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Just for Pope Gregory...

Finding the nativity

An accelerated rate

To tell the secrets of my prison-house

House and a shelf

2004-10-18 - 12:56 p.m.

� and now for something completely different

� so you really like it? I asked Roland.
Roland chuckles. Yes. And think of the Padraigin taunting possibilities.


I didn�t do a single thing I had planned this weekend.

Friday night was a serendipitous sushi-fest with Thjora, bravely wearing salmon for the occasion, Gen, AoD and the-dread-pirate-Bob. After decimating the raw fish and bits, we gained control over dark chocolate mousse and returned to BnL�s for admiration of the Red Chair.

(I need to decorate with more red. People always avoid colors they can�t wear, but I�ve been dragging myself towards red accents.)

Saturday was a blissful sleeping in (purr happily in sunbeam). Then, came the time of the gambeson.

Let me just take this opportunity to say a couple things about gambesons.

[bleep][bleep][BLEEEEEEPPPPP] and the [bleeping] thing always, always [bleep]

*ahem*

Let me try that again.
Gambesons are, ironically, usually made by those who don�t wear them. They are a pain in the a$$ to make, layers of batting to futz with, quilting to achieve, then thickly quilted fabric to assemble. And if you�ve ever tried to tailor an already assembled gambeson�

� let�s just say Roland actively risked his life this weekend by opining maybe he wanted the sleeves shorter after all.

I will say that, in my opinion, nothing says love more than a gambeson, not even oral sex.

So take the damn thing.
I�ve bleed on it six times, broken an even dozen needles � it�s yours now baby. Point it, grommet it, put the buttons on, sell it to the gypsies, just don�t talk to me about another gambeson anytime soon.

I love you.


Saturday evening we killed a pile of ribs and alcohol. Which led to a happier Theo and much improved Sunday, where Theo got to work on projects she liked and Roland made her steak for dinner.

K & I blew off the country music concert cause we decided we didn�t want to fight the [bleeping] traffic near Nissan pavilion to sit in an open air pavilion till 1 am when the temperature was headed for 40 degrees. Effort to fun ratio unfavorable.

Instead, Gen and Thjora traced out pourpoint patterns, which, in the final analysis, I shouldn�t have given them. It�s like pushing a friend to the edge. Next, they�ll be breaking needles and loosing blood on quilted garments.

Back away from the squirrel food!

Hmmm. It�s probably too late to save Vair girl and Bubbles from the squirrel food.


P.S. LadyRhi � Glad to copy the CA for you. My home printer/copier wants me to call HP (boo) so I�ll handle alternative copy arrangements tomorrow.


Scribble to Theo

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