Dudes and dudettes! Are you stoked for XMAS? YEAH!
Merry Christmas is a dead secular humanist. Happy Holidays, motherfucker!
Merry Christmas is a panettone bread pudding, prime rib and a shitload of presents. Mmmmm.
Merry Christmas is Sweatin' to the Oldies available for the first time on DVD.
Merry Christmas All. I can't believe that I'm actually typing and not doing something.
I went to my uncle's house last night. His kids were there along with his girlfriend and her four kids. I'd never met her kids, and I hadn't seen my uncle's daughter H in about ten years. I saw his son P, briefly a few years ago. It was mostly quite pleasant. At some point my sister mentioned that a military recruiter had tried to recruit her, thinking that she looks like she's in highschool. P was sort of bothered by this, and my uncle said that that had been pretty standard in most wars. There followed a discussion about the war. H had apparently written a paper about the propoganda leading up to the Iraq war. I mostly didn't get involved. I'd been planning to avoid politics entirely, since my uncle is such a right-winger, but at some point I just said, "Let's cut to the chase: how do you feel about waterboarding?" P and my uncle got into a big argument. My uncle felt that anything that could save the lives of thousands of people was a-ok and that FDR wasn't a bad person, because he interned the Japanese. P had apparently been arguing politics with his Dad for years, so he was objectively much better on the topic. My uncle didn't think internment was a good thing, he wouldn't argue for it; but he understood that leaders often had to do difficult things during a time of war. That got P all fired up about the fact that Congress had never declared war. P was aghast that his father wasn't opposed to torture, but he realized that it was such a fundamental difference that argument wasn't likely to be fruitful.
My cousins were spending Christmas day with their Mom and step-Dad, so Christmas-eve was the big day. My uncle's girlfriend had said that we'd be welcome for Christmas day, but when my uncle asked us what our plans for today were, we found out that there wasn't going to be enough food and too many people for us to come today.
My sister's boyfriend was kind of annoyed about some things, so he didn't drive us all the way back into the city, so we were late for midnight mass and almost didn't get in. I nearly cried in church, because I was so sad about today.
And I did cry a lot at home last night and this morning. I can't buy food, because the supermarkets are all closed. We're going to go to a movie and get some Chinese later even though I'm really opposed to going to the movies on Christmas. It beats feeling sorry for myself. But I'm not Jewish!
Merry Christmas is getting my laundry done, reading Wodehouse, taking a bubble bath, and going to Queens for Joe's Shanghai.
Merry Christmas is the immeasurable heat of a thousand fiery suns.
Merry Christmas is a gang of five-year-old kids.
Merry Christmas is also getting a huge painful pimple on my forehead just in time for MLA and DCon. I can has airbrush tool?
BG, I'm sorry you're sad today. It's rotten to be half-invited and then disinvited from things like that. On the upside, Chinese food is very delicious.
Merry Christmas is a city of Holy Faith nestled in the Blood of Christ Mountains.
Merry Christmas is a 20-pound turkey for 3 carnivores.
The one day a year the lady cooks, or eats anything nuch beyond frozen, junk, or restaurant food. Comfort nostalgia food, the green-bean casserole and cherry cheesecake of Xmas Past. The Past is another country.
Not perfect, but low 60s here in Dallas.
I've always found that to be a disturbing name for a mountain range.
Thanks AWB.
On the good side, my uncle's girlfriend made a really good salad with parsley, feta, pomegranate seeds and some romaine lettuce.
Aww, that sucks, BG. I had planned to spend last Christmas with a close friend, but she caved to the guilt from her parents and deserted me at the last moment to go home.
I ended up going to the Brattle by myself to see 'The Rules of the Game'. I ran into an ex I'd fallen out of contact with, and we went out for friendly beers afterwords. It all ended up really, strangely nice. But I certainly felt sorry for myself at the beginning.
Merry Christmas is being dragged by one's mother to a party hosted by friends of hers, where there will at least be a prime rib.
mrh-- you cook a special meal for Christmas? I didn't know that Jews did that.
I am also sorry BG is having a sad Christmas. Chinese food is indeed delicious, though. I wish I could have some right now.
(Eii, 20 not meant to say that you're feeling sorry for yourself! Just that I was.)
I've always found that to be a disturbing name for a mountain range.
Heathen.
Christmas is lounging around, calling various family units, cleaning up a bit, and then heading to HSF on Bowery for dim sum with my SO.
Merry Christmas is making Egg Nog.
I didn't know that Jews did that.
