Okay, I do have stuff that could be that long. But I'd have to tyyype iiittt. Which I like to do. I just haven't had the time.
It's that time-consuming time of year. Chriiiiiistmaaaaas!
The Saturday after Thanksgiving, Christmas began. My employer recruited a fellow dance assistant of mine to decorate the dance studio while she was out of town. The fellow assistant, Jen, didn't sound too thrilled about it, so I offered to help. We picked up some Mickey D's and had a picnic at the studio. Heeheehee. We blasted Christmas music of various kinds, both good and bad. We hung garlands a million different ways, and went on an epic nail hunt. We found the nails in a band-aid box. Yes. a band-aid box. They're safe there.
Evan was there too, so we had him hammer all the nails. We supervised.
I arranged a tribe of nutcrackers and tied sparkly ribbons around fake presents, getting pink glitter EVERYWHERE. I probably still have some in my hair.
The next day, my family decorated our Christmas tree. Dad tried to play various weird Christmas music that was not smiled upon by the rest of the family, so Mom brought in Celtic Christmas, which no one can argue with.
And guess what? I TAKED PEEKTURES!
WE NEED MORE COWBELL!
Hey. There it is. Sweet.
|Blitzen vibrating with Christmas joy!!|
|This is what Christmas Wonder looks like.|
|Ooh lala. I hope Mrs. Claus wasn't looking.|
Today, something totally unrelated to Christmas yet still related to this blog post, because this post is about December and not just Christmas and this is a run-on sentence, happened.
I had my first driving lesson. My dad took me out to a little loop of road where there was supposed to be a housing development, but isn't and let me get a feel for the truck. The loop is three sides random narrow pavement, and one side actual road that no one ever actually drives on. The truck is an F150 with weird brakes. They squeak.
So I drove around the circle. A lot.
Our driving conversations often went like this:
Dad: "Brake. BRAKE. Are you braking?"
Me:"Yeah. A little. Calm down."
Dad: "You're going to hit that pole."
Me: "We did not hit the pole. We went over the curb a little, but everyone does that from time to time, so I'm not worried."
Me: "Stupid brakes. This is why I never use brakes in the racing games I play."
Me: "Never. I let go of the gas periodically. It worked. I'd always win the free game. Until I stopped playing the game and got bad at it."
Dad: "How'd you get bad at it?"
Me: "We stopped eating at Fuddrucker's, where the game was."
Driving is so weird.
I used the turn signals whenever I was about to turn onto the actual road, in case any actual cars came along. Once one did. I pulled over and let it pass.
I kinda went over the curbs sometimes. The turns in the loop were fairly tight. Dad kept freaking out and thinking I was going to hit a random pole, but I never did. I came pretty close once. Eeeheheheheheheheee.
So yeah, I survived. I think the rest of Dad's hair fell out, but he survived too.
And now he doesn't need a haircut ever again. WIN/WIN.