Happy New Year!

Hafsumorebeer! Er, excuse me. Allow me to try that again.

Happy New Year!

I’ve spent a lovely morning up in the loft here at Casa Sundry, reading the Sunday paper over coffee and looking out the window at the snow-covered roofs and the brilliant winter sky. Now that I’m informed and caffeinated, I am in a reflective state of mind. Here are some thoughts on 2006 and hopes (I do not do resolutions) for 2007.

Reflections on 2006
I think it’s safe to say that 2006 was a pivotal year in my life, and one I will remember.

I had a nasty spill early on in the year that I thought would destroy my life. Instead, I was honored by supportive friendship and the grace of people, and I learned how to forgive myself. I am a stronger person than I was in 2005 because of this, and while I wish it had never happened, I am still grateful that it did.

In the spring, I traveled to Italy and had the single best vacation I’ve ever had. Walking through the streets of Rome reminded me that life is still out there to be lived, and grinning like a fool, I felt lighter than I had in years. My visit to Florence with my sister showed me another dimension to her, and I loved learning from her. She and my brother-in-law were incredibly good to me.

I went to Memphis and reconnected with an old friend.

I developed an interest in the theater, going to several plays, including one on Broadway.

I got better at dating. I fell in love. Ex-Boyfriend hurt me terribly, but we had some wonderful times together. After we broke up, I was still strong enough and hopeful enough to go on.

The 2006 election restored my hope for my country. Americans woke up and saw the right for what it was—an affront to everything we hold dear. The wars continue to rage, and there is a lot of ground to make up, but I have hope again. It’s been a long time.

My parents gave me an amazing gift that has opened up new possibilities for my future.

And, I started this bloggy thing. For years I’d talked about writing, but I never did it. I might not be turning out polished prose all the time, but I am writing. It makes me happy. I’ve also met some extraordinary people here in cyberspace. You make me laugh; you make me think. It is a privilege to know you. Thank you.

Hopes for 2007
As I said, I don’t do resolutions, but here are some hopes I have for 2007.

I’d like to be more flexible. Lately I’ve been thinking about finding another dance class or possibly taking up Yoga again, but I would also like to be a more flexible person in other ways. If nothing else, 2006 taught me to roll with life and know that it will get better. I’d like to continue with that.

I want to continue writing. I want to get better at it.

Knitting makes me happy, and I don’t want to stop now that the holidays are over. I’d like to find another pottery studio to work at. I’d like to get better at taking pictures.

I’d like to find a rewarding career path that still allows me to support myself.

I’d like to move. This home has been good to me for three years, but I would like to try something new.

I want to continue dating.

I want to travel again.

I want to keep learning about the world around me. Perhaps also learn a new language? It would be fun to do more than exchange pleanstries and order food. I enjoy fancy cooking, and I’d like to get better at that (and, Carissa, I also want to stop being so lazy and make my own lunches—bagels be damned!).

I want to continue to be a good and supportive friend. I would like to make new friends.

And, I suppose it would be a good idea to kick my occasional smoking habit.

So, I’ve reflected, and I’ve hoped. Now I must dash in order to get ready for the big New Year’s bash I am attending this evening.

Happy New Year!

Snowy Day

Boat on the Essex River

We’re having a snow day here in my neck of the woods. Everything was so peaceful and pretty that I decided to go out and snap some pictures.

Another View of the Essex River

Snowy Branches Outside My Window

Snow on Good Harbor Beach

So... Saddam Hussein Is Dead

So, do you think Saddam Hussein's execution spared embarrassment for the current US administration?

Saddam Hussen was an evil dictator, but he never would have had as much power as he had were it not for the Republicans in power during the 1980s. So much for American memory.

Parting Shot: Gerald Ford Was Against the War

Pity Gerald Ford insisted that his July 2004 interview with Bob Woodward published in today’s Washington Post remain “embargoed” until after his death. It might have made a difference in the 2004 election. In the interview, Ford criticized the war, saying “…I just don’t think we should go hellfire damnation around the globe freeing people, unless it is directly related to our own national security.”

On his former chief of staff Dick Cheney and his former Pentagon chief Donald Rumsfeld, Ford had some harsh words. “Rumsfeld and Cheney and the president made a big mistake in justifying the war in Iraq. They put the emphasis on weapons of mass destruction…And now, I’ve never publicly said that they made a mistake, but I felt very strongly it was an error in how they should justify what they were going to do.”

