Alot has happened since I last posted. I got new windows. Plus I paid all my bills, decked all my halls, did all my visiting teaching, and attended my first holiday family PaRtAy of the season.
And when I say PaRtAy, I mean PaRtAy!
Oh, and I hypnotized my Olive Garden waiter into giving me step-by-step instructions to make Zuppa Toscana soup.
The trick is cooking the sausage with red pepper flakes peeps! RED PEPPER FLAKES! Of course. And don't use chicken broth from a can. ICK! (That's what he said.) As for the bacon, Costco's Kirkland pre-cooked, pre-crumbled REAL bacon in the blue bag works best.
I also blew off a ward council meeting. On purpose. Meaning I did it willfully and knowingly. And when they asked me why I didn't attend I told them it was because I didn't want to attend. I told them that I wanted to go on a family walk instead. And then I told them that I had read somewhere that Sunday meetings were of the devil. (hee hee)
But fer reals, why is Sunday such a day of UNREST for us church goers? I thought . . . I mean . . . doesn't the Bible say . . .
It's one of them contradicting commandments, I s'pose.
I bet Sundays are a day of rest for family walkers.
I accomplished a lot this weekend, but I haven't even started my Christmas shopping yet. I think I'm going to start with my own present since it's the most expensive--new tires for my car. (I know, my hub is a big spender. He's romantic like that, what can I say?)
Okay, raise your hand if you wanna see what happened to my nativity this year?
For some reason all of my wise men have suffered serious bodily dismemberment this year. I was going to glue them back together, but then I thought, why? This is a great metaphor for life. Wise men have always gotten the short end of the stick, don't you think? Look what happened to all the great thinkers like Socrates and Galileo! Voltaire and Rousseau! John Lock and Jack Handey!
(Wait, Jack Handey isn't dead, is he?)
Well anyways, raise your hand if you wanna see my mom's nativity? It's the very exact same nativity I grew up looking at year after year after year and while pretendind to live in a Thomas Kincade painting. I hope my mom wills it to ME, ME, ME because it's the only thing I want.
Btw, my dad made the manger from scratch.
How sweet is that?