That’s my husband at the moment. I’m sick. AGAIN.
I think this makes like the fourth time this year!! My hubby gets sick and then sure enough, within a week or two I’m feeling like shitcakes.
This blows.
In other news, someone so generously posted my contest on about three different sweepstakes sites and the prize hungry are flocking to my website in droves.
I don’t mind when they have to read the excerpt to answer (and I track this, so I know), but some entrants go through all the trouble to fill in their name, email, address, and then write something totally lame in the answer box like “Snoopy”. :snooty: Uh, duh. I don’t pick the winner of my contest. I have a program that does it. I type in the right answer, the program randomly selects a winner from the correct answers. A completely wrong answer like “Snoopy” is not in the running for even half a second. It’s a throwaway entry. Of course, every contest entrant is automatically subscribed to my mailing list (a very clear disclaimer is on the Contest page, right next to the entry button) and will receive one of my lovely newsletters (which is worth signing up for in and of itself, right?
) Maybe it’s because I’m sick, but that just strikes me as retarded to spend time filling out an entry with such avarice and then not even bother to truly make the effort to win.
In other, other news, my kids got new carpet installed in their room today, and the destruction of our stucco planter wall is moving along nicely. Once that’s out, we can replace the fence, which was damaged irreparably by having the planter box built right up next to it. (Nope, not us. We got it with the house.) We’re hoping to get this done before the rainy season hits.
In other, other, other news, our chicken is gimpy.
We don’t know what happened. Did the dog play too rough with her? (she’s bigger than he is) Did a cat snag her? Did she fall off the top of the fence? Dunno. Whatever it is, she hops around on one foot now and won’t use the other one at all, not even to balance. I’m afraid it’s broken and I don’t know what to do about that.
I like our chicken. She’s got personality. (Really, I swear. How many chickens do you know would play with a toy poodle and fall in love with my husband? He steps outside and she comes running at him with her arms wide open. She sits in his lap and wants him to pet her. She paces by our kitchen door and squawks for him.) Now she can’t pace. 