Toss another bat on the grille, Bob...

Well, once again, there is blissfully little to report. I bought a pretty, cheesy, oh-so-early-1980s faceted crystal on a string to hang in my bedroom window and make pretty cheesy rainbows around the room to amuse me and make the dog insane. It's the little things.

The only interesting medical news is that Dr. Dickhead, as I'll call him, the former OB/GYN, finally bothered to call me yesterday. Finally. I had the CT scans on the 2nd, and dear doctor finally called yesterday to tell me he'd seen the results and gee, had I had any luck getting into some financial aid program so I could get some treatment?

There are rare times when I curse my mother and father for raising me so well that I'm unable to express my true feelings in moments like this. I was unfailingly polite, nice, and burned no bridges while telling him that I had sought oncology care in the Bay Area and was approximately 22 steps ahead of him in the entire process by now. I will have to carefully craft a letter explaining to him why I will never come back to see him and his toadlike bedside manner again. Hmm, that's not fair to the toads.

Speaking of toads, which we weren't really, but on a similar theme... In lieu of anything noteworthy to report, and in honor of the impending Halloween season, I offer the following as a cautionary tale to baby bats everywhere:

See? Mommy TOLD you not to cross the road, now didn't she?

This poor little guy met his end somewhere on highway 113 between Dixon and 99, way back when Lloyd went down to visit his dad in early August. He was found, as you see him, some days or weeks later, and sadly forgotten since. He remains there still. We think of him as sort of a mascot-slash-hood ornament-slash-science project. His name is Steve.