The first seminar I attended was all about Pinot Noir. There were ten for us to taste and it was hosted by two Master Sommeliers and the winemakers. Was I in heaven or what.
And then for some reason, tiny insects decided that they just had to commit suicide on my freshly painted doors. Besides tweezing their little carcasses from the paint, there was even more razoring, sanding and repainting!
“We come here to go to shows, spend money at the restaurants, spend a lot on rooms and at the tables, and tip well. This feels like extortion.” They “used” to like coming to Vegas.
The only bad thing – if you want to call it bad – is that I still haven’t quite accepted the fact that I’m not the aspiring HGTV star that I think I am.
We – the locals – were spared having to pay the fees until December 29, when, according to the thought processes of the MGM Illuminati, locals would pay, too, therefore increasing their revenues by – get this! – millions. Hahahaha! Delusional!
I have a knack, apparently, for mixing cultural elements in food and making them delicious. I love that about me.
I've not started yet, but a quick flip through the book doesn't show an immediately perceptible difference from the original so far. So that means that I have to sit down and read the whole thing again. Yay!
I "read" books about health, which, unfortunately, were few and far between. The fact that my waistline has more or less disappeared in a pile of zaftig, prove that the reading that I *have* done, I haven't necessarily put into practice.
I finally found my real estate soulmate and moved in last month after weeks of HGTVing my way into getting it into habitable (for me) shape.
I have been calling this my “Body Bag House,” because that's the only way I'm going to be carried out of it when I am very old and very gray. Clairol notwithstanding.