And A Happy New Year

This Christmas turned out to be just a tick different than the others. 

And I'd love to tell you why:

1. Germans celebrate three entire days in a row. From the 24th to the 26th. Non-stop. Anytime you find yourself starting to go crazy from hearing "Happy Christmas and a good New Year" (literal translation) 232,867,367,421 times a day, it's best to simply refill your glass of wine. 

2. For those of you who follow my blogs, the update goes as follows: my father won the battle and the Christmas tree was not put up this year. When I asked him about it, he said that he told my mother that she could go and stand in front of the 12-foot tree at the church that is five feet from our house. He said he'd be glad to turn the lights on and off and on and off and on and off - as much as she pleased. 

The presents were placed under a poinsettia tree and they called it a day.... or uh...Christmas?

3. There was no trace of turkey or ham to be seen at any of the meals we had. What WAS present? 

Sauerkraut. 

 

Scattered

I have been sick as a dog these past few days. 

And then went and looked that term up because I felt like I've been using it since God was a boy and had no idea from whence it may have come.

One source said that the phrase dated back to 1705 and had something to do with dogs being connected to things miserable and undesirable.

Booooring.

Another website claimed that since dogs eat "everything" that they often get sick and another site, along those same lines, claimed that the someone who is as sick as a dog throws up "violently."

Gross.

On another completely different note.

The YouTube video is just some collection of pictures of her - which is kind of lame - but I'm absolutely in love with this song. 

Colour me girly but I still love Cyndi Lauper and am really impressed with her ability to still be a real classy dame. 

and in order to demonstrate how Attention Deficit one can be when they are sick, I shall completely change the subject yet AGAIN and copy down a conversation here I had with SarahThe just the other day:

me: harumph

SarahThe: harumph is the best onomatopoeia ever.

me: agreed. Just rough that I have to look up the spelling of onomatopoeia every time I want to write it because I never can remember how to spell it.

SarahThe: spell-check helped me out this time.

SarahThe: this is how it should be spelled: onomotopeea 

me: exactly. nothing phonetic about it all. I wonder if there is someone one can complain to.

SarahThe: looking up miriam's number right now.

me: It's Merriam. And I have him under Webster in my Rolodex.

SarahThe: IRONY.

me: Absolutely. We should tell miriam/merryam/merriam or whateverthehellhisnameis, that words should be spelled phonetically.

SarahThe: we could draw up a petishon.

me: we shud. 

love love,

L

I've always stated that my father is one of my biggest heroes. 

This is not say to that he does not do some of the craziest things sometimes that can really cause one to scratch the proverbial head.

Case in point: my little chat with my mother last night.

Well I should back up and give a bit of history to this current rampage that my father is on. 

A few months ago, our precious little terrier got really sick. She is still very young, was seemingly very healthy, and then just turned up sick one day. My parents rushed her to whatever emergency clinic there is for the canine persuasion and then proceeded to fork out more money on the treatment than they ever did for my college career. 

I'm not complaining. I love this dog. 

Regardless, considering that it was a sizable sum of money, considering that our economy is not necessarily at her all-time peak, considering that my parents have suffered a bit due to this fact, and considering that my father began to realize he was pouring his money out on a DOG, he did what any level-headed, sane, competent, middle-aged man would do:

He vetoed Christmas.

Now, mind you. As my mother was relaying this information to me, I stopped her and made her repeat what she had said,

"Yes. Your father is doing away with Christmas this year. He said that the payment to keep 'that dumb dog' alive was going to be our Christmas."

I'd like to take a moment and point out two very important things.

1. My father is a MINISTER. Christmas is kinduvabigdeal in the Church. Hello? Birth of Christ? Coming of the Savior? 

2. My 18-year-old brother, despite obviously  having no say in the life-sustainment of aforementioned dog, is still living at home, but would not be celebrating Christmas like the rest of his normal friends. Nor. mal.

Consequently, my mother geeeeeeently mentioned to my father that his suggestion of vetoing Christmas might have been one of the STUPIDEST IDEAS HE'S EVER HAD. I'm certain that her delivery of such a statement was worthy of molasses sitting in the sun on a summer day in Mississippi but it got her point across nonetheless.  My mother is a fine, southern woman but when she thinks you're being a bit of a dimwit, you get the picture. Just with sugah on top.

So that matter was put to rest.

Or so everyone thought. 

My father, refusing to be bested, made a bit of a comeback - which brings me to last night's conversation.

My mother informs me that my father is now vetoing the assembling of the Christmas tree this year.

And I'm saying, "This is just ridiculous. I'm going to call him and tell him to knock some sense into his head. And now."

Then my mother geeeeeeeently informs me that she believes that might be the stupidest idea I'VE ever had because she is beginning to realize that my father's desperate attempts to do away with Christmas this year stem from the fact that this is the first year that his eldest daughter (yours truly for those of you who don't know the head count in my family) will not be with the family this year because she lives overseas.

And I lost it.

Cried like a baby.

Looks like my father is in silent protest.  Of Christmas.

Furthering the fact that he really is my biggest hero.

and so it is. all things fresh and new. 

new blog. new monday. newfound obsession with my sick guilty pleasure: hip hop music.

a friend of mine stated that the above picture should be named "ode to all things you and to the fall." 

I just like that I'm allowed to love the picture because one can't see my face and that means I just love it for what it is and not because my mug is plastered all over the WWW for everyone to think, "god she is so full of herself."

because let's be clear: we have all thought that.