The show 30 Rock makes me infinitely happy. Even in its rerunning summer state. The 22 minute dose of well written comedy is the perfect antidote to brain dead, children induced fatigue. Funny funny funny. Baldwin and Morgan are too much.

Peter gave me Flowerbomb for my birthday and it is insane how good it smells. Better than anything ever. Every time I wear it I want to squire myself off to dinner and a show, whisper sweet nothings into my ear and try to take advantage of myself. It's just so delicious.

So, I've been avoiding talking about this pesky cyst I have to have removed on my ovary because it just sounds so gnarly. A dermoid cyst. Ick. Read about it. Double ick. Take. The. Alien.Out. Please. I go in Thursday morning and they say I should be in and out. They're going to do laparoscopy. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for that and for good pain meds.

Our Taylor leave for grad school in London at the end of the month and even though we don't see each other that often, I kind of get that fast heart racing "oh my god I'm going to miss you so much" thing. She and her sissie Morgan are going to take the kids on the 18th for a slumber party. Their idea. Who am I to argue? And yes, dear Morgan, please call us to play whenever. We will take any and every chance at Emmerton goodness we can get.

I am desperately wanting to gut my house, get rid of 75% of our stuff and paint everything white. Is this some sort of ailment? I am thinking it is a reaction to children and their abundance of stuff. Oh and dog hair. I adore my darling brown eyed, furry child, but dog hair blows.

When I close my eyes, this is what I see:

Sigh....

Shoutouts: to Ferk, who is my favorite little letter writer. I love you, pen pal! to KBDK - I can't wait to see you!! Squeal. Squeal. to AR - you look AMAZING!