Glamour Shots

Chris and I had our "engagement photo session" on Monday.  Ha.  First of all, I look like an ogre in all pictures.  Two, Chris is seriously the most photogenic person I know.  Third, I don't recommend Graue Mill in the middle of August = mosquitoes galore.  Fourth and finally, I look 46 lbs. heavier in snapshots.

Maybe I should pimp Chris out as his manager and put together a "book" for him to take on "go sees."  GQ look out.

I am on the road this week.  Fortunately, my work took me to Cincinnati and Indy, the land of fat people and 1991 rap music.  Instead of a crummy hotel, I am shacking at the Casa de Greta, i.e. Carrie and Dave's house.  This place is like the lap of luxury, with more dogs and more burp cloths.

It's been a full month since last seeing Miss Greta Dumpy Drawers.  What a difference 4 weeks makes.  Literally, she has changed from "newborn" to baby.  Her elbows and knees are porkier and she is definitely more "aware" of her surroundings.  On the verge of a full-on smile, Greta does cute things with her tongue and LOVES her hands.  I can't get enough of that little stinker-- I wonder if Carrie and Dave would be upset if I packed her away in my pocket and got outta dodge?  I mean really, would they notice?

Confession-- I got fake nails today.  After weeks and weeks of nawing away at my phalanges, my nubs are most def tattered.  I feel like I injure Kasia every time I rub her ears.  Opting for a light shade of pink, the new nails look somewhat better.  Like putting earrings on a pig, I will never have Adrienne's long, piano-playing fingers, so I have finally accepted my sausage fingers.  I'm just thankful I have a super small engagement ring, then shit would look real whack.  This doesnt mean I'm getting a weave.  For the record.