Yes, I know, I just posted a blog two weeks ago, but at Megan's request, here's another.  I really have nothing to write about, I just wanted to show that Mexican fucker--er, Latin Lover--that the incessant, pointless comments he posts on my blog accomplish nothing but fuel my belief that he needs to get a life.

We're all a little less enthusiastic about blogging these days.  Why is that?  Are our lives that much less interesting than they were back in April?  My theory is that we, as a group, are subconsciously limiting ourselves to a set number of blogs in any given week, and this number has remained unchanged since the day we started this stuff.  How is this possible, given the fact that most of us update about once or twice a month?  Two words: Lindsey James.  JJ, you have faithfully updated, on average, 184 times a week for the past 8 months.  And I think each one of us loves it, because we get online to check our friends' blogs and updates are few and far between, then we check yours and have reading material for hours.  Granted, I have no idea what any of your posts mean, but it's something to do to pass the time.  Thank you.

I thought many of you may have been interested to have a little peek into my professional life.  Who am I kidding? There's nothing professional about it, but I digress.  On Saturday, I was working in Prescott, a small town about an hour and a half from Phoenix, with two of my non-english-speaking employees, Juan Carlos and Jorge.  Since neither of them can legally drive, or obtain a driver's license, or even live in this country, they rode with me in my truck to Prescott.  As is customary for working on a Saturday, when the job ended, I bought them a meal.  They wanted to go to Taco Bell and have some tacos.  I bought 16 tacos for the two of them, and they still wanted more.  We left town, and Murphy's law somehow found me on a day where everything else had gone reasonably well.  About 20 miles outside of Phoenix, traffic grinded to a halt.  In 90 minutes, we travelled 2.5 miles.  As we finally got back into town, the loop around town was limited to one westbound lane due to construction, so we had more sitting around.  A trip that only took an hour and 20 minutes early that same morning, took a grueling four hours on the way back.  Sure, it was the end of a long day and I just wanted to get home, but the worst part was being stuck in the truck with my friends from south of the border.  Luckily, we had the spanish radio station cranked up to pass the time, and they were singing and whistling.  Trust me, that's really not that irritating.  And remember those tacos?  Trust me, Juan and Jorge gave me stinky reminders about those every couple of minutes.  Good thing it was raining so I couldn't roll down any windows.

Judging by that last story, you might think I'm miserable here.  I actually love it here more and more all the time.  The job sucks, although not as bad as it did a month ago.  Meegs, that one was for you--glad to know somebody besides John is reading my blog.