Gerald Ford said these things in July 2004, just months before the 2004 presidential election. Anti-war sentiment was still being treated like treason by the far right. Like a good party man, I’d imagine that Ford didn’t want to cost the Republicans the election with his criticism. Still, I wish that this interview had been published then, when it might have done some good.

Speed Date with PhilosopherPants

Well PhilosopherPants and I went out on a date last night. I’m not sure what to think. As I had to work today, he was willing to drive out here (a huge plus, as many Bostonians don’t leave their precious hub for fear of dying out here in “the nature,” as a friend of mine puts it), and we met for dinner.

We had a good conversation; he’s easy to talk to, and he’s an interesting guy. He’s not my type, really, but since my type tends to be Class-A (for Asshole), I’m trying to branch out a bit. He paid for dinner, which however archaic that sounds it means that he thought of this as a date. We had a nice stroll through town, and I thought that maybe we’d stop and get a quick drink or coffee or something, but he kept walking toward our cars. When we got to the parking lot, he said he had a nice time and that he’d like to go out again, gave me a quick hug, and was off. Our date lasted one hour and fifteen minutes. No kissing. When I called my friend to tell her I was home, she said, “ALREADY?! Did you take him home with you or something?”

So I’ve had a date. I haven’t thought about him much, and I certainly don’t have a goofy grin on my face this morning. I suppose he could be a slow mover, and perhaps even a gentleman. If he calls, I’d probably go out with him again just to see what happens. If he doesn’t, it won’t bother me.

Sigh…

Death, Random Holiday Photo, and Blog Whoring: Typical Wednesday Thoughts

Death
Good God! Go on a little holiday, and everyone dies. James Brown left this world on Christmas Day. That made me sad. Time was, all anyone needed for a party was to invite the Goddess Posse (my group of gal pals), clear some room, provide some drinks, and put on some James Brown. We’d do the rest. “Hot Pants!” and “Good God!” were common greetings among us. I know the man had his issues, but his music makes me happy.

Then I woke up this morning to hear that Gerald Ford died at the ripe old age of ninety-three. I’ll never understand why he pardoned Nixon (or forgive him for doing it), but I always look on him with pity. My mother used to say of him, “Oh, poor Gerald Ford. He fell a lot.” I thought of that this morning.

Here's a strange thing James Brown and Gerald Ford have in common: They were both lampooned on Saturday Night Live back when the show was worth watching. Not everyone can say that.

Random Holiday Photo
One of my closest friends was in town to see her family for Christmas, and I had a good time hanging out with her and her siblings. Her sister, it seems, is not much of a wine drinker. This was how the wine was opened at her house (the drill "bit" was a corkscrew. It got stuck in the plonky cork, and we had to wait for rescue).

Blog Whoring
When I checked my e-mail this morning, I read this message. Apparently someone read my post that mentioned The Shining as a pretext to show off my terrible typing skills. Based on that post, this person would like me to blog about the DVD release of The Illusionist. Here's what he wrote:

Hi,

I'm contacting you on behalf of Fox and M80 regarding the DVD release of The Illusionist starring Jessica Biel and Edward Norton. I found your The Shining blog entry http://sassysundry.blogspot.com/2006/11/shining-drunken-rodents.html and think you might be of some help to me. Since you blogged about The Shining, I was hoping you might find The Illusionist DVD release, contest or something related to it, blogworthy. I would be happy to send you The Illusionist DVD as a thank you for your help or for you to review.

If you’d like to help out, or would like more information, please let me know and I’ll be in touch soon!

Thanks!

I did in fact see The Illusionist with Ex-Boyfriend on his birthday. Edward Norton did some nifty illusions, but I can’t say as I think that the DVD release has me all hot and bothered. Besides, I’m not that kind of blogger.

Have any of you received these kinds of solicitations? What do you think? It strikes me as very unseemly.

Have Yourself a Fluffy Little Christmas

Fluff wishes you Happy Holidays, too.

May Your Days Be Merry and Bright

I like Christmas lights. Here are a few photos from my family’s tree.

Happy Holidays and Peace on Earth,

Sassy Sundry

And the Real Reason for the Season Is…

Happy Winter Solstice, Northern Hemisphere! On this darkest day, we anticipate the return of the light. And that is a happy thought.

In Memory of Santa

Every Christmas my dad tells the story of how we met Santa Claus. My family moved from upstate New York to the New Hampshire town where I grew up in the winter of 1976. That being a primary year, my parents went to City Hall to register to vote. They were a little late, but the city clerk, Mrs. Dearborn, allowed them to register anyway. And so my parents voted, and we settled into life in New Hampshire.

