No recipe today. Bill ordered pizza and I ate it with a salad of torn, slightly less crisp than desirable iceburg lettuce. How depressing. It still tasted good. Like a cafeteria meal. He is downstairs screaming at the Blackhawks game. It doesn't sound too good.
Work has slowed down to the turtle pace of summer. I blatently web surf, jump for the phone and annoy the male co-workers by chatting. Ah, summer.
