Come what May

And so I return after countless nearly sleepless nights and a really nasty stomach something-or-other. Please forgive the absence, if you're still visiting ye olde blog.

The last few weeks have brought major changes to Grammarianville, among them the loss of my beloved three-day weekend. To put it delicately, switching to five-night weeks blows monkeys. Angry ones. I'm bereft about the situation, as are most if not all of my colleagues. But I suppose this is life, and I'm blessed to have had the four-day workweek perk as long as I have. Sigh.

In other news, I am now the proud owner of a bouncing baby bicycle:

Yes, the Shocker. I could rename it, but why would I do such a thing? Now I just need to learn how to ride it. It has handle bar brakes, you see, and I learned on the old -- and superior -- back-pedal braking system. Why did they have to mess with perfection?

Furthermore, I officially have in my possession not one, not two, but five items of Oscar Mayer Wienermobile memorabilia, because I am one lucky gal. That's right, I have two whistles, one metal car with wheels that actually turn, one plush toy and one thoroughly awesome T-shirt. If you're not jealous, you really should be.

And furthermore, despite having had the aforementioned stomach nastiness, I ventured out to my first George Clinton concert Thursday night. Um, oh my holy hell? So fantastically bizarre. Some people might say they could live their whole lives without seeing a full-grown, dreadlocked man wearing nothing but a terrycloth diaper. But friends, I'm here to tell you, emphatically, that they are wrong.