enough with the serious already.

Nothin’, that is, other than these ridiculously adorable pictures of Talullah and Oscar, hanging out on my son’s bed when they thought no one was around to catch them in the act.

And no, I’m not at all above asking Talullah if she’s a bad, bad girl to get her to tilt her head like so.

Remember last summer when we thought spending a few weeks at the beach seemed perfectly reasonable? I do. Vaguely.

Taking hundreds of pictures during our Vineyard trip last August was a clutch move. Sure, the memories will sustain us for a while. More importantly, my laptop is throwing off a lot of heat as I fix the tilted horizons and try to eliminate zombie dog eyes… and I’m sure running a computer is far cheaper than turning the heat up above 58 degrees.

Viewing the world from the late November market’s underbelly, hitting the road for two weeks seems a little extravagant. But I wouldn’t want the money back. Blowing it on an overland parking permit, Back Door Donuts, Sharkey’s margaritas and fishing poles (the ones a certain dog who shall remain nameless ate somewhere between Providence and New London) sure was fun. Pull up a chair and warm your hands by the CPU with me as I stroll down memory lane.

I’m still enamored of the clams in the bucket. If I took one picture of these, I took 4 dozen. Greedy greedy greedy.

The Edgartown Lighthouse is beautiful inside and out. And, yeah, I remember those flip flops. I think Talullah ate them some time in early September.

More extravagant memories after the jump.

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I am greatly outnumbered in my family. Boy husband. Boy dogs. Boy children. Boy cat.

I tried overcompensating at first by getting a girl cat. And that look on her face may tell you right away, she’s not that into girl stuff. I’m not either. We get along great.

She’s a little feral. For the first year she lived with us, the only real cuddling we did was when she would jump on my back while I did yoga.

Actually, that’s the only real cuddling we’ve ever done.

When we brought this ridiculously adorable mess of a girl dog into our family last year, it’s possible I went overboard with the idea of having a fluffy little princess. I’m not sure why; girl stuff has never been my thing.

While shopping for dementor masks and ninja knives and other boy-like Halloween trappings last year, I may have picked up a purple tutu for her. What dog doesn’t want to dress up like a ballerina? Come on. You know they all do. It’s a great idea. Everybody thinks so.

Except, possibly, for Talullah.

This is for Stamford Talk, who’s asked me to post some pictures from my trip to Cannes. Dear, dear Talk… I regret to tell you that I took a small handful of lame pictures with my iPhone while I was there. It was partly because I was working, partly because it rained so dang much there weren’t a lot of opportunities for quaint pictures of this beautiful seaside resort.

Let’s start with my room. My assistant fought tooth and nail to get me into this room, which somehow seemed more desirable than the newer hotel down the street where everyone else was staying. I’m not sure if the fringe curtain around the king-sized bed was very French or just very slutty. You decide:

More fun after the jump

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Hands down, these bushes are my favorite part of our yard in the fall.

Nearly at their peak of color, the leaves will be almost gone when I return next week.

More after the jump. But first, take a moment to commend me. It took chutzpah to name a blog post firebush.

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Boy did I need to see this tonight.

I can’t say for sure what was at the end. But I had my two redheaded midgets in the car with me when we saw both rainbows.

I’m just sayin’.

Because our kitchen is far too small, our dining room is the center of our home. We first painted it a sage green, which was OK but grew old quickly (especially because we used the exact same shade in our old house, too).  I wanted to make the room as vibrant and bright as the people who hang out in it, so a few years back I covered the green with squash yellow paint, and then finished it with a glaze named Burnt Sienna. I used everything from a damp paint roller to cheesecloth to a sea sponge to apply the glaze. In some places, the effect is a bit like aged leather.

It’s not a large room (maybe 16 x 12), but it took me something like 40 hours to do all of the work.  It’s a good thing I like it, because I’ll die with this color on my dining room walls.

Today is the 16th anniversary of the day I (re)met my husband.

We were at our alma mater. There was football. And beer. A boy dressed too warmly for the uncharacteristically hot October weather, campaigning for a long-forgotten Republican* candidate. A girl dressed too coolly for the chilly night that followed, insistent on moving away from the campaign Winnebago lest there be confusion.

It’s two days shy of the 16th anniversary of the day I knew I’d marry him; three days shy of the anniversary of playing hooky on Fairfield beach and Thanksgiving Day turkey sandwiches at Firehouse Deli and the  sudden onset of my high fever and hallucinations and strep and The Crazy (which, by the way, he nursed me through like a champ).

I’m only half-joking when I say I don’t know how many years we’ve been married. The sign on our front porch, inscribed with the date of our wedding, fills in the blanks for me when I forget the details.

The date I remember is October 3, 1992. It’s the day that most changed all of the days that followed.

I love you, babycakes.

*Don’t worry. It’s long since been cured.

I’m not here.

(OK, OK, you’re right, I’m here. I’m trying to make it look like I’m not here. These people with their questions and their projects and their deadlines and their delusions that I have answers won’t leave me alone. I’m staying here until they all go away. Or until I’ve emptied my email inbox. Whichever comes first.)

So, I’m not here. Now where could I be?  Why, look! There I am! Over at Whit’s place, prattling on about god knows what*! Go, go, check it out! And bring the irate, pitchfork-wielding crowd gathered outside my door along with you!

*I’m pretty sure the little guy made it. I found something dead in the basement this morning, but it definitely wasn’t him. Too big.