I got to feel like some sort of mechanical genius last night when I fixed our stove. Our front right burner wasn't working, so I tried lifting and replacing the "plug" part of the coil, and realized it wasn't "plugged" into anything. So I lifted the drip pan and saw something plug-like connected by wires that had fallen below. Soo yeah. I put it into the area where it needed to be plugged in, plugged in the coil, and voila! Working stove. In the world of men, that either makes me butch or hot.
This weekend is going to be fabulous. Thursday I'm going to see Little Miss Sunshine with Zach (
And on top of all of that, Steven, a friend from elementary-middle-high school who I haven't seen in something like six years is going to be in town from Thursday-Tuesday, so I'll likely spend some time with him Thursday, Friday, or Saturday night, depending on schedules, courage, morbid curiousity, and some other factors.
Our Israeli owners are here all week. Conversing amongst themselves, they speak in Hebrew. This morning, I caught a couple of things. "Rosh Hashanah," "shalom," "Ashkenazi" -- of course, they could have either been talking about Jews who are of Ashkenazi descent, or a name of someone who works at our sister-company (which they also own), Talla-Com.