The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire.

The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire.

We don't need water, let the motherfucker burn.

Except say washer instead of roof.

Yeah, that is right, my washer caught on fire saturday morning filling my basement with lots of smoke. And because my house has this fancy dancy security system the alarm automatically goes to the fire station so I got to meet a lot of fire men in my oh-so-sexy PJs.

Don't worry, I consoled myself with lots of alcohol on saturday night and ended up making an ass of myself in front of a bar full of people. I'm blaming it on this new drink from a local restaurant that I had with dinner (ok, ok, I had TWO with dinner in addition to a bloody mary), the drink has a fantabulous name: The O Face. Sweet. Because if you don't feel like a perv ordering it then you know you've had one too many. Or maybe if you've decided that in order to mock someone you know who wears dumb hats you empty out your purse and put it on your head like a hat. And, pose for pictures.

After my little early morning party with the firemen I was bushed, I'm thinking it was the super surge of adrenaline I experienced when I realized what was happening, and the subsequent crash that followed. I ended up taking 2 naps that day, which is something I rarely do.

Sunday was a much more productive day, because I went to the flower store and picked out what I would like to put in my beds (I need to supplement the seeds). Also I figured out how much mulch I'm going to need for my beds. Hopefully I will be able to get the mulch in this weekend so that it can start looking a little more fresh than the burnt out mulch that currently is in my beds.

Blah, blah, blah, plants, blah, blah. Someone should really stop me from talking about plants.



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