First of all, I'm feeling very pleased because I found a new carseat--one of the big fancy ones that will eventually convert to a booster, so this will be the last carseat I have to buy--for $30 less than Walmart, at Overstock.com.





And, if you've signed up with Upromise.com, and link to Overstock.com through the Upromise website, you get 3% back for your kid's college fund.





Yeah, by the time the kid gets to college the fund will probably just cover a semester's worth of books, but I'm taking the approach that every little bit counts.





So, back to the carseat (and again, if you would have told me two years ago that I'd be enthused about shelling out for a carseat, I would have said, cuckoo for cocoa puffs)--it seems very comfy-cozy. The kid fell very asleep in it, so I stayed in the car with sleeping beauty while my mother went into the grocery store for a bit. Someone had given my mother a box of books, and I figured I could find something to keep me amused for a bit. Lo and behold, the book the HBO series True Blood is based on was ready for reading:


I looked forward to meeting Sookie Stackhouse & Friends, but this book is terrible. It's really, really bad. There are plot holes you can throw a cat through. There are plot holes you can throw a herd of cats through, they're so big. Big, fat, huge, gaping plot holes that nearly render the "book" a series of non sequiturs.

But what's really perverse is that I finished it. I think the end of a good mystery should tie things up in a clever, but believable way; you should say, Oh! Ok! Yeah, wow! I did not see that--but now I see that, totally.

At the end of this book, I was like, whatever you say, because the plot got impossibly improbable a looooong time ago.