A lazy Sunday.
None today. Just taking it easy.
I talked to Linda some on the phone. "Maybe I'll go see a movie," I said. "But it's Sunday...and there'll be lots of people there on a Sunday...naaah."
I ended up driving around the Hills some, and I ended up out at Pacific Palisades. I was too spacy to be driving though, and the sooner I realized that, the better. I came home, drank a mocha frappucino (which I haven't had in months and won't for another couple of months--damn, those things are sweet), watched TV, and re-read Michael Connelly's The Poet, which I read some time ago and totally loved (though I managed to avoid his other novels until recently--go figure).
I called my father to wish him a happy Father's Day. Hallmark holidays aside, I think it's nice that there's a particular day that reminds you to say, "What up?" to the folks. I mean, I know you're supposed to love and honor them all the time, but it's hard to be fully conscious of that each and every time you talk to them. So I like these damn holidays.
I haven't heard any more bumps out on the front porch, thank goodness.
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