Maura's Illuminated Manuscript

Bad: Somebody scraped the Sanctimobile, apparently while it was parked. I'm convinced that the probability of damage to a car is inversely proportional to its age.

Good: Nibs is fully Bombed, and has recovered from the steroids that they put in the first drip bag to prevent an infusion reaction. (?!) Things should, in theory, start getting better now. It'll take a few weeks.

Bad: Nibsmother is in town until Monday, which blows any weekend plans I might have had to tiny, petulant smithereens. Of course this is the weekend that has eleventy-one fun things happening at the same time. Need you even ask?

Good: We got the house ready in time for the in-law BBQ. Ixnay on the jokes about grilling in-laws.

Good: I don't have to buy a new pressure washer, or even pay to get it fixed, says the owner of the dead one. She says Costco may replace it. Should I drive up the hill and sacrifice a goat to them? Which costs more, anyway, a live goat or a new pressure washer?

Bad: My Strawberry Blond Sister says she doesn't want to do presents for the kids anymore, and was kind of nasty about how her kids don't know who I am. She can bite me. If she wanted to see us, she could have come to D.C. where my other sister lives the way my mom did. Mom probably would have paid for at least part of it, and S.B. Sister has never been shy about bumming time or money from Mom.

Good: HPV vaccine, Tim Eyman, Al-Zarqawi.

Edited to add: Nibsmother may leave on Sunday after all. Nobody knows. That's neither good nor bad.

Why money isn't the root of all evil: you can throw it at the Red Cross unlike, say, CAD software or refrigerators.

Speaking of spending money, a) two new pairs of boots in as many months and b) my first ever eye exam. Really. I'm a little nearsighted, which doesn't surprise me, and a little astigmatic, which does, so at long last I'm about to join the legion of the four-eyed. Hand, staple, eye socket. Writing in LJ is more exciting when your pupils are dilated.

Speaking of making money, I've found out that I was trying to sell a pair of shoes that wasn't mine to sell. D'oh! Luckily, the mistake was caught in time.

Would anybody be willing to pay me money for a bored seven-year-old? No? I don't blame you. There was a time when we were worried about him because he wouldn't interact with anyone else. Now I worry because he has no interest in doing anything on his own except watching tube or DVDs.