I have a list of blogs that I want to write. It's kept as a running list on my phone. Currently, the list sits as:

-Ryan is a hobbit
-Food etiquette for holiday parties
-Breakfast food
-Tap dancing
-Ice Skating with kids
-Nativity set
-The thankful jar
-Bathroom chalkboard.

Ryan IS a hobbit. That will be its own post.

I have no idea why I wanted to write about food etiquette at holiday parties. I'm not even sure what that means. Breakfast food? Not sure what that means either. Other than I really really really really love breakfast food. More than other foods. The most.

Tap dancing: I face a constant dilemma of whether or not to bring my tap shoes with me. The "should I bring my tap shoes" conversation in my head is quite regular. The answer is always, always yes. Tap dancing is another one of my favorite things. Maybe I should make a "Favorite Things" list like Oprah.

I went ice skating with Aunt's offspring. One was terrified and hated it. The other was pissed because she wasn't an instant professional. Most of the time was spent trying not to fall when the were constantly tripping me. But--it was awesome. :)

My nativity set is the best. It's beautiful. It's not out yet. It will be soon.

In 2013 I am going to have a Thankful Jar and write all the things I'm thankful for on little pieces of paper and put it in there. I hope I make it until February without forgetting it.

I have a chalkboard in my bathroom. I write inspiring things on it. Things like "Be more awesome." But also other things that actually are inspiring and lovely. Right now it's "You are enough. You have enough. You do enough." In the past it has also said "Dwight, you ignorant slut."

People I don't look like.

I look like my mom. Yes, I have come to terms with it. She is the most beautiful woman in the world. I look like Brother. Which is fine. I look slightly like my dad. And oddly like some cats. But I do not look like my aunt Karen.

The Mom

Brother

 A Cat

The Aunt and her offspring. Yes. Previously Seen

The world begs to differ. In the past week two separate individuals that I do not know at all have proclaimed that I look just like her as they walk into my office.


Weird.

No. This really isn't up for discussion.

Brother is a badger and apparently has redeeming qualities

Remember the day when Brother tried to "compliment" me by calling me an orange? You don't? Oh, well please, read about it here.

This story actually takes place a few weeks back, but it must be shared. It starts off on a morning. Let's say it was a Tuesday morning. My mom called. Which is weird, since she is quite aware of my morning rules. Here's a (roughly retold) transcript of that conversation.

Mom: "Hi. I just thought you should hear this story about your brother."
Me: "Why."
Mom: "Well, he was working at the Habitat for Humanity house and they were teasing him for being so young, (*note--he's 22. Not that young.) and he was trying to work on something that he didn't have the right tools for. So he improvised. He just got a stick and a rock and made do. While he was working on that, one of the guys came up to him and said, 'You must be a farm boy, huh?"
Me: "Why are you telling me this story? It's nice, but still, why?"
Mom: "Well, I thought you could write about this on your blog so people know that even though his compliments are insults, he has some redeeming qualities."
Me: "Ok Mom. I will write about it. But I am going to write it in exactly the way that you just said it to me."
Mom: "That kind of defeats the purpose, doesn't it?"
Me: "Yep."

.....that sort of leads into the next part of the story......

A few days after that conversation, Brother's Girlfriend posts on my wall: " Last Friday [Brother] and I stopped and had a drink at a bar. We were talking about something and I said, "You dog." and he says, "I am not a dog. I'm a badger." I didn't ask for an explanation on this one since I know how the orange explanation went. So now you have an orange and a badger in the family. I wonder what [Sister] will grow up to be."

What a kid, my Brother.

Christmas Booze.

Happy Christmas to me. There was a sale on Jameson.

Now I will be merry and bright and have cheeks as rosy as Rudolf's nose.

I also bought puff pastry. Which seemed entirely necessary.

Things I woke up with:

This morning, as I woke up, I looked around me. The following is a list of things that were in bed with me or within arms reach:

1. An empty box of kleenex.
2. Jessica (my iphone)
3. Gerald, the giant stuffed rainbow sherbert dragon. I had to find him last night so we could watch How to Train Your Dragon together before bed
4. George (the Curious one)
5. An empty wine glass
6. A water bottle
7. A sleeve of oreos
8. Some pepper
9. A warm pair of pajamas that I traded out because I was too hot
10. A soup pot upside down serving as a stand for my empty wine glass
11. NyQuil
12. A pile of clean laundry (which explains why I was so warm)

Happy Thursday everyone!

My bed is on the floor, my clothes aren't in drawers and other reasons living alone suits me.

In my most recent move, I purchased a new bed. A glorious, beautiful, perfect and cozy new bed. I do not get to spend enough quality time with my bed. Which is very unfortunate. Things about my bed that are awesome: it's memory foam (yes, the jumping with the wine glass without spilling thing is totally real), it's super great for flips (like gymnastics style flips), I don't have to share it with anyone but George (the stuffed monkey) and it's on the floor. I can eat pretzels and other snacks and just make the crumbs be on the other side. I get to have all seven pillows to myself.

