Blah, blah, blah... with nothing really to say.

I heard a joke last weekend that made me giggle (and since I am terrible about remembering jokes, I admit that I am paraphrasing): Women say they want a "little romance"... Men think that means to send over a dwarf with flowers.

Jon & I went down to the beach for a weekend, which was nice... Although I've been lucky enough to have been making a lot of little trips in the past few months, none of them have really been with Jon, so that was nice... We did continue to learn a valuable lesson, though: just because you did not sunburn or peel when you were a kid, despite playing outside all day long, does NOT mean that you won't burn or peel now. Hell, I guess even our skin is old & tired, too.

Unfortunately, I had to come back to work (and the 105 degree heat index in my hometown) on Monday while JP stayed down on the coast for a couple of vacation days he needed to take. Oh, and to get drunk as hell and keep me up on the phone for half the night for reasons still not fully known, but nonetheless forgiven. ;)
I am actually looking forward to NOT having to go anywhere this weekend -- it will be the first in a long time and, while I would not trade any of the trips I've taken lately, sometimes it's just nice to sit at home with the pets, in my own house, with my own stuff, and sleep in my own bed. I'm most definitely a time-to-myself kind of person. As in, I need it. And it's a bit harder to get on your own nerves (though not completely impossible!)...

Not sure how much I have elaborated on this blog about my penchant for QUOTES -- I have handwritten books & books & books of them that I have collected over the years. Some are famous quotes, some obscure, some from friends & family, some from movies & books, the list goes on and on... but I thought it was high time I included one in a post:

"What all the ads and whoreoscopes seemed to imply was that if only you were narcissistic enough, if only you took proper care of your smells, your hair, your boobs, your eyelashes, your armpits, your crotch, your stars, your scars, and your choice of Scotch in bars -- you would meet a beautiful, powerful, potent, and rich man who would satisfy every longing, fill every hole, make your heart skip a beat (or stand still), make you misty, and fly you to the moon (preferably on gossamer wings), where you would live totally satisfied forever." ~Erica Jong, 'Fear of Flying'