Sunshine on my Shoulder

I'm in California right now, visiting ma soeur. We're having a grand time, and I'm relishing not putting on a hat, gloves, boots, scarf, heavy coat with fur collar and even socks before I go outside. Aside from a phone interview for a job back in the windy city, I've mostly been just reading, hanging out with Murphy, and attempting not to leave my footprint in my sister's spotlessly clean house. Aside from where, as she puts it, my suitcase "exploded." Next weekend arrive my much-missed husband and certain parents. I've been itching to make about 6 dozen sugar cookies and survive only on their Christmasy nourishment. We've also got a gingerbread house in the works. We should invite our engineer-friends over for assistance.

C. and I watched Who Killed the Electric Car, got outraged, wondered what hydrogen fuel cells are. She's never seen ANTM, watched marathon yesterday, introduced C. to inherent hypocrisies of said show and the phenomenon of vagina arms. Then solved riddle that we've all been grappling with lately, which is the perfect way to describe Britney's "lady garden": a grandma's armpit in a tanktop.