It's back and forth, nearly every day, whether we are happy here or not. Last night Keith said he would feel better about it were we not living in the most high-profile house in town! People come to the golf course and tell Keith, Oh I saw your dog tied up in your yard. Checkgirl at Cash &Carry says, Oh are you from Montana? You live across the street? Okay, I don't necessarily want everyone knowing where I live. We couldn't. have. picked. a more obvious domicile.
The more Keith learns about the position at the club, the more ridiculous it gets. The former managers tell him horror stories. Most, if not all of the members, are oblivious to what the position entails. Tomorrow the mens' league is holding its draft and Keith is feeding 50 out of kitchen equipped no better than a concession stand. Not to mention it will likely be a 15-hour day for him.
And I have to be in Cottonwood at 6:15 on Wednesday. That's a.m., people. That is, if they have school. Apparently some prisoners escaped from the Correctional Facility and therefore school is cancelled until they are captured. I seriously doubt, though, that they're hanging around Cottonwood.
In other equally enrapturing news, the only stoplight in town has been repaired after blinking yield/stop for nearly one week straight. I guess the stoplight repair guy was out of town.
Oh, and apparently the local computer repair guy was able to recover 2Gs of photos, videos, etc. from the hard drive of the laptop so that's encouraging. What is not encouraging is Recompute's response to my cries for mercy. They are dead to me. I hope a plague of locusts descends upon them. That, and boils. That's a good start.