The following Christmas, we found out just how festive the town got for the holidays. A big parade, starring Santa Claus, wound its way through the still-thriving downtown, and the tall balsam tree in the square was lit. People crowded the streets, children on their parents’ shoulders, eager to see the fire trucks decked out with lights, the radio station van playing Christmas music, the high school band, and the floats overflowing with bundled-up children singing Christmas carols. And right in the center of town was a little hut where children could visit Santa Claus.

My father says that he and my mother got in line with three-year-old me and waited for my turn to chat with Santa about toys and life in the North Pole (I was an inquisitive child). We got to the front of the line, and my father says that Mrs. Claus looked at my parents and then leaned down and whispered something into Santa’s ear. I ran over to Santa, and he picked me up and placed me on his knee. “Hi, Santa!” I cried.

“Well, hello! Didn’t I see you in Glens Falls, New York, last year?”

“Yes!” I replied. “We moved here last winter. I like it here. There’s a beach and the park and we have a dog…” I went on and on, chatty little girl that I was. Of course Santa knew where I was last year. He knew everything.

My parents, however, weren’t so sure. While I was making small talk with Santa, my parents were exchanging worried glances. “What the…” my father started to say, but that’s when Mrs. Claus gave him a big wink. It was then that he saw that Mrs. Claus was really Mrs. Dearborn, and order was restored to the universe. "They really had me going," my dad always says.

So that’s how we met Santa Claus all those years ago, but it isn’t how we got to know him. That Christmas parade was nothing compared with the Christmas Village the town put on every year. Christmas Village transformed the Community Center into a Winter Wonderland. The basketball court was covered with brown paper and people spent hours stamping red paint bricks. Lights were set up to offset the yellow lighting of the gymnasium. Carpenters and artisans worked to construct Santa’s Workshop (“Elves” would turn wooden toys for children and make little personalized ornaments—I still have mine from 1977), the Gingerbread Man’s house, a Candy Cane hut, a Blacksmith’s shop, a huge Frosty the Snowman (made by my very own mother), an “Ice Rink” (the surface was white plastic and elves skated on it), and Santa’s house. Nearly the whole town would turn out for Christmas Village when it was complete. Starting in 1977 my parents were on the committee, and so for years I got to witness the creation of the magic (and was even an elf for a few years), but that never tarnished the wonder of Christmas Village.

The workmanship that went into Christmas Village was truly remarkable, especially for such a small community, but it wouldn’t have worked without our Santa. See, there was a reason why my parents were awestruck by Santa’s knowledge of my whereabouts Christmases past. Mr. Dearborn had white, flowing hair and a long, white beard. He had a soft and gentle voice, and an even softer and gentler demeanor. (He also wore very distinctive cologne. I’ve never figured out what it was, but if I smelled it today, I’d be transported back to being a three-year-old, chatting away with Santa. One summer day in his antique shop, my sister looked up at Mr. Dearborn quizzically and said, “Mr. Dearborn, you smell just like Santa Claus.”) I’ve seen many men who bear a striking resemblance to Santa Claus, but Mr. Dearborn is the only one who ever had me convinced.

I loved running around, helping to set up Christmas Village, but it always broke my heart to see it torn down. One year when I was five or six, it was just too much, and I ran to a corner and cried. As I was sitting on the floor despondent, I felt a little tap on my shoulder. There was Santa, back in his outfit. He said, “Come on, let’s go have a chat.”

“OK, Santa.”

We went out in the hallway and sat down on the steps. Santa asked me, “Why are you sad?”

“Because it’s over, and it was so wonderful, and I want it to stay the way it was always.”

He looked at me with that gentle gaze and said, “Well, would it be wonderful if it was always like that?”

“What do you mean?” I asked him.

“Christmas is a special time, sweetie. If it were like this always, then it would just be the way things are. You wouldn’t think it was magical. But you can keep it in your heart all year, if you want. When you are feeling sad, you can think about Christmas, and that will make you happy.”

I mulled this over and saw the wisdom in what he was saying. Wiping my nose, I said “OK. Thanks, Santa. I’ll remember.”

“Good,” he said. “Let’s go back and find your folks, shall we?”

We walked back into the Community Center, and he dropped me off with my parents with a wink and a tap to his nose.

As my sister and I grew older, my parents stopped working with Christmas Village, but we would still see Mr. Dearborn in his antique shop from time to time. When I registered to vote, Mrs. Dearborn signed me up. “Thanks, Mrs. Claus,” I said when I was finished. We chuckled and talked a bit about Christmas Village.

