I swear I have half a recounting of the trip to Vegas done, but I've got a pretty bad cold and I'm trying to get kids' bedroom furniture stained, while simultaneously forcing them to clean said bedrooms. I also felt that while I was riding their asses, I needed to clean my room as a means of setting an example.

I also found myself sound asleep for three hours this afternoon. Mike had the audacity to wake me up because I was snoring. Annoyed, I glared at him and said I was snoring because I'm congested and that it'd be nice if he got me a vaporizer.

Apparently, he plugged it above my head. When I woke up and started to sit up, the bedding pulled on the cord enough to send a thick hard cover book to smack me just to the side of my nose. It hurt like hell and I was angry about being told that I had to get up because he'd been too lazy to do dishes and he wasn't cooking and that we had to go to the big town to eat something. I was doubly mad because I was tired and pissy and all I wanted was to have someone make me some crappy canned soup and a cup of hot tea and roll back over and go to sleep.

I burst into tears and then cussed him out from the bathroom. No, I'm not nice when I'm sick.

Then we hauled up to town and ate at a Chinese buffet where I had a cup of soup, some rice, vegetables, and a little chicken. Genny had selected shrimp that had to be shelled and deveined, so I actually spent the first half of my meal shelling and deveining shrimp for her.

Then, we hit the pharmacy, so I could get antibiotics. Tomorrow, is one of Russell's dearest friends' birthday parties, so we went to Barnes and Noble and we selected a book that we thought he would like. Then I went and was sorting through music bins and I rediscovered Manhattan Transfer. I used to have all of their tapes and some of their vinyl. For some reason, they had slipped my mind. So I bought a compilation of their work that has everything I like, "Operator," "Java Jive," "Twilight," and of course, "Boy from New York City." It's got a lot of doo wop, which kind of horrifies me now, but I kind of gasp my way through that to get to the good stuff.

I also can't find my second Etta James, "The Right Stuff" album, so I got a third. I swear I need stock or something.

Afterwards, I got a pumpkin spice latte at Starbucks and ordered stuff for the kids. It's bad when your kids know words like "frappucino." Fourbucks, as Mike refers to the company, becomes Twelvebucks.

Anyway, this is a long-winded way to say, I'll get to finishing the recount of the Vegas trip when I'm done dripping snot and feeling like crap.