My friend Caitlin came over a few weeks for a par-tay and immediately noticed my cool new glasses. Not only is she sexy, funny and as real as anyone I have ever met in Portland, she is smart because she likes my stuff (or at least says that she does). On the other hand Traci thought my entire set-up was pretty cool so I think she's the bees knees as well (plus Traci has chickens.) These gals also like that I swear in my blog, in fact they are practically daring me to use the word that also describes a fluffy cat!

Today I actually asked my doctor if I could start smoking again. With little time to do much else besides worry about my jaw-dropping financial problems and throw darts at photocopies of hubby, I have little to offer besides some stupid freakin' drink glasses that I really love. I am imagining myself being kicked out the house by the bank and wandering down the driveway like Steve Martin in the Jerk, "I don't need any of this shit, except these cool glasses, my diet coke, oh.. and my Pee Wee Herman house, and these tampons (tampons are expensive!), and my ice crusher... "

Ok, well now I realize that I am so particular about my stupid soda and my particular glasses and my crushed ice that it may actually be a topic worth touching on. I love ice crushers because I'm Rainman when it comes to ice. I even have a vintage crusher at work. Turns out in 2008, my obsession with ice was validated by a little bulldog called the New York Times. The crushers (above) are on sale at Ebay right now and I found a really inexpensive new one at Amazon for all you "Housewives of New Jersey" that don't like used houses or anything else that's used for that matter.