Some years back, Mr. Dearborn died. I was in graduate school at the time and couldn’t get back for the funeral, but the whole town turned out to mourn Santa Claus. A few years later, Mrs. Dearborn retired from her post as City Clerk. I’m not sure who the town Santa is anymore. I just like hearing my dad tell the story of how we met the real thing.

Trip Down Memory Lane

Now Dive is the Giver of Assignments. He’s asked us to post pictures from our misspent youths. Robyn has obliged (she's so cute!), and now I’m feeling guilty. As my parents are the keepers of the family photos, I don’t have many pictures of my childhood with me here. I did find this one, however, that seemed like a good fit for the assignment.


I remember this day pretty clearly. My family and I went to the Maine coast with my grandparents. My Pop-Pop had given me this new hat, and I thought it was cool. A note: I didn’t (and don’t) have buck teeth. I’m not really sure what kind of facial expression I was going for here. Pop-Pop was a bit of a shutterbug, and I know I sometimes got annoyed with the constant flash-popping.

Enjoy.

Gluttony, Envy, and Lust: A Day in the Life of Sassy Sundry

Today is a Black Star of Nutritional Death Day for Sassy Sundry. In celebration of “Wind Down Week” (I call it Warehouse Liberation Week), the company provided us with doughnuts. In addition, today is also “Cake Day,” the day when the company celebrates the month’s birthdays with cake. The cake has lots of gooey-sweet frosting, and I fear that I will soon lapse into a coma. We also have toffee, popcorn, and various hard candies available for our tooth-endangering consumption. ‘Tis the season, I suppose. I see a diet looming in my future.

Ooomph. The frosting just hit. Just a minute; I need some water. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Ooooh, look! A bright light. Think I’ll take a little stroll toward it.

Hmph what? What was I saying, and what are all these wires doing attached to my body? Oh, yes. Bad nutrition. Best not think about it until after the holidays. Instead I’ll think about envy. Reading about Before Girl’s kitschy fireplace playing on her iPod has left me insanely envious. My little screen just looks so bleak. I love Uncle Tupelo, but I want fire.

So today I’m a glutton and a coveter. Oh, and I might be guilty of a little lust, too… PhilosopherPants (“pants” means “trousers” on this side of the pond, get yer mind out of the gutter) intrigues the hell out of me, and I’ll admit that my mind has wandered a bit. If I swap out gluttony for lust, would this improve things any?

What about you? Commit any deadly sins today?

Monday, Monday . . .

Not much going on in my world today. We had our last warehouse shift today. It was all I could do not to let out a triumphant whoop when the clock chimed; my silly grin could not be contained. I do feel a twinge of regret over missing out on the tackiness, but I’ll survive. It might be nice to have do my own job. It’s been a while.

I have therapy later on this evening. An hour of someone subjecting my crazy ideas about holidays and men to reality is always a nice way to cap off a Monday. The good news is that my parents just something amazing—they gave me a whole bunch of money to help me pay off some old bills. Unbidden. Yay, Parents! Talk about Christmas present. And, I don’t want to jinx anything, but things look good in the dating department, too (no, not with IcelandMan. I read his profile. He’s hilarious, but he’s also completely unhinged. Pity, I would have liked Iceland for a time, I think). The upshot of all this rambling is that I don’t think I’m going to spend an hour crying about my miserable life this evening, and that’s good.

After therapy I’m supposed to meet up with an old friend who’s around until tomorrow morning before she flies back to California. Here’s the thing, though. I don’t really feel like it. Sure, I’d like to see her and all, but I don’t feel like doing two hours of driving tonight to do it. What I really feel like doing is going home, curling up in my comfy chair, and knitting while watching a movie. I feel like a jerk for canceling, but I didn’t know she was going to be around until after she got here, so it’s not like these were longstanding plans. Oh well. Next time.

Anything interesting going on with you?

Denied! Sassy Sundry Comes in Second Place at Tacky Gift Party

Tacky was on full display at this year’s Tacky Gift extravaganza. Among the food and drink items: Twinkie sushi (made with the Hostess goodies; green fruit roll-ups, and little red candy sprinkles); Cajun coconut Spam fritters (never have I been so happy to be a vegetarian); a jello ring; a heart-shaped, ugly Santa cake; a platter of Twinkies, Sno-balls, Devil Dogs, and strange Christmas tree-things; wine coolers; boxed wine (apparently it tasted like cherry Kool-Aid gone bad); spray American cheese and Ritz crackers; and a few normal items and beverages so we could actually eat and drink. The décor was delightful; the centerpiece on the food table was this ceramic vase-like oddity featuring two horses and a pink-and-blue floral bouquet. No one really understood it until some wise attendee affixed the penis eraser floating around the party in the correct place for one of the horses.

