The Art, and it is an Art, of Avoidance

I was on my way to a meeting last night (which, of course, I resented because the only thing worse than an evening meeting is one on a freaking Friday night) when I blew a tire. As you can imagine, I was really disappointed because it meant limping the car back home instead of going all the way to school. Darn and darn again.

The Spouse put on the spare for me this morning but the original tire is beyond repair and I must get myself to Costco for a replacement. I can think of better things to do with a glorious Saturday morning, a glorious morning burnished to perfection, by the way, because our coffee grinder part arrived yesterday.

But first I read my blogs. My reading inspires me to add every available 21st century "Battlestar Galactica" episode to my Netflix queue and find out what my cyborg name is. Then I have to tell you about it. Then I go back to the fun site and learn my monster name:



How funny is that?