Dec. 3: IDCEAYWTPFriday

It’s Friday, and that means you get a post called I Don’t Care Enough About You to Write in Transitioning Paragraphs Friday.

  • Are you like me? Are you tired of people who are famous for no reason whatsoever finding ways to continue being famous? Here’s a perfect example of how far this goes. “TMI,” indeed.
  • (Not sure I’ll be eating—or doing anything else with—mayonnaise for a long, long time.)
  • I slept from 1:00 a.m. on Wednesday night (Thursday morning) until 1:40 p.m. yesterday. No matter how much you say, “You must have needed it!” I still feel like a lazy ass. Imagine my relief when I went to the school for pick-up in the afternoon and saw that my kids had actually gotten there okay. I vaguely remember pushing them out the door yesterday morning before I went back to bed.
  • The tree is decorated and we’re slowly getting the rest of the house all festive and holiday-ish. Last night Victor and I sat in the family room with Christmas music on and enjoyed the simplicity of a (brief) immersion in the spirit of the season. I do love this time of year, even if it stresses me more than it should.
  • My friend Jay posted this video on FB the other day. This is still one of my favorite of the oh-so-silly Christmas songs, and now it feels all updated with new animation and makes me love it all over again. Enjoy!
  • Tomorrow we’re going to a Civil War game party. Neither of us attended Oregon universities, so we don’t know who to cheer for, and I gotta say that I really don’t care if anyone wins (I suspect one of the teams will, though). I got a chuckle out of this Facebook status from one of Kim F’n’s sons yesterday: In honor of Civil War week, repost if you know someone who suffers from being an Oregon State fan. Being a Beaver Fan is a real disorder and should be taken seriously. There is still no known cure for BFD and sympathy does not help. We can raise awareness! 100% of Oregon fans will repost this simply because we know how to copy and paste, as well as tie our shoes, etc. YELL-OOOOOOOOOO!!!! (Sorry, dear Wendy—personally, I have no problem with Beaver fans.)
  • Feeling grateful that Sherilee made it back from her Hawaiian anniversary vacation. Welcome home!
  • When we chose Scout from her litter of beagle puppies, we chose the pup with the best “friendly” qualities. She happened to be a girl. Casey, another female, came to us as a stray. When we went to the pound a couple years ago to choose a kitten, we only looked at females because male cats can be territory-markers and aggressive-like, and we wanted a lover, not a fighter. Victor was surprised, then, when I chose a male as my favorite from Oliver’s litter, because he assumed I’d want yet another girl pet. There have been just a few times I’ve regretted choosing a male, and every one of those times has involved a view like this one:

  • (I adore Oliver, but all I want for Christmas is to get rid of those things.)
  • The Wii drums Jack ordered with his birthday money arrived this week. We are sooo the Partridge Family. I’m totally strapping tambourines to the dogs.
  • cvstoreWho knew this store existed? We all need Marty Moose cups and dickies, right?
  • When we got our Christmas stuff out of the attic I asked Vic to grab my high school keepsakes box, which had not been opened since I packed it up in 1993. It was a little bit like opening a time capsule. Turns out it wasn’t just high school keepsakes; I’m a terrible labeler of packing boxes. It also contained research projects from college, grade school yearbooks, and report cards as far back as second grade. (If the report cards are stacked just right, you can turn them into a flip-book and watch me get dumber and dumber as the years go by—not exactly awesome, but, well, kind of awesome.) Katie’s favorite item was a Z100 bumper sticker from 1985—that makes it vintage, right?—and mine was my stack of Agapeland records. All of them were there—Music Machine, Bullfrogs & Butterflies, Sir Oliver’s Song, Nathaniel the Grublet, and The Birthday Party. Now I need to borrow that LP-to-MP3 converter we got for Wellington a few years ago and my kids will soon hear the terrible Jesus-y trash I loved so much at their age. Hey, at least there weren’t any of those creepy Little Marcy records in my time capsule. I am really, really, really hoping I burned them. If I ever run across Little Marcy albums, you can expect to find me rocking back and forth, sweating profusely and muttering about the apocalypse. Pretty sure. I think Sunshine will be right at my side—Little Marcy is a horrific memory of our childhoods we bonded over in the very beginning.
    Disappointed smile

Enjoy your weekend, friends.

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