They can.
I didn't know that Jews did that.
Most Jews don't. The traditional thing is to go out for Chinese food instead (hence all the jokes around here lately). I believe mrh's wife isn't Jewish, though, which may be why they do.
I don't think the chinese food thing is a particularly widespread tradition outside of metropolodes with a lot of Jewish and Chinese people.
We never did it.
Merry Christmas is a small boring meal with not very many, not terribly fun people in a small, dusty apartment, and a headache. But it is also playing cribbage and getting presents. We saw Sweeney Todd on Sunday night -- I think it would make an excellent Christmas Day movie experience.
AWB, we can be MLA pimple pals. Mine's on my cheek.
Merry Christmas means fried oysters and steamed crab legs and pulling my father away from 24 hours of A Christmas Story only long enough to open presents.
Merry Christmas is enduring the relatives of the person you love. Merry Christmas is cheap cigarette smoke, Pepperidge Farm gift baskets with "cheese food product", and tacky sentimental bric-a-brac everywhere. Merry Christmas is when you feel like a horrible, superior snobbish asshole for a couple of days.
We never did it either. Most Jews in this country, however, have traditionally lived in metropolodes with a lot of Jewish and Chinese people.
Did Sifu ever share his eggnog recipe?
Merry Christmas is when you feel like a horrible, superior snobbish asshole for a couple of days.
It's Christmas all year 'round for me.
Merry Christmas means only seven days and counting til New Year's! That's six shopping days to accumulate liquor.
AWB, did you encounter an intruder last night, and have you sorted out your flight?
Albuquerque, of course, has very few Jews and even fewer Chinese people. Lots of Vietnamese people, but they're Christian.
Merry Christmas is having a great view of the local Catholic church from my sister's kitchen window.
Merry Christmas is the tears of overstimulated children.
Merry Christmas is watching endless videos of Jammies's family's childhood christmases.
Merry Christmas is the tears of overstimulated children.
You could bottle those and sell them to barren misanthropes like me, thus commercializing Christmas all the more.
Merry Christmas is when you feel like a horrible, superior snobbish asshole for a couple of days.
This is why I moved to New York, so I never have to be the most horrible, superior, snobbish asshole in the room.
On the other hand, here in Utah, people are superior in the knowledge that they will inherit celestial glory and the rest of us won't. So.
Christmas this year is adorable nephews.
It's funny how dated the 90's look already. Jammies is 5-10 years older than the rest of his siblings, so the little kid Christmases are all during the early nineties.
It's funny how dated little kids look already.
When you're the youngest in the room, at 30, Christmas seems pretty pointless.
I don't want to hear anyone knock processed cheese food product. That stuff is delicious. It's not cheese but it's something else that is great on its own merits.
My mother got me a bottle of scotch as a stocking stuffer for Christmas because she couldn't think of anything else. It was awesome: "I guess I can get you alcohol for Christmas now that you're 30." You could hear the uncertainty and hesitation in her voice, like she still wasn't convinced it was a good idea.
I want Christmas at Becks' mom's house.
Would she get offended if Isomeone cracked it open right then and there?
like she still wasn't convinced it was a good idea.
You should totally develop a drinking problem now.
Heh. I'm going to get my son two bottles of expensive booze of his choice for Xmas. He's too knowledgeable about booze to buy for, but it will be fun to see what he gets.
Yeah, we normally do our Xmas shopping after Xmas, being Russian Orthodox in that respect and following the Julian calendar.
Powells let me down, though. Didn't find the fantasy books I wanted for my lovely tween nieces. And I also couldn't find any good books about caecelids and other amphibians, cephalapods, or naked mole rats. Perhaps they'd all been snapped up by early shoppers, though I'm not sure that a good popular book about naked mole rats can be found anywhere.
merry Xmas is PK saying "I'm tired of opening presents." merry xmas is PK heading straight for his stocking and not even noticing the emac sitting in front of it until my mom said "what's that?" and he goes "a computer. OH!!" merry Xmas is the mouse is a little better.
People talk a lot about the Blood of Christ, but you hear amazing little about The Baby Jesus's dirty diapers. certainyl there must be some sect or tendency or devotion centering on them, or some relics somewhere.
Or, for example, a holy housefly which spent its maggot years in a forgotten diaper of Our Lord.
mrh-- you cook a special meal for Christmas? I didn't know that Jews did that.
Teo has it right. I'm at my wife's family's house, and this year all the "kids" are pitching in so her mom doesn't have to cook Christmas dinner.
