Tomorrow's Just A Future Yesterday

Days like today are so much fun.  I mean, who wouldn't love spending the entire day in your room, leaving only to feed the guinea pig you're babysitting and to use the bathroom, and when leaving covering your nose and mouth and opening doors with bits of tissue so as not to become infected.  Also, fasting so that in case you are attacked by the evil germs, not much can come of it.  Oh joy of joys!

Oh well, at least I got some more time in on Super Mario Galaxy, which is actually a lot more fun than I expected it to be.  Now I'm going to read some more of Desilu and try to pretend I'm not starving.  Maybe later I'll sit and watch my iDog dance.  Hmph.

(Click on the title of this entry for a fun article about how no one will ever have to sleep again.  Ever.  I swear.)

All Other Countries Have Inferior Potassium

In the words of Borat, Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were "great success."  Although the little brainmuncher was sending me into convulsions as he threw numerous temper tantrums, smeared random foods onto his hands and tried to grab my new dress, and made me generally claustrophobic, everything after the feast went smoothly.  Everyone seemed to enjoy their gifts, and I know I did...new digital camera, robe and slippers, lighted makeup mirror, and numerous other goodies.  Then I went grudgingly off to midnight mass, which was slightly more tolerable than expected as I saw many people I knew.  I fell into my bed and snoozed for 6 hours before waking, seeing off the nephew, and then proceeding to wait impatiently while people made coffee and took their sweet time before I was allowed to pass out the Christmas Morning presents.  Everyone had fun and got good stuff, and I quite enjoyed my numerous DVDS (Brady Bunch, Quantum Leap, Fresh Prince, Full House, OK Go music videos), a new video camera, CDs (Blues Brothers soundtrack, Lawrence Welk Polkas, Barry Manilow CD/DVD set), board games, maaany books (2 I Love Lucy books, Hawaii in the 50's, 2 novels, etc.) and a lot of other stuff.  Like clothes.  I love clothes.  No underwear this year, though, so that's comforting.

Now that I have a new camera I have no excuses for not making new videos, although no one really cares if I do or don't because no one watches them.  Then again, no one reads this either.  If on the small chance you do read this, I aplogize for how incredibly boring and self-centered this blog is, but I get great satisfaction from gloating about my wonderful Christmas gifts.  Be glad I restrained from writing a complete itemized list.

Insane In The Membrane

Hi.

Welcome to the Wonderful World of Amy.

Come on in, sit down, and I'll tell you a little story.

Once upon a time, Amy was sitting around on Christmas Eve, blogging while she waited for her insane family to arrive for dinner. Not "Holy crap, she's chasing squirrels with a pair of kitchen scissors while singing Cotton-Eyed Joe!" insane, but the good kind that makes life interesting, like "Hey, look, Grandma's lifting her skirt again."  Because stuff like that happened in Amy's family.

Amy's crazy family consisted of Amy, the princess of crazy:

Amy's mom, the queen of insanity.

Amy's dad, a giant cartoon character.

Amy's grandma, who invented crazy.

Amy's brother, who was crazy even though he didn't want to admit it.

And Amy's nephew, the crazy toddler who ate brains.

So, anyways, Amy was waiting around for this group of nuthouse rejects to show up so she could chow down. It was an annual tradition, you know. Every year, since before her mother was born (and thusly before dinosaurs roamed the Earth), the entire clan would have a nice Swedish feast on Christmas Eve, with more kinds of bread than you could shake a breadstick at. After everyone had been sufficiently stuffed with cheap Swedish caviar and rotten fish, the dishes were washed in the traditional way, since apparently automatic dishwashers are illegal in Sweden. Then, everyone would gather around the Christmas shrub, which had been set on a table to look larger, while one male member of the family (different every year) ran out to "get batteries," and conveniently miss the visit from Santa Claus, who always seems to be wearing the same brand of cologne as the missing relative. Then, the child slave labor ensued, as the tots were forced to dole out the presents to their respective receivers while they ate rice pudding and sipped Swedish coffee. After the slave labor, the children were tortured, as everyone took turns unwrapping their presents while the children peeled the skin off of their arms in eager anticipation, waiting to unwrap their next gift (which is, if they're lucky, a 10-pack of underwear, which grandma only seemed to give when brother's girlfriend was visiting). After visits from friends and neighbors, the children were then dragged off to midnight mass, so they could endure infinite choruses of Feliz Navidad and snore through the sermon.

All in all, our story is coming to a close. See, after Amy remembered all of these fun details, she decided that she should stop blogging and prepare for the incoming tornado that was Christmas Eve with her family with a thorough dousing of Holy Water.