The library sent an email to remind us a book Donna borrowed is coming due. I told her I’d take it back when she’s done. I must have uttered the L-word, because Mister B jumped down from the couch and ran to the back door, which leads to the garage, wherein waits the truck and […]
It’s been a rough week for this Buffy fan, as actors and writers who worked on that and other Joss Whedon-produced shows come forward to accuse him of abuse and misconduct.
Donna and I celebrated New Year’s Eve with dinner and a movie: I grilled steaks, which we ate on trays while watching Harrison Ford chew up the scenery in Air Force One.
Why is everything so goddamn hard? Fucking coronavirus. It’s easy to understand why so many people want to pretend it’s no longer a threat and get back to normal life.
Thank goodness for books and streaming TV, because this week will be one long Trump rally.
You learn something every day. When I say you I mean me, because everyone else knew that already.
There’s no way I’d eat at a buffet or salad and soup bar now, commercial or homegrown. And I seriously doubt I’ll ever be able to bring myself to do so again even if there’s a vaccine (especially with the number of people who swear they won’t take it), which basically means never again.
Been wondering when I’ll put on a pair again. Trousers, I mean.