Merry Christmas is being wrapped up in a warm down comforter with a big thermos of tea and a blisterpack of benzocaine lozenges, profoundly grateful that your family would still rather take care of you when you're sick than do anything else. Also wondering if you should watch Barton Fink or not.
(but 16 days! WTF!)
BG, I'm sorry you're having a crummy Christmas, and that you're against movies, but I hope the Chinese food is delicious. That salad also sounds nice, thanks for the recipe. Hope you have a better post-Christmas holiday set.
Becks, that is awesome. John Emerson, what fantasy books?
39: I did, BG, and thanks! It's an hour later, which is actually better for me.
Have a lovely evening, everyone! I'm headed to Queens.
57: I'm guessing the story is that "Our" Lord probably had bumblebees or hummingbirds hovering over his swaddling clothes.
A happy and healthy holidays to everyone. Apologies and a confession: My cookies killed Santa.
Christmas is my husband insisting we put the presents out under the tree on Dec. 20 "to ripen", and spending the next four days wanting to open them, and then waking me up at 7:30 to open them on the grounds that "it's practice for when we have kids."
Christmas is calling home and spending the next hour on the phone talking to all my sisters.
51: I sometimes think we share a mother. That's awesome.
62: Were they the eponymous swampcrackers? And do you need help burying him?
BTW, there will be a Portland mini-meetup on the 27th at Higgins', 1239 SW Broadway near Jefferson. Jesus and I will be there, and Not Prince Hamlet.
If an Unfogged Central Committeeperson happens to see this, they might elevate the post to invite lurkers. Or not. Come one come all.
I'm not sure that a good popular book about naked mole rats can be found anywhere.
Do you mean such books can't be found just anywhere, or anywhere at all?
Ile, they were sold out of two specific books, but I also have to check with my Sil to make sure she doesn't already have the ones that Powells did have. Powells didn't really let me down, I just waited too long. My lovely nieces get way too much stuff so they won't feel bad.
Anywhere at all! An opening for an enterprising young person.
My eldest stepson, who always comes down for Christmas morning grumpy and dishevelled, this year was in the kitchen early, spiffed up and wearing a suit jacket. He wanted to see his little brother's reaction to his first Christmas. I am so moved by this.
but you hear amazing little about The Baby Jesus's dirty diapers.
Diaper-free, man. Like in Samoa. It's on the snot thread. Merry Christmas.
68: Oh, I'm afraid I can't help, but I thought someone else here could.
John Emerson, I was just curious what it is you wanted to buy them, as I rather like reading fantasy books for younger readers.
LeGuin and Mists of Avalon were recommended, and I wanted to add Lem, Dracula, and Frankenstein. The real problem is that I didn't get around to talking to my Sil and don't know what she's already read.
She's 13 and ahead of the curve, and my own hidden plan is to bump her up into adult literature. I'm a bit dubious about young-adult literature. When I was young I really enjoyed reading books I didn't completely understand; I still do. I think it's good for kids. The niece has read tons of the young-adult stuff.
Powells had no Lem, but of course that's a traditional stocking stuffer.
i got a present too, i'll open it home in the evening
and i'm invited to my polish friend's christmas dinner
The thing is, you can't read an internet entry on cooking a buffalo roast without being told -- screamed at, really -- not to overcook it. And then being told to ascertain the temperature, but not to puncture it (and let juices out). So how long does it take? No one says.
We may yet end up eating Chinese.
Emerson, If you are going to be at DC Unfogged, request that Jesus provide you with some of his wine for DC Unfogged. I'll reimburse you the cost.
77 -- Just remember to put the wine in checked baggage. The security insudtrial complex seems to think you can take over a plane with a bottle of wine.
76: I don't know from roasting, but treat buffalo like very lean beef. It can be eaten very rare, too, so if you err on the side of underdoing it, nothing will go wrong. Bison is awesome, like beef with extra iron to make you jump buildings.
That building was asking for it. It's see-through, for crying out loud.
We just played croquette at my parents place. It's the fey-est Christmas ever!
Merry Christmas (to all it's applicable to)!
Merry Xmas is forgiving posters for using 'awesome'
- amnesty ends GMT + 10
Christmas is complete.
Little 6 year old Napoleon Adolf just presented Mummy and Daddy with his last Christmas present of the day.
It was the television remote control, which we'd been looking for for the last two weeks. He had stolen it, wrapped it and put it under the tree.
That boy's going to be all right.
