Granted, there are some hormones in the house at the moment (seriously, can coffee shops please stop playing "Your Song" whenever I walk through the doors? I prefer my lattes without a side of tears and embarrassment), but this weekend left me absolutely spinning with happiness.
(We went for Mozart.)
I once met Jason Priestley. At the height of 90210 madness. Which means he looked exactly like he does in that picture up there. And if you're anywhere around my age, you know what I'm talking about when I say "Squee!"
Still love you the most. Always will.
I mean, sure, we were all in hunker-down-for-hurricane mode, and ended up going a bit stir-crazy as a result (said hurricane apparently passed over while we were dead asleep on Sunday morning; I think a tree limb batted against our window once or twice, making it more Adorable Kitten than Raging Tiger, as hurricanes go).