Cajun Coconut Spam Fritters and the sad remains of the Jello Ring

And the gifts were profoundly disturbing. I received a beautiful lovers statue regifted from a couple’s daughter’s Yankee swap party (“Someone really gave this to children,” shuddred my friend). I dubbed it the Sexy Oscar and shouted “You like me! You really, really like me!” as I held it aloft. Other notable gifts included a self-help guide from the freak show formerly known as Tammy Faye Baker (among the pearls of wisdom: change your jewelry with nail polish!), a warped child bride musical carousel, a disgusting wind-up gag sex toy, a plaque saying “If you hear hoof beats, don’t think of zebras!” (people were offering good money for that one—it was strangely fantastic), and an ear key chain that said “Lobes of fun!” on it. My hideous patriotic Thomas Kinkade bear, despite the fact that it also had a pronounced camel toe, came in second. The winner was a Santa toilet seat cover, with a beard that would overhang the lid. For sheer nastiness, that gift won. In my gift’s defense, I will say that I personally cannot imagine someone giving someone a Santa toilet seat cover for a holiday gift. But the people spoke, and Ol’ Yellow Beard won.

Tacky Tableau

I am consoling myself with the thought that coming in second at Tacky Gift is in and of itself kind of tacky. It will have to do until next year. Sniff.

The Sexy Oscar Joins the Shelf of Tacky

And the Winner for Best Opening Line Is . . .

Lucky me, I didn’t have to wait too long for more interesting online dating men to come along and e-mail me. One gent in particular sounds very promising (gasp! I think have interests and ideas in common!). This guy, however, takes the prize for best opener ever. The way to a woman’s heart—make her laugh really, really hard.

In my profile, I mention being open to new ideas. His e-mail:

Hello!

I was hoping you would come with me to Reykjavik, Iceland to
live in a geodesic dome heated by volcanic steam where we could grow orchids to
sell on eBay?

Your profile says you are open to new ideas. ;)

I’ll forgive him the emoticon for his daring. My reply: “What would you do if I said yes?”

Iceland, ho!

The iPod Shuffle

Robyn has some lovely posts about Christmas music over on her blog. I haven’t been listening to much of it myself. While White Christmas, Ella Wishes You a Swingin’ Christmas, Charlie Brown Christmas, and a mix including Judy Garland’s “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” have received airplay here and there, I've mostly been listening to other stuff. Some years I have the holiday spirit, and some years I don’t. This year I’m forcing the cheer a little bit, but I’m also giving myself permission to be a snarky humbug (see every post since forever) when necessary.

In the snarky humbug spirit, nary a holiday tune has landed in my iPod, making workdays carol-free. Here’s what I’ve been listening to today in lieu of holiday tidings:

“Shine a Light”—Wolf Parade
“Blue Vein”—Raconteurs, (live)
“I Put a Spell on You”—Nina Simone
“Lay, Lady, Lay”—Some kickass Dylan cover from a friend’s mix
“Mr. Tough”—Yo La Tengo
“Handshake Drugs”—Wilco (live)
“Boho Dance”—Joni Mitchell
“I Love My Jean”—Camera Obscura
“Hotel”—Broken Social Scene
“Authority Box”—Robyn Hitchcock

Something of a strange shuffle if you ask me, but I’m grooving. Now I’m off to a meeting. Wish me luck; I’m leading it, and with all the warehousing, I haven’t the faintest idea what’s going on. I’ll leave you with a question. What are you listening to?

Christmas Horror, Or Today's Tackiest Item Is . . .

Just hear those sleigh bells jingleing, ring-ting-tin-gle-ing too,
Come on, that Yuletide Stalker is coming after you
Outside the snow is falling and you are screaming “Yooo hoo!”
Come on, that Yuletide Stalker is coming after you.

This book is billed as an INSPIRATIONAL ROMANCE. Seriously. Stalking as romantic? This is why I don’t buy holiday gifts.

Tacky Gift Party

One of the highlights of my holiday season is the Tacky Gift Party. For years, my friends and I have scoured the world for the most useless, ugliest, most sick and wrong gifts we can find for less than $5. Then we wrap them up nicely and exchange.

