Being busy doesn't make you special. It makes you like everyone else on the planet. And talking about how busy you are doesn't make you special. It just makes you kind of a douchebag.
You know who you are.
Did I mention how busy I am? I didn't? Good, because if I ever do, feel free to kick me in the shins. I'm on day two of a four day weekend and we've been almost constantly occupied, but happy and relaxed. We had family and friends and friends of friends to dinner yesterday. Chuck did the turkey on the grill, and it was some of the best turkey I've ever had. Did her recipe for mashed potatoes, there were salads and cheeses and wine and hours of geek talk. After dinner, endless rounds of Rock Band (I get booed off the stage after 30 seconds, so I just kicked back and read.) When everyone left, I watched the last four episodes of Dexter and creeped myself out.
Today began Gingerbread '09 -- The House 226 Edition. The National Steinbeck Center is holding a gingerbread house building contest (take a minute to consider the irony) and we decided to enter. And then someone (I'm not saying who, but he just happens to be in bed next t0 me snoring) decided we should do a gingerbread version of the house we're trying to buy.
Did you know that building a cupola out of gingerbread is a pain in the ass? We have most of the first floor done (Chuck made the dough, I rolled, cut and baked) and tomorrow we're off to San Francisco with the boys and one of their friends to hit The Candy Store for decorations. We'll probably take the boys to a movie at the Metreon and have dinner at the Ferry Building, the happiest place on earth.
Chuck met with the FHA appraiser today (on the real house, not the gingerbread one) and barring any unforeseen circumstances, we should be in escrow next week, and close before Christmas. And that's when the fun really starts ...