More Rain To Come

I avoided the rug rat this weekend. I left my boyfriend's house first thing in the morning on Saturday to go home, get ready and drive to a meeting I had that afternoon. But then, oddly, later that day I kinda missed them! I'll probably stay a bit longer (if my schedule allows it) next weekend. What can I say, I'm a glutton for punishment. It was nice to take a weekend off, though. I think part of my annoyance is that I go and sit through his tennis lessons, which are terribly boring (they're also held in a sort of sketchy park, so I have to endure being hit on by homeless-looking or otherwise just nasty old men while my BF picks up tennis balls and joins in on the coaching session), and a total waste of my Saturday. So I think I'll just skip watching the lessons and use that time to study and do other things I need or want to do. I think if I do this, I won't be as annoyed with the kid.

I'm going to paint the fence around my house, and maybe even the house, too, once the rain stops and we have consistently sunny weather. My boyfriend offered his and his son's services, which I thought was very nice. He said we could have a painting party and have hot dogs (soy dogs for me) and paint all day.

Still working on his son's portrait. Can't get the nose right.

Everyone's probably already seen this, but I love it. The Onion wrote a very fitting tribute to the now deceased author, J.D. Salinger:

(the link: http://www.theonion.com/content/news/bunch_of_phonies_mourn_j_d)

Bunch Of Phonies Mourn J.D. Salinger

JANUARY 28, 2010 | ISSUE 46•04

ARTICLE TOOLS

• • DIGG
  • FACEBOOK
  • STUMBLEUPON
  • TWITTER
  • REDDIT
• EMAIL
• PRINT

Salinger

CORNISH, NH—In this big dramatic production that didn't do anyone any good (and was pretty embarrassing, really, if you think about it), thousands upon thousands of phonies across the country mourned the death of author J.D. Salinger, who was 91 years old for crying out loud. "He had a real impact on the literary world and on millions of readers," said hot-shot English professor David Clarke, who is just like the rest of them, and even works at one of those crumby schools that rich people send their kids to so they don't have to look at them for four years. "There will never be another voice like his." Which is exactly the lousy kind of goddamn thing that people say, because really it could mean lots of things, or nothing at all even, and it's just a perfect example of why you should never tell anybody anything.