The week that was

The best thing I heard this week was that for a period of time my friend's son's imaginary friend was William Howard Taft, our county's 27th president. That's awesome just on it's own but it does get better. Since Taft was our most corpulent prez, there was always a concern about making enough room for Taft, say at restaurants or in the car. How great is that?

I haven't been able to impress upon Annie the importance of Halloween with regards to free candy. This year she has again cut trick or treating way short. I think the parade and party at school wear her out. Next year I think we'll have a couple of dry runs to help her learn how to pace herself. The parade at school was bedlam, it exhausted me just watching it. When I picked Annie up that afternoon, Kayleigh, my little informant, let me know that Annie cried after the parade. I guess it was too much to see Daddy, Mary and me at the parade and then to have us gone, poor dear.

My favorite Halloween costumes are the superhero ones with the built-in muscles. I mean, YEAH! It's Halloween! Go on with your little buff selves.

Over the past year, Brian and I have watched exactly two movies. Both sucked and I am bitter. Capital S Sucked. Must Love Dogs. Chee criminy, how does that even get made?? John Cusack, you changed, man. But at least you haven't become a MONSTER like your sister Joan, featured in the other crapulent movie of my year; Friends with Money. Oh, calm down, I love Joan Cusack for all the right reasons but damn, girl looks like witchipoo! I hate movies where I can't find one character to cheer for, admire or at the very least relate to.

It occurs to me that I am reading 4 books right now. Okay, 3. I finished Shang-a-Lang this week. Shang-a-Lang is the autobiography of Les McKeown, the lead singer of The Bay City Rollers. I love dishy, trashy autobiographies. This one however, was just plain depressing. Would you believe that Les wasn't friends with any other Roller? Not even dear little Woody. The book was really Scottish too with it's woudnae and couldnaes. Apparently, I don't do well with the Scottish.

I have the latest John Irving in paperback in Mary's room to read while I nurse her before naps and bed. She has started grabbing at the pages now that she distracts more easily and today I realized I hadn't picked it up in over a week.

In my bathroom (oh shut UP, you read on the potty, too) I have Julie and Julia. This is the book about the woman who cooked all of The Art of French Cooking in her apartment. I gave it to my mom last Christmas and the last time she visited she lent it to me.

Next to my bed is the latest Janet Evanovich hardcover. I am having trouble with this one. Every summer, I buy the latest Stephanie Plum (the main character in the Evanovich book) paperback as soon as it comes out. Reading it is a part of my summer kickoff ritual. So, this summer I read Eleven on Top and had earmarked Twelve Sharp for next summer. Then Jules Berg sent me the Twelve Sharp in hardcover. Very thoughtful, she knows I read them and turned me on to them in the first place. But it's just all wrong. These are pretty fluffy books, the only mysteries I read, and they don't fit into my fall. So, I may have to squirrel this away until June.

I am off to watch Shopgirl on Tivo. Please Steve Martin, don't let me down.