Napoleon Adolf didn't charge a finder's fee? For shame.
Christmas is my father, who rarely drinks, not realizing he's the only person drinking the plum wine and accidentally finishing the whole bottle. He's so drunk, y'all. It's hilarious.
That rules, Becks. Now is the time to press the Marine thing.
Merry Christmas is grilled pizza outside at dad's house in Florida, recovering from a redeye flight, thinking fondly of my ex-in-laws who did Christmas right, and wondering if they are actually, finally ex-in-laws since I put the request for judgment in the mail last week.
I have had the good fortune to celebrate Christmas with a goodly number of righteously celebrating Gentiles. I have caroled in the snow with my accordion. I have been smuggled across state lines and spirited into a refrigerator box for my best childhood friend to open on Christmas Day. I have written a subplot about making a dinosaur egg frittata into the Christmas play.
God bless us one and all!
I have been smuggled across state lines and spirited into a refrigerator box for my best childhood friend to open on Christmas Day.
Naked? With a machine gun? Can't leave this there, 'Shore.
I wound up seeing Charlie Wilson's War and had Malaysian food instead of Chinese. It was very good; the restaurant was full, but the service was fast, so the wait was much shorter than they had said it would be. We had a duck casserole which was pretty good and seemed appropriate for Christmas.
90: BG I hope that cheered you. If not, look the fuck out: you'll be one cheery commenter come next weekend.
Christmas is a black, snow-covered boot stamping on a worker elf's face -- forever.
84 made me yell "AWWW!" and then read it out loud to Mr. B. and PK, who giggled.
Jesus, y'all should just read the archives. Fascinating.
Christmas is my mom wishing I remembered that they used to flood the yard for us kids to skate on each winter. Helplessly, I consider pretending a revelatory remembrance, but she moves on to: You remember where the pine trees used to be, don't you!?
Unsure footing. Yes! Yes, of course!
Christmas is the latest Bourne Exigency, leftover broccoli-rice casserole, and racist commentary by my grandfather. Apropos of nothing more than a discussion on the Cowboys' recent fortunes:
Me: Back at home, I'm surrounded by Redskins.
Grandpa: Back at home, you're surrounded by black people.
This holiday has been a welcome one for being so normal, with nothing unusual to celebrate or mourn. However, this year, Christmas is also quite a lot of txts and phone calls with a new associate.
Arguably your grandfather was somewhat less racist than your hometown team is, 'Smasher.
Huge board game tournament going on downstairs; I'm going to bed with the worst cold I can ever remember. I'll sleep beside the baby, who kicks.
OMG! I love board games and broccoli-rice casserole!
Merry Christmas, motherfuckers.
84: Christmas eve, my mom and sister found a cat who looked kind of liked the Lost Cat of neighborhood poster fame. We called the owner, who came over and told us it was not in fact the Lost Cat, just some neighborhood slut-cat. But today the owner called us back to tell us that the Lost Cat, missing for just over a week, had returned! So there's that.
Also, much food, no opening of presents (we'll regroup later in the week for sister's birthday, with extra sister, BIL, niece, nephew, and my wife), hiking, low-key hanging out, and general lifting of the grey puppy.
85: Napoleon Adolf didn't charge a finder's fee? For shame.
I think he was setting up the prestige. "Nice remote you got there, be a shame if something happened to it."
I met my youngest brother's new girlfriend. She got me a present, which was unexpected, and also, rly good: Elie Weisel's Night and a Star Wars pop-up book. I was predisposed to dislike her, mostly because they share a joint checking account, of which I certainly do not approve, but those are pretty good gifts and I'm sure my brother had nothing to do with their selection.
102: Elie Wiesel's Night as a Star Wars pop-up book would be awesome, too.
general lifting of the grey puppy
This must be a euphemism, no?
it was not in fact the Lost Cat, just some neighborhood slut-cat
So you kicked it back out into the night? Or did you adopt it and give the kitty a new home for Xmas?
Somebody's eatin' cat for New Years!
Merry Christmas is taurine-, caffeine- and sugar-laden energy drinks in their stockings. We find it adds the final, much-needed layer of excitement. And of course, it hastens the production of the tears.
The picture linked in 112 is friggin awesome. She really does look like a coked-out kid.
111: What's wrong with being sexy?
112: Wow. That's some impressive shit. I bow to your insane parenting skills. Also, your daughter is adorable. Oddly, the slightly dazed expression in her eyes is adorable, too.
Christmas is my mom saying "I love pot; I wish it were legal" at dinner.