In days of old, the Friendly Toast restaurant, in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, home to some of the worst art ever created, served as the backdrop to Tacky Gift. Our wait person would judge the contest (we tipped well). Times change, however, and this year Tacky Gift will be held at a friend’s house. The host has instructed guests to bring the items like Twinkies, Tab, spray cheese, cocktail weenies, Boone’s Farm “wine,” Natty Ice, and Devil Dogs for the festivities. We won’t eat or drink, but merry we shall be.

A continual work in progress, there are no hard and fast rules to Tacky Gift. The following guidelines, however, are enforced:

• The lower the cost, the higher the Tackiness Quotient. Tie will go to the cheapest gift. Hence, re-gifting always lends an advantage.
  
• Kitsch is not the same thing as Tacky. Kitsch is too cool to be truly tacky.
  
• In order to qualify, gifts must be something that people can conceivably imagine someone giving as a present.
  
• The Uselessness Factor is always appreciated. A puzzled “What is it?” uttered upon opening is a sign of a truly tacky gift.

Memorable prize-winning gifts have included an orb of undetermined substance and origin; a clear Lucite rose ring holder, with hideous blue perfume in the flower—this thing also lit up and played a tinny, electronic Für Elise; a gigantic portrait of a copule's eldest son; and a two-videotape set of the Left Behind movies, starring ex-child actor Kirk Cameron of Growing Pains fame and badly based on the biblical book of Revelation.

The recipient of the tackiest gift pledges to display the gift in a semi-prominent place for a year (that plastic flower gizmo was an eyesore, but I really feel bad for my friend who had to display Left Behind for an entire year), and the giver of the tackiest gift gets to bring home the plastic drunken Santa wine goblet as a trophy. The trophy is currently in my possession. I’m fairly confident that I will get to keep it, because here is my gift.

I discovered this patriotic Thomas Kinkade, Painter of Light™, bear, clearance price $2.99, while taking one for the team. If you don’t know about him, Thomas Kinkade is a strange bird. He’s an “artist” of the cheesiest order known for some bizarre outbursts. Take this story from his Wikipedia entry.

“In 2006 John Dandois, Media Arts Group executive, recounted a story that on one occasion ("about six years ago") Kinkade became drunk at a Siegfried and Roy magic show in Las Vegas and began shouting ‘Codpiece! Codpiece!’ at the performers. Eventually he was calmed by his mother.”

Like I said, I’m going to win. If a patriotic bear designed by a drunken Siegfried and Roy fan obsessed with codpieces and his mother isn’t tacky, then I don’t know what is.

Happy Birthday, Dionne Warwick, Queen of Muzak

Friends are for telling you that some songs just suck

Today’s creeping me out already. In addition to finding out that today will be yet another trying day in Virgoland, I also discovered that today is the birthday of Dionne Warwick, the Queen of Soft-and-Easy Muzak Favorites. Perhaps getting “I’ll Never Love This Way Again” stuck in my head is what my horoscope meant by a trying day?

Come on, sing the chorus with me. Good and loud and with lots of emoting hand gestures. You know you know it. You go to the grocery store.

I know
I'll never
love this way again
So I keep holding on
before
the good is gone
I know
I'll never
love this way again
Hold on,
hold on, hold on

Apologies. Today’s a trying day.

Random Monday Musings

Holy crap, this story made me laugh. I can see it now. A family brings home their Christmas tree, and the fresh pine scent fills the house. Mugs of hot chocolate all around. Singing along with the Christmas music, the family begins to decorate. Everything is just holiday perfect until… Aieeeeee! The tree has beady little eyes! I can see a horror movie franchise here. Perhaps I should write a screenplay, The Christmas Trees Have Eyes. Whaaa haaa haaaa haa.

So I didn’t go out with Flattering French Guy, as you may have guessed. I just couldn’t go through with it. I called him and wound up having to leave a message saying that I didn’t think it was a good idea for us to meet up. When I hung up I felt nothing but relief. There are other men out there, and I’m sure that Flattering Guy can flatter his way in to some other woman’s heart.

Nothing much went on with me this weekend. I stayed close to home and made some major progress on the holiday knitting. Check out my posts on Punk Rock Knitters (here and here), if you’d like (exception: Ms. Smokestack cannot click on these links, or she will ruin her surprise).

The only other thing of note that happened to me was that I fell in the driveway. Splatted was more like it. Hey, Grace! I turned my foot, and now I’m walking with a limp. I have huge bruises on my elbow and hip. Pretty. And now it’s off to the warehouse.