11 November 2001 - 5:09 p.m.

Three episodes of Trading Spaces is the only way to start off a Sunday.

The two bonus episodes were a much needed treat for me, since I babysat last night. Babysitting is typically a pretty mundane experience, but I think Ben must hate me now, because he spent all of last night trying to talk me to death. I swear. No child should talk so much as Ben talked last night. For 3.5 straight hours, because I was cross-stitching, Ben gave me a play by play of every episode of Samuri Jack and the Powerpuff girls, as we were watching them, and even though I had already seen them all, then he switched to making me watch every little move he made whilst playing Zelda.

I can think of very little that amuses me less than watching other people play Zelda. Unless the other people are all insiting "Look, Jenn, watch what I do here. Ohh, look, wasn't that close? Don't you think that was close? Don't take your eyes off the screen, I want you to see me beat this guy."

GAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!

Worse yet, his heinous high school sister had friends over, and none of them know how to shut the door. I am serious. At least four times I felt a draft, only to discover that at least one door to the outside had been left wide open. You know that dumb old saying about being born in a barn? I'm beginning to think that the east end must be littered with barns that have thus far escaped my attention. Please, if you are a parent in Pittsburgh, and you are reading this, take my heed: teach your children to close doors. As far as I'm concerned, everyone who was visiting Ms. Heinous High Schooler last night is an Idiot-Child, and I am a very, very important person whose opinions matter a great deal. So remember that, and take what I say to heart. No one wants to find out on friggin Diaryland that they've raised an Idiot-Child. And yet, it could happen to you.

What I'm wearing:

What I'm reading:

What I'm doing after this: