I think it's about time for us to do some more unfavorable comparisons. Past time, really, because somehow I haven't busted this one out since June.
Had a pretty full day of farm related work. I'm finally getting around to updating our website, which I've hardly touched since October. I've got most of it done but I'm not hitting the publish button until everything is ready, since so much of it is interrelated.
We also conducted a couple of interviews (one by phone, the other over Skype) in our attempt to find a farm volunteer/intern/call them what you will for this summer. They both went well, so now all we have to do is pick one.
Which is proving rather difficult... this might take a few days to figure out.
I would tell you in great detail how Madame Jenkins was dressed and the makeup she wore, but I wouldn't want my Pug to get his hopes up.
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The coffee at the truck stop brought back memories of my time in a POW camp. Except that wasn't coffee they made us drink.
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Forcing me to watch reality TV is like ripping my soul from my body and lighting it on fire. And then putting out said fire by beating it with iron clubs. And then setting it on fire again. And then... you get the idea.
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If this painting belongs in a museum, and apparently someone thinks it does, then so does one of my son's dirty diapers.