Cute Baby Alert!

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I really need to stop taking these damn quizzes...

Which Personality Disorder Do You Have?
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Crisis!

I only thought of this just now because my station on Yahoo! music (addictive) played "Pictures of You" and first I thought of high school, then I thought of that damn HP ad (seriously, who thought of THAT one), and then I thought of THE BIG EMOTIONAL TAPE. A few weeks ago I went through all our CDs and tapes to weed shit out and noticed it was missing. This is just wrong. WRONG! Will you still speak to me, Liz, now that I have lost this important piece of our history? Please forgive me for being so careless. Please forgive me for letting the world know you once made a mix-tape that had The Cure and Bonnie Tyler on it.

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We love those wacky Gates!

This is overlooking the Lake--by Cherry Hill there is an absolute forest of Gates and then you come out to see this...

I love how someone shoveled a winding path under these gates--I love even more the fact that everyone I saw walked along that path. The Gates have made everyone want to play along. (Well, okay, not everyone--I know C. hates them)

This weekend my brother and his wife are bringing my cutie nephew for a visit--cute baby AND The Gates! Photos to follow...

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ORANGE!

Being an artist myself I have to say that love them or hate them--they have people talking. It's not often you hear folks walking around the park discussing the "meaning" of something. I don't think there is any meaning here--they're just fun and frankly very bizarre. And what's so wrong with that? Art for art's sake anyone?

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Home Sweet Home

It was a great learning experience--I have a lot of work to do over the next year. Now that I know people will buy French themed (and worded) designs from a silly American--I will run with it! Many ideas are cooking in the brain right now, but I need to go take a long nap because in classic Jenny Gill fashion I fell ill with strep throat while in Nashville. Freakin' Fabulous let me tell you.

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So dip me in chocolate and throw me to the lesbians!

I promised you a story and now you shall have it:
When we arrived in London we headed straight to the hotel, longing for a hot shower to revive ourselves before heading out to not spend $50 riding the London Eye. At check in the clerk tells us the hotel is currently installing a lift, but the construction only goes on from 9:30-6 ish. Okay, whatever--I'll be up by then anyway, eating your atrocious, continental breakfast. We go to our room. It's tiny, but very, very clean with a spotless, newly renovated bathroom. BUT NO HOT WATER. Well, it is late morning--perhaps they've just run out for now. No matter, let's commence the drinking portion of our vacation. Off to a pub. That evening there is again--NO HOT WATER. Thursday morning: NO HOT WATER. Thursday evening: NO HOT WATER. Friday morning: NO HOT WATER. Are you getting the idea here? There was never any fucking HOT WATER! And when Jenny can't have a hot shower she gets cranky. The construction starts to piss me off for no other reason than that it's there.

We complain. To the tour company, to the hotel, to random people in pubs. We complain. The hotel moves us to another room. THERE IS NO HOT WATER. On Monday morning Dave tries to make a phone call to our friend, Ben, and learns that the hotel has one fucking phone line. One line for forty rooms. Wow. When we question the clerk on this she says, "Of course! One line!" Again, wow.

Dave takes one look at my face and herds me out of the lobby before I go off on this woman. We walk over to the Victoria & Albert for an art break. On the way I innocently ask Dave to throw some change in a bucket for tsunami relief. He berates me for forcing him to do this. I "shamed" him into it apparently. Um, okay. Then I foolishly decide to wait for the light to cross the street. Dave had charged on ahead and was a little peeved that he had to wait for me. Suddenly it was all just too much.

Jenny lost it. Right in front of the V&A and God and helpless tourists and locals alike. I fucking went off on that man. AND THEN I BURST INTO TEARS. I sat down on a bench and sobbed. Dave is totally embarrassed (he claims he didn't notice I was crying--whatever) and starts walking around in front of the museum, ignoring his crazy wife. People are staring, I am sobbing and I just don't care anymore. Finally this nice lady stops and asks (in a very lovely UK accent) if I'm alright.
"Nooooooo (sob) my husband and I had a fight and he's just being such an ass (sob) and there's no hot water (sob) and (sob, sob, sob)..."
"Oh, Crikey!" (people, she said "Crikey"--now if that ain't a precious vacation memory, I don't know what is.)
This lovely woman fishes a tissue out of her bag to mop up my tears and at this point Dave comes over.
"Are you the husband?"
"Um, yes"
"Well, sit down and take care of your wife. Make it better--and stop being such an arse!" And then she hit him upside his shoulder. SHE HIT HIM! HURRAH!

Dave did sit down and I told him I didn't care what he did, but I was taking my bag and credit card and getting the fuck out of that hotel. He decided to come with. Then we started laughing, really laughing--I mean--she hit him!

To prove that happy times existed I offer up some photos. Not the world's greatest photos, but remember it was our goal to go to at least two pubs a day. I think one day we hit four...it's all a little fuzzy. Anyway--the photos are over on Dave's site Click here. Here I am on my birthday--I would have been so pissed if we had come upon this sign the day AFTER my birthday:

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