Quite inexplicably, Roberta got Noah one of these castles, which took an unbelievably insane amount of construction in the middle of the night. He played with it for a few minutes, then decided he should sit in it, then proceeded to demolish the entire structure, screaming with glee all the while.
Oh man, but those Playmobil things are so awesome. I envy Noah.
116: Did you laugh? What was your reaction?
Sorry, B, but this item is out of stock.
The question is, will it be Roberta or Apo who will become obsessive about tracking down all the teeny-tiny pieces, like the little Playmobil people's *shirt cuffs* (I shit you not) and the tiny coins and things? God, it is so hard to just let those things go. I have no idea why, because the kids certainly don't give a shit.
you had him shot?
No, I never for a second doubted that was exactly how the situation would play out. I chuckled the entire time I was assembling it.
124: Oh, we've got plenty of Playmobil stuff around this house already, believe me.
will it be Roberta or Apo who will become obsessive about tracking down all the teeny-tiny pieces
Probably Cassidy, and we'll have to pan her diapers like '49ers.
My step-mother and step-aunt passed out distressingly quickly, before 10 PM. Old age gives you limited food/alcohol capacity. Somebody in the family needs to have kids.
Emerson, did you get my email?
The second paragraph of 130 is pre-emptively answered by the first.
who will become obsessive about tracking down all the teeny-tiny pieces
Christ am I glad that we're pretty much past that stage of crappy plastic toys.
The thing is, kids' imagination is so strong that they can get quite a lot of mileage from plastic castles. I remember that when I was 6 or 7 those plastic figures in the carpet *really were* an army. A whole castle would have been amazing.
But 15 minutes later, who knows.
I don't usually brag about my cooking, for very good reason. If, however, someone wants to try to convince me that a buff was cooked better at any time in the years since the last ice age, well, it's not going to be an easy sell. And there's enough left over for buffy sandwiches for the rest of the week. Yes, Virginia . . .
And there's enough left over for buffy sandwiches for the rest of the week at DCon.
I was never allowed to have Barbie dolls as a kid, 25% because of gender issue concerns and 75% because my father had horrible memories of stepping on stepping on Barbie shoes that his sisters had left strewn around the house.
His gift from my aunt this year? A gallon Ziplock bag filled with nothing but Barbie shoes.
I'd think that bacon nails would be ideal for a buffalo roast. Will have to try and report back.
Merry Christmas is non-gender-normative toys for my daughters (all except for the goddamn decorate-a-tiara kit). And only two Playmobil items, which daddy will disappear at the first opportunity.
If the baby Jesus had been born in North America, He would have had buffy sandwiches, and would have been able to feed a multitude on 1.5 pounds of sirloin tip roast. Instead, He ate lots of hummus, and gave everyone sardines and crackers.
Jesus and bacon nails, together again! It's a Christmas miracle!
Instead, He ate lots of sardines and crackers, and gave everyone hummers.
140 -- I'll let you look after catering the wing ding, Tweet.
My mother actually finished a craft project -- in this case, a quilt for my aunt to take to her new cabin in Tahoe. Mom had the grace to laugh along when Josh cried out, "It's a Christmas miracle!"
His gift from my aunt this year? A gallon Ziplock bag filled with nothing but Barbie shoes.
We used to give Lite-Brite sets and extra pegs to the children of people we kinda-sorta didn't like.
Conversely, the optimal children's toy would be one, indivisible piece: hey! Kids! Meet Mr. Bowling Ball!
The girls received this toy catapult and this jacks set. God love them, they quickly understood that though the catapult came with ping pong balls, it was suitable for a variety of small objects including jacks. I have just now inventoried the jacks, and one is missing; no worry, it will turn up in my foot in the next couple of days.
Catapult and jacks caltrops. A good thing.
148: I know. But a catapult! So cool, and they love it.
crappy plastic toys.
No, no, the point is that Playmobil is *good* plastic toys. Anyway, you never outgrow Legs, which are the thing-to-step-on in this house.
That is a cool catapult. I want one. It's a good thing I didn't see it before Christmas. I have lots of nephews and nieces. I think their parents might not have totally appreciated it.
Catapults are awesome. And you might as well get 'em for the kids; if not, they'll just build their own.
Jesus, that is a great toy. I am jealous of your daughters. My students had a catapult contest towards the end of the semester; I wish the girls had been slightly more into it.
