Candles: Not Just for Smellin'

I seem to have misplaced my little yellow notebook, which cost 69 cents and which holds a scattering of phrases and ideas for posts (and grocery lists) from about the last year. My little universe is one in which I could glance at it fifty times over the course of the day, sitting at my work-desk and not notice it or remember that I've been occasionally checking all my pockets and bags and stacks of random crap for it over the last week. So I will do what I usually do and smile blithely and hope that it turns up eventually. Which things usually do. For example, in the course of looking for the notebook I came across the hand-knit hat I hadn't seen in a while and was mildly concerned might be gone forever.

But this also kind of means that I'm winging it. On day two. Hm.

Oh yeah! Someone is offering a bag of homemade doggie treats to the best post about a dog and I've already written a post about a dog! And I have another one all queued (whoa) up! In my brain! I just hope that Lou doesn't find out about the contest, because there will be hell to pay if I lose.

ALSO! Um, remember how I said that Beck sang about a hot dog? Well, I heard those lyrics totally wrong, and it's pretty clear that the Lord is not, in fact, bringing him his hot dog. No, the Lord is "knocking his front door," and asking him what he has to show besides the dust in his pocket, which seems like a rather traditionally Lord-like thing to do. Sheet.

But, hell, if you know me as well as I do, you know that Beck could sing freaking Bible verses accompanied only by a lute and I would still think it was great. I get this way about some people. Once I decide you're good, you really have to do something drastic (like kill off a fictional dog) to get me to question you. Don't worry, Beck. You're safe.

Plus, does Scientology even have a Lord? I forget.