I've been working my short little fingers to the bone this week, so in terms of exciting news to report? I have nothing. So far this week, I've been collapsing on the couch around 7:00 or 8:00, watching a little TV, and then going back to work for another hour or two. I'm unduly excited about the variation in this routine planned for tonight. Kevin decreed we're spending the evening upstairs putting away piles of laundry he's washed, cleaning the bathroom, and generally straightening up. Few people see the upstairs, so I tend to neglect it, but the general chaos up there is getting on both our nerves.
I'll spare you the whining and complaining about lazy, incoherent authors and move on to the TV watching. American Idol aired its "Best of the Rest" episode last night, and I was unimpressed, except for Ryan being so familiar with Dolly Parton songs. Watching him sing "Islands in the Stream" and doing a little dance with the auditioner's mom was pretty much worth the time I wasted on that episode. Ryan's such a tiny little man that it was like watching a wee leprechaun caper around.
What else? Oh, Project Runway, of course! SASHA, if you haven't watched yet, STOP READING.
Ricky, the designer who's been sobbing all season at the drop of a hat? Tell him he's awful, and he cries, but tell him he's good--yep, he cries then, too. And he's been weeping and wailing in every episode while wearing the most godawful hats I've ever seen. So last night when he was eliminated, I was bracing myself for the inevitable waterworks. Not one tear, however. What the . . . ? Maybe his Greek fisherman's cap made from mesh (why??) consoled him.