The thing is, because it's memory foam, it needs to have a platform-style frame. And while there are some reeeeeally pretty platform beds, they're also realllllllly expensive. So right after I bought said bed, I told myself I would build my own. My carpentry skills are actually quite good (thank you stagecraft) and I am entirely capable. My schedule is not. My little car is also not entirely equipped to handle lumber. Yes, these are excuses. I might still build a bed frame. Then again, I might not. My flips are getting pret-ty awesome and if my bed weren't on the floor, they wouldn't be.. And no one can tell me to stop.

Another reason I shouldn't build a frame and get my bed off the floor: my clothes will get lonely. I had this grand idea when I moved that I would sort my laundry as I take it off (in my handy new sorter trolley) and wash a load every couple days, which would prevent the major pile-ups that are generally the norm. 

That lasted..... negetive 12 minutes. My clothes: everywhere. I take them off where I feel like. It is not uncommon to find half an outfit in the pantry, another part by the bookshelf, one sock in the hallway and the other in the dirty clothes nest. To be fair, I don't usually have socks on that match, so no one would really know how oddly scattered they are. I just hate laundry. Hate it hate it hate it. I don't mind cleaning the bathroom. I don't mind dishes. (Total lie. I also hate dishes). OK, to be totally honest, the only cleaning I don't mind is cleaning the bathroom. Weird and gross fun fact about me. So, there are bursts of super clean and neat living where I solemnly swear I will never let myself live in a world where there are no more clean forks.

(That world is a world where I just shut the door on the spare room and pretend that mess isn't mine.)

A few more reasons I like living alone: I can just pretend the growing organism in the back of the fridge isn't real, I always pick the movie, I can talk to dragons, no one tells me that keeping soup in the towel cupboard doesn't work, the chalkboard in the bathroom is fun and I always like the kind of beer in the fridge.

I didn't realize I had fans of my ramblings. My sincerest apologies for the delays in postings. Here's a picture from a Halloween fun run. The flying umbrella did not help.

Last weekend was SO exciting. So exciting in fact, that I spent the whole week recovering from it. So exciting that I couldn't even describe it.

Or, I just didn't feel like typing it.

It involved these things: friendship from the QCA folk, my mom, one of my favorite movies in stage format, Harry Potter, day drinking, doggies, more day drinking, more HP, sushi, cosmos and wine, Modern Family, night frights from friends, a corn maze, a naked golden statue, a corn maze, mailboxes in the maze, and a one pound hamburger (the gunderburger).

I did all of those things. Seriously. It was just great. I must, however, describe to you the one pound hamburger.

My friend Jenna and I first went to the corn maze. Excuse me, the Maize Maze. :) Which might have been a great choice, because I don't think I would have survived a post burger maze.

Goldie Sicurash in the Maize Maze. Jenna and I won her. At a dance competition.

We get to the Irish Shanty at about 4:30 p.m. We walk in. We get beer. We (for like, three seconds, ok? Barely even counts) contemplate getting one gunderburger. Yes, we came to our senses very quickly with the realization that we are strong, beautiful, intelligent women. We can eat one freakin pound of meat. No problem.

So. Much. Meat.

Our waitress was totally impressed with us. (several minutes later). The gunderburgers arrive. The plate is mostly meat. No matter. We've got this. The burgers--deeeeelish. Seriously. Great. A quarter of the way through, we're making great time. We feel like we have set a nice pace. Halfway through....things slowed down a bit. Realizing that if we slow down, we won't make it through, we decided to plow on through a little quicker. (Note: we definitely had fries to. Come on, you need a palate cleanser when you are planning on eating that much red meat!) A little over halfway through, I start sweating. Conversation dulls. I'm starting to feel a bit ill. Jenna looks at me like she is in pain. I'm sure my face says the same. At this point I put my nose to the grindstone and the blinders up and just went for it. Until the last three bites. They just sat there on my plate. Looking at me menacingly. I mean, I take pride in the fact that I know how to eat. Really eat. But never before was I in a heated sweat nearing a meat coma with a horrifying fear that one pound of ground beef was not going to stay in me. But I really REALLY really wanted a picture in the gunderburger hat. So somehow, I still am not quite sure where exactly it fit, but somehow I got that last three ounces of beef down. (Yes, yes, I know, that's what she said.) I swelled with pride at my accomplishment, and Jenna was right behind me. Ok, maybe the swelling wasn't so much pride as much as an excess of meat. (For real though, one of the most delicious burgers  I have ever had. Just....a lot.)

I put my game face on for this picture. There is a one pound burger, fries and beer in my belly.

The waitress asked if we wanted dessert. The thought almost made me toss my burger. We rolled out of there, pants unbuttoned, each bump on the road making me question my ability to keep food in my stomach. I got home and pants off lay in a meat coma watching Parks and Rec. But I totally ate a donut at 9:30 p.m. Because a chocolate donut seemed like the only reasonable item to end the day with. Even thinking about a burger makes me a little ill, a week later. But we did it. And it was glorious. And we will never do it again.