Friday, January 9, 2009

Not entirely convinced.

Furnace dude and his beastly woman were here yesterday. New furnace in the engine room. Ahhhhh.... don't have to scrape the frost off the 'ol puter screen just to get my fix. Life is good.


I'm not entirely convinced things are running at 100%. You see... I have the thermostat cranked up to 30 degrees. That is Celsius. Not quite shure what that is in Fluffn'heit - suffice to say that when one shoves the little switch to the far right of the temperature box thingy - it's s'posed to be sorta on the toasty side in the igloo. Kinda "sit 'round naked watchin' Knight Rider" sorta thing. Get my meaning?

However - despite havin the little knob thingy cranked to the far right - it's still a tad on the chilly side in here. Not so cold we gots to wear our woolies. But - certainly not sittin' round naked watchin' Knight Rider. THATS FOR SURE.

Think Scrub's gotta investigate a little further.

So - what else is new? Ummmm - well, the weekend is comin' up pretty quick. That means that our dear friend Hurricane Rona will be here. Why? Oh... 'cause JACK BAUER - her TV stud and future husband will be shootin' things up on the show 24 startin' Sunday night. That's why.

So - means I gots to cook up a storm. The 'ol girl loves chicken wings, nachos - roadhouse-ish type food. Should be an easy cook, I think.

The Bro-In-Law, JR, is startin' up advanced education next week. He a professional already - it's one of those " bump up your salary a few thousand bucks cause you have more credentials" type of programs. Good for him. Bad for me. Why? Cause that means that JR and I have to do the Gym thing early in the morning all the time rather than later in the afternoon. That means that comfy bed sheets are going to be a thing of the past for a little while. Hmph. Oh well - Scrub's gotta keep the abs lookin fabulous for the wife. You know how it is girls, right? She don't love me for my money. That's fer shure.

Hey - on the topic of JR. Wanna see what he made? Look:

It's JR's punk offspring Whoagun. Cute little fart, ain't he?

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