I think I’ll only post here every three days now. Leah gave me a lot of hassle the other day for never posting to anonymark, which in her mind equals hating our unborn baby. As I like to say, “w/e.”
We had a pretty nice weekend. Lots and lots and lots of romance on Saturday, which you may have heard was Valentine’s Day. I know. I just recently found out, too. Anyway, Leah and I went to dinner while G.G. and Poom Poom slept on the couch sat Ava at our house (KIDDING! Thanks, G.G. and Poom Poom!). Our meal was passable, I thought, though it was clear the kitchen was a bit crushed by the capacity crowd; a couple of my items came out slightly scorched from the broiler. Tsk tsk! But the bebidas were good, and I got to sit across the table from the hottest MILF in the joint, so who can complain?
Speaking of complaining and MILFs, Leah had her hair touched up over the weekend and hates it. I wish I had a dime — even a nickel — for every time she’s come back from the priciest salon in town with a gripe about the outcome. I keep saying, “stop messing with your hair,” to no avail. In this instance, the color came out a tad redder than she was going for (which was not red at all). I would mention the name of the salon that did this to her, but I really don’t want to hurt Buzz’s the place’s reputation. I did manage to get a photogiraffic pimiento of the debacle:
Looks fine to me, but then, what the hell do I know about hair?