Nothing of Substance

This has been an uneventful week.  I toured another apartment on the next block; the niece and nephew could walk over there, I suppose.  If I stand in the driveway of the apartment, I can see the back of this house.  The bright yellow swingset is visible as well.  It's more than I really want to spend, but it has a back yard, and it's immaculate.  I've moved in to a few places over the years, and have had to do lots of cleaning.  Not here.  Two full bathrooms, washer and dryer hook ups, and a dishwasher and garbage disposal.  I just don't know.
 

Today is Holiday decorating at Grams' place, and I will head over there before I go to work at the hotel tonight.  The Hillbilly Buffet is in full force, and I dipped my foot in the pool last night.  I did not eat a guest's leftovers.  I brought home a guest's leftover prime rib and fed it to the dogs.  There were actually two ladies that did not finishe their prime rib, and they did not want to take it with them.  My halo is shining much brighter to the dogs, that's for sure.

I was damn near giddy to get home last night so I could catch Top Chef All Stars. It lived up to my expectatations for egos and cooking alike.  Just so it's known, I can't stand Stephen or Marcel.  I know the producers keep those arrogant chefs on to attract viewers.  I wish CJ or Sam were on this season, as opposed to Dale or Mike.   Just my two cent's in the event Andy Cohen starts reading this sad little blog.