It comes with extra rubber bands (replacements, ostensibly) and a warning on the tag not to add them for more power because of potential damage to the throwing arm. My daughters are not yet five, so they can't read the warning; I didn't read it to them because I'm dying to see how soon they'll figure out that they can soup this thing up.
In a few years, Jesus, you can buy them this book, which we got for PK on his birthday.
88: Waldo Jeffers.
130: Got your email, and not really.
My lovely tween nieces got Guitar Hero. They're still willing to talk to adults. Their dog Frankie got a smooth flat river rock about the size of a quarter, which he collects. He likes to hold them in his mouth, and protect them from thieves, and hide them in peoples' shoes. He probably has 50 of them around the house.
The other dog gets upset if anyone touches anyone else. He's an Australian shepherd and it's a herding behavior I suppose.
I'm dying to see how soon they'll figure out that they can soup this thing up.
I first read the initial entry on the website as "Catapult, Toy Only" and interpreted it as some attempt at "liability management" by the toy company. Tell that to the cat/dog/rabbit/guinea pig.
- I thought it was an S.T.O.
- S.T.O.?
- Standard Training Op.
157: Thanks, B, that looks fantastic.
Caution: some of the instructions are for some pretty big and pretty powerful catapults. I originally had gotten him another book by the same author, called "Backyard Ballistics," but the introduction cautions you to "consult local law enforcement" about some of the things in it, so I put that one away until he's a little older.
Merry Christmas is my 19yo nephew opening his gift from me then turning to his step-father and saying, "I've got my own Guitar Hero controller now and it's better than yours." Merry Christmas is also my mother trying to hide from everyone that she had a minor stroke two weeks ago and my father walking me around the property for the 'one day all this will be yours' lecture with bonus notes on which unsavory people up and down the road will make me low-ball offers to buy it all out when they're dead. Christ almighty.
In happier news, Merry Christmas is my father confessing to me that his personal struggle in the upcoming election is whether to vote for Obama or Edwards in the caucus; he sincerely likes both of them so much he can't possibly pick just one. Were it an Edwards/Obama or Obama/Edwards ticket I think my father might piss himself with excitement.
Have a great holiday, everyone.
Oh, I hope your mom is okay, Robust. My parents feel similarly about Edwards & Obama, though they are decidedly in favor of Edwards.
Merry Christmas is eating enough red meat to put a lesser man into a coma.
164: Thanks. Supposedly she's going to be 100% fine - it was very minor but we can tell it's affecting her motor skills and her vision somewhat - but still, yeesh.
Merry Christmas is the wide-eyed wonder of an 8-year-old ripping into presents from Santa, warm snuggles, the light of her smile.
Merry Christmas is surviving family dysfunction with a wry smile and a shrug.
Thanks for asking, Jesus. Christmas Eve did not go as planned -- having come home to a disastrous mess, I wound up bailing on my Christmas Eve plans to instead stay home and clear a path for Santa. There literally was not a space to put presents under the tree otherwise and the thought of driving out to my relatives, then driving back, and then trying to clear some space for presents was beginning to induce a panic attack, so I bailed. I got very angry (apparently, UNG and Rory were so busy laying on the couch and making the mess all day Monday, while I was at work, that they just plum ran out of time to pick a goddamned thing up), then I got very sad (I was home all alone cleaning on X-mas Eve), then I got a little bit drunk (Sifu's Egg Nog, to the rescue!).
But Rory woke up on Christmas morning and everything, everything was so exciting and wonderful and just what she wanted, and she got packed up and ready the minute I said it was time to go to my parents', and I even let UNG have breafast with us and then play legos with her for half an hour while I showered, even though it was my day because I am just that decent. She got a cellphone and got to call everyone she knows, twice. She told everyone that my Christmas cookies are the best. I'm feeling a bit better about the thing with the ex-friend -- moving from hurt to disgusted.
Christmas is my daughter and I half-jokingly outraged by incipient theocracy as we "break in" (i.e. climb over the gate) to get to the trails at a nearby "closed" metropolitan park/nature preserve. How hard is it to at least have the parking lot accessible? It was in keeping with the theme of long dormant religious differences surfacing unexpectedly which characterized this year's family get-together.
I must have missed Rory's call. Darn it!
Jesus, Apo! The things I forgot to be worried about.
My favourite line from A Child's Christmas in Wales, about the presents, "once, by mistake that no one could explain, a little hatchet".
I'm glad it went ok, Di.
Oh man, but those Playmobil things are so awesome.
This is what Playmobil degenerated to by the afternoon of December 26th in the Ruprecht household.
