Dear friends: don’t fret, I am an equal-opportunity ignorer! None of you are receving replies to your multiple voicemails, emails, smoke signals and pigeon carrier deliveries (now doesn’t that make y’all feel special?)! If you could be so patient until we re-launch this bad boy Wednesday morning …

Pic of the day: my first ever mirror shot! I’m sure Heather would be proud.

Some good Friday humour (via Mike):

How to measure success

At age 4….success is….not peeing in your pants.

At age 12…success is….having friends.

At age 15…success is….having a drivers license.

At age 20…success is….having sex.

At age 35…success is….having money.

At age 50…success is….having money.

At age 60…success is….having sex.

At age 70…success is….having a drivers license.

At age 75…success is….having friends.

At age 80…success is….not peeing in your pants.

If you know anything about my family, you know the Dead Mouse Smell. For a few summers, it emanated from underneath the dishwasher in my family’s lake home … when the dishwasher ran (and thus became hot), the smell became more noticable — and more unbearable. (Pleasant, don’t you agree?) Until my dad (or was it my mom? dad is scared of mice and snakes) finally found the bastard’s rotting carcass underneath the dishwasher and sink. The chipboard that was smashed away trying to get at the mice still hasn’t been repaired in the cabin.

Now, my kitchen is plagued with the Dead Mouse Smell: this time, it’s under the sink. Last Friday evening, before our two day camping trip and between the hours of 10 p.m. and 7 a.m., three little miceys ran across my living room floor and around the refrigerator before losing their lives to the peanut butter laden mousetraps. Two more traps were set before departure. Upon return: only one mousetrap remains.

There is a mouse in my house with a trap around its foot, its tail, its head. And perhaps it lodged its dying body under my sink before dying a slow, cruel death and bringing the Dead Mouse Smell back into my life.

There is a mouse in my house.

Wondering what Friday’s post was all about? Well, we had to have something to eat for our trip to Chippewa Falls, right? (I mean, we couldn’t drink Leinenkugels the whole time … or could we have?)

Making hobo dinners.

Pics from last night’s crazy happy hour at Bennigans.

Young man! There’s no need to feel down!

Fresh! is feeling not-so-fresh. It’s trapped in a white box with a black border around it and dammit, it wants out! And as soon as its rightful owner gets a few things in her life organized, things will be different around here, baby. Maybe not that different to you, but I think they’ll feel good to me. And that’s what this web site is all about, right?

To my dearest Netscape users: I’m sorry about the extraneous bolding throughout Fresh!, which I horrendously discovered this afternoon while viewing my site on the newly installed iMac in my office. If you don’t care, I don’t care.