed up about five minutes after I got home from the chiropractor and went straight to my kitchen floor and laid down on it. He opened the broiler and spent ten minutes on the floor, telling me how to light the oven pilot light if it blows out again. (I'd need arms like a gorilla to reach the pilot light and the knob at the same time.) So once he left, I pulled out a mix and baked corn muffins for breakfast. *checks clock* Though it's more like lunch, since I just finished my muffins and ham and cheese omelette.
I think autumn has arrived. The weather will probably turn warm again -- we always have a heat wave or three after the first cool wave of autumn -- but it's crisp and breezy this morning. (I need to do an icon swap and put in some autumn icons this week.) I keep opening and closing the big glass door; opening it because I want the breeze, but then closing it because Dave keeps starting up his very loud tile saw to do some repairs in the upstairs apartment AND STOP THAT LEAK FOREVER! Plastering and painting in the bathroom will commence two weeks from Saturday, and painting everything else will commence as soon as I have all my stuff boxed and stowed in the garage or Dad's.
Am watching Series C of QI, and while I've always loved Stephen, Dara, Alan, and Phill, I am sort of halfway starting to fancy Clive Anderson, too. Can't figure that one out. Though I still love Stephen best.
Poor Alan. The blue whale will be the correct answer to something someday, and he's not going to have a clue, and he's going to get it wrong.
Well, it's noon. Time to make my lunch and get ready for work.
