In the oven: home made french fries (weight watchers approved) and pork chops.
In my belly: one (that's right, 1, one, un) spoonful of ice cream. I swear, it was to calm my burning throat. It helped. Really.
Outside earlier: Telly trying to catch snow flakes.
The Plan: dinner. Bones. (Although, Dear Hart Hanson, I love your show and I watch it every Thursday. So why did you make fun of synchronized swimmers last week? It saddens me. I, a huge fan of Bones, am a synchronized swimmer. For that insult, I could drown you, and keep you company while I do it. But I won't. I'm just saying) Petting the dog. Finishing my volunteer case and report. Kissing the husband. Not falling asleep before 8 pm tonight.
Tomorrow: all hell breaks loose at 10:00 am with a Come to Jesus meeting. Not in the biblical sense. We'll see where the day goes from there.
This Weekend: Vor's company Christmas party + little black dress + black heels + gold hoop earrings (it's been years!) + several slowly ingested glasses of good red wine = dancing with Vor and a more talkative than usual Grace. Later, grounding this cold into oblivion. (Oh! Also! The doctor says I will survive. No surprise, right? Fertility though, that's another question, to be addressed later. Why did I burry this surprising and disheartening news in the middle of a parenthesis? Because I don't want to talk about it. DON'T. WANNA.)
In my hand: a glass of water.
Should be in my hand: a glass of eggnog... with rum.