Wednesday, December 20, 2006

Best Quote I Heard All Day
The main reason Santa is so jolly is because he knows where all the bad girls live.--George Carlin

I've been a practicing bad girl for a hell of a long time.

So in the spirit of being a bad girl, here's what I'd like for Christmas, among other things.

I've already sent this to friends but you know I like to share.

And here's one from Loopy, that made the rounds today. Earplugs advised.

Tree Up

Oh balls. And the kitten who swats at them. If this tree remains standing through Monday, it will be a miracle.

Not much purposeful knitting going on. Mostly doing As Designed As Built Configuration reports for the Valve Factory. It's been an end-of-the-year crunch and I honestly don't know why the fuck I'm sitting here at the end of a long day writing.

However, in two days I will have a well-earned nine-day vacation, away from ADABCRs, ATPs (Acceptance Test Procedures), Qual Test Reports (yep, QTRs, you got the acronym fever) and all the rest of the documentation that these valves take with them to the customer, who might be Boeing, Lockheed Martin, or Mitsubishi. Or some ghastly Israeli firm whose people come over to visit every so often and make themselves completely unwelcome.

I believe in pyloric valves. That's what works for me, personally.

Yo, Word Up, Gangsta Grammy
That's Liz's new name for me. We have all sorts of names for each other in our family. Just because we're word people, I suppose. Or verbose. Whatever. Here's the short list:

  • Sissyboo--either me or my sister. I am Sissyboo the Elder.
  • The Gashlycrumb Tinies--collective term for family members younger than 16
  • Mamoo--what my kids call me, sometimes (late husband Jimmy started that one)
  • Bumbawoo--my daughter Corinne (unknown etymology)
  • Grundoon the Groundhog Chile--Corinne's other name
  • Bruder--my brother Rich
  • Fennifer--my daughter Jenn
  • Bisset--Liz, how she referred to herself when she couldn't say "Elisabeth"
So Gangsta Grammy suits, yo.

All this namecalling because I drove her to Michaels and AC Moore at 7 p.m. last Sunday night so she could buy an extremely tacky red foil mini-tree on which to hang her beloved cartoon ornaments.

Anything to keep Spongebob off my tree. Although he's still hanging there. But not for long.

Four Shopping Days Left, Huh?
And I'm not done yet. But I shall be by Friday. And then commences the wrapping, which I do not nearly as well as a five-year-old.

It seems inexcusable that someone who can knit, spin, crochet, write, cook and all the other things that I do pretty well, can't wrap a damned box. I cannot wrap. And yes, my gay brothers, Franklin, Joe, Lars, Ted, I know YOU can wrap. Tastefully, neatly, and splendiforously.

It's times like this when I almost wish I were a gay man.

But all wrapping aside, where it deserves to be, it's time once again for me to collapse in my rare and handy Ikea chair, glom at the news and fall asleep over the needles. Knitting, that is.

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