Dear John

Dear Mr. Toilet (also known as the latrine, the crapper, the porcelain throne...etc),

As much as I enjoy your modern use and that you make doing business so much easier unlike living in other parts of the world, I must tell you that our little romance over the past several days needs to come to an end. I do believe you were not intended to have one's face in your seat three or four times and hour. It needs to end. This little bug that has made its way into my stomach believes that it's purpose is to be a match maker by bringing us together so much, however, it has made me despise you and the room that you occupy.

Please don't take offence to this letter, it's not you, it's me. I need a change of scenery. Being with you every second of the day has made me realize how much I need to clean my baseboards and how I desperately need to paint and decorate in that room.

I hope we can remain friends, I promise to visit, just not so often.

Love - Sarah

Busy Tonight?!

Hey Breann - I got your message about you being in town. Guess who else is in town:

A coincidence - I think not!!

**For you feeling left out of the loop - here's the story - I won through KNIX tickets to go see Josh Gracin at the Ostrich Festival last year - I think it was like April 2007ish. Anywho - when I called Breann she thought I said Josh Grobin - close - but no cigar. She came with me anyways since we got to meet him. Yeah. While waiting in line "backstage" we could see him yelling at someone in the tour bus - they quickly closed the blinds - and then a band member came out swearing and mad about something. Then when he finally came out to meet and great - he had this weird rehearsed smile - totally fake - and was really in a "whatever" kind a mood. I guess we were all burdens to him (hello - guess who buys your crap - the fans - so suck it up and play nice). Anywho - it was such a crappy event that we left the concert - before he went on stage - got us a fried pickle, funnel cake and went home. I did get his autograph - maybe one day I can sell it on ebay for $20.

***Currently having computer problems - don't want to wake hubby - will post pic of Breann and my prego little self with Josh "crabby attitude" Gracin when hubby wakes up****

Night Owl

So for those of you that don't know. I'm a night owl. I work at Wells Fargo at night processing checks. Why? Well for the almighty insurance. This is why:

Aaron's Work - $900 a month, $5000 deductible.

V.S.

Wells Fargo - $200 a month, $0 deductible. Only have to work 18 hours a week for insurance.

Which would you choose?!

I don't work Wednesdays - I asked for them off from the beginning so that I could have a break in the middle of the week, and because I have mutual that I go to. Since my body's clock is outta whack - Wednesdays are a crab shoot for me. I either stay up all night and go to bed around 3am - OR I fall asleep early in the night and wake up at 3am unable to go back to sleep. This time around - fell asleep early - woke up at 3am.

So here I am. It's actually 4:43am now. I have cleaned the kitchen, mopped the floor, and I have done some laundry. I actually love it in the morning, when the house is calm. There is something about the early morning air that makes me happy. I open our front door and let the cool fresh air in. It's nice.

On a side note:

Along with climbing everything in site - her new obsession is to sit in things. This is her latest adventure. She loves the drawers, toy basket, and the box from her diapers. Hours of fun right?!

Also - I hate this tree. If we could have one more big monsoon storm, I'm sure with the help of me and a rope, this puppy could be HIS-STOR-REE!! I hate this tree. All I want for Christmas is this tree gone, a wagon, and a Zune. Is it really too much to ask?!

Today's agenda includes - getting new tires on the van - gathering my stuff for weekend of sewing (I always do a project during conference. I just can't sit and watch, I have to do something else as well) and make some eggplant dinner Aaron had been dying for me to make. Why? Who knows.