This morning, I got the first look at a site I designed eight months ago. A third party took the design and implemented it, and it looks absolutely hideous. I’m not going to link to it (obviously), or mention the third party here, because that would be unprofessional, but I am going to admit to how disappointed and angry this makes me.
On my way out the door to clean off Jen’s car, a fellow across Frederick Road hailed me, so I waved him over. It turns out he’s the son of the doctor who used to own the house—the man everybody else seems to have met except me. We chatted for about ten minutes in the cold, and I have to admit the description I’d been given is pretty accurate. I don’t know for sure, but I think he was pretty well fucked up at 11AM. It was too cold and windy to smell his breath. He seemed very happy to know my last name was Irish. We parted ways after I invited him to stop by sometime (it was the neighborly thing to do, even if I’m not looking forward to it) but I think I’d have to have him chaperoned by his sisters if he was to actually set foot in the house. (There’s no way he’s crossing the doorstep if my wife is here alone.)
Finally, one of my clients—actually the end-user of one of my clients, who I work pretty closely with these days—sent me a box of molasses clove cookies for the holidays. I hope they’re good.
UPDATE: These cookies are CRACK! They are so good, I’m fighting the urge to run downstairs and eat the whole pile. AAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUGGGGHHHH!