Christmastime, folks! I coerced Erik into helping, and some decorating got done. Wooohooo! I love it, this season to whirl magical Christmas touches into every corner of one's dwelling. Then we began to plan the outer decor, with one, sad little string of lights. I don't know if everything else we had burned out, or just what the heck.

Somewhat defeated, I leaned over the great red and green Rubbermaid Holder of Many Wonders, waded through the pew bows from our wedding, these cute little angels that clip onto lights to enhance the glow, and lifted up a box, which has to be older than my own mother, and as I picked it up, I heard the pieces shaking inside. My heart trembled. Grandma's Santa and Mrs. Claus salt and pepper shakers. They have to be as old as the hills. Just HOW BROKEN ARE WE TALKING HERE? I opened the box, and only Santa's face was knocked out. Sometime during the course of the off-season, he must REALLY have ticked Mrs. Claus off.

So, after the initial, "How-am-I-going-to-fix-this-I-remember-these-figurines-from-when-I-was-a-teeny-little-girl," away we went to Hobby Lobby to get Krazy Glue. And of course came away with six boxes of lights. And more Christmas stockings, because I'm on a mission.

Riding in the truck this lovely evening, the conversation popped up that Gidget the Truck needs a new CD player.

"I think we should put in a dock for the ipod," said Erik. "Then we'd have hundreds of songs to listen to."

"I was thinking of a CD/cassette deck," quoth I. "That way, I can listen to my mix tapes (READ: airchecks)."

Erik said he didn't know if they even SOLD those things anymore. Humph, how dare I dream of such; silly, archaic woman that I am. I must have been cryogenically frozen for the last twelve years or so and somebody just unplugged me one summer here so I would thaw.

"Hey, my first car, my Olds '77 Cutlass Supreme, had an EIGHT-TRACK PLAYER. And a JANIE FRICKE EIGHT-TRACK was STUCK in it. And it WARBLED. And that's ALL we could listen to, me and the cheerleading squad. Erik thought I'd gone mad. Surely I was fabricating such faerytales. Janie Fricke. HA! LIES, PURE LIES!

I set out to prove my tale. I called Crystal, because we have a Cheerleader Pom Pon Trust that cannot be broken by space and time. Voicemail. Dang it.

Called Mom. Voicemail. She had that car as long as she had ME.

Tried Dad. Had to yell to him the entire story over the volume of the work party, and he laughed and told me he loved me, would talk to me tomorrow.

Aaaand, Elissa corroborated my story. I figured I would give Tash a day off, you know, for the Thanksgiving Holiday, from her job of holding me together.

But still, when I'm in a quiet place, I can still hear that warbling 8-track... "He's a heartache... lookin' for a place to happen..."

3 Lbs.

I love this show, and I'm gonna suggest you see it, at least once.

It might not survive for ten years, but we all have brains, so it's a good education tool.

Personally, I'm hooked.

"I won't give up if you don't give up."

I think it's time this story was put to rest, for the sake of my own reputation, if nothing else.

Amanda points out that I was too scared to ever go into Moorhead during college, because I thought Moorhead was dirty. Here's the real scoop:

Freshman year, this girl Jenny, in Weible Hall, was seeing a Norwegian guy who happened to be going to Moorhead State, and he would leave Weible late (like 3 a.m.) to go home, if ever. Driving down Main at that time of the morning, you're the only car on the road. I'm intimately familiar with that drive, because I used to go that way to the radio station earlier in the morning than most commuters.

Now, one night What's-his-face was cruising down Main, and crosses the invisible line into Moorhead, and stops at a stoplight.

Instantly, some Brandon-Lee-dressed-as-the-Crow-lookalike, makeup and all, comes running out from between two buildings, running around this guy's car, banging on his windows, presumably trying to rob him or cause him harm.

And Jenny, wide-eyed, told that story to EVERYONE. So you see, it wasn't my doggone brain tumor (people are willing to blame everything on that) that made me afraid of Moorhead. I BELIEVED to my CORE that some crazy homeless vigilante KISS member was RIGHT THERE, waiting to hurt innocent NDSU students, as soon as we crossed the line!

Did you know you can buy RABBIT at H-E-B?!? They're selling portions of THE EASTER BUNNY at the grocery store!! And Travis promised me things would IMPROVE if the Democrats were in CHARGE. People are GRILLING BUNNIES, YO.

Also seen at H-E-B: a seafood-stuffed, tur-duc-hen, which I briefly considered preparing for Thanksgiving dinner. However, that sounds like an AWFUL LOTTA ... well, it's an awful lotta different tastes all in one, or something. I don't know if Erik can take it. I think it'll be another Asian Buffet Holiday.

Last Christmas, Mom and Dad were down. Mom, Dad, Travis, Erik and I drove the entire Loop, looking for an open restaurant for Christmas dinner. I said, "Okay, it'll have to be someplace non-Christian, because the rest of the world's closed Christmas night." And Erik began looking up Jewish delis in the phonebook. Trav came up with the idea to have Chinese food, and we ended up at this buffet over by Ft. Sam Houston. A great time was had by all, and as we were leaving, a soldier set his tray down at the next table, phone clipped to his ear. He was eating Christmas dinner alone, but obviously not "alone," if you get me.

Matthew 6:25-34

We've awaited this day a long while now. Remember, remember, the 15th of November.

Hey, here's something Fun for Friday: Erik found a BAG of my TAPES in the TRUNK of his CAR. YEP! It never made it outta there when we moved here, and how often do we go into the trunk of the car, unless we're fishing out anti-freeze and an icescraper? Soooo, I'm about halfway through them, and it appears that a Hefty garbage bag WILL. in fact, protect your Jersey airchecks and 9/11 tapes from 106-degree summers in South Texas. I'm gonna write the company a letter.

NOT a good evening. First of all, I neglected to remember in which lines we should be standing, corresponding with the first initials of our last names. Travis turned to me and said, "Hi, I'm your brother..."

So, these little old ladies who ran the voting poll where we vote didn't like my particular style of voting, sans reading directions. Their screeching and dragging me to the back table to fill out a brand spankin' purdy new ballot told me so.

Were there DIRECTIONS?? Then, THEN, my brother was so humiliated by my feux pax, I looked around and he was nowhere to be seen. I thought he left me there.