Marc
Melancholy day. Melancholy, I say. What a melon, that's a colly, and it is today.
I think I'm going through one of those self-imposed nervous fits again. Nothing extraordinary. I'm just kind of ancy and squirmy. Today's basically a wash as I'm waiting for it to be five thirty so I can head up north to visit with the parent's for the Mom's birthday. I called her this morning to wish her well and whatnot, and I even said, "Happy Birthday", but it turns out I was still a wee bit tipsy and her birthday's not actually until Tuesday. I'm hoping that the thought still counts and I don't lose brownie points for this one. I'm an idiot.
I've actually never been able to remember my Mom's birthday. When Reagan was in office, and when I was a wee lass, she said something to the effect of her birthday being the day before or after Ronnie's, and from that point on I could never figure out what day its on. One of those ongoing, agnozing things where you don't want to ask her what day her birthday is on because it'll hurt her feelings, so you ask someone else (ie -- two little sisters or Dad), but no matter how many years in a row you ask them, you're guaranteed to forget it by the next year. All I know is that its in the beginning of February.
Damn Ronald Reagan, if the gargantuan debt he left us wasn't bad enough, now I have to deal with this, too.
Speaking of birthdays, ours is coming up soon. And I'm not using "ours" in the sense of the Royal "we". I mean us, the Panaphobes. Come February 12, it'll have been one year to the day. I was holed up in a hotel room in Salt Lake City, Utah, bored out of my mind when I finally decided to just go for it and work on this here BLARG. 365 days later and we're all still here, plus one, minus one, yadayada. In celebration I'm going out tonight after the dinner with Scooter and hopefully Zook.
And by celebration I just mean that we happen to be hooking up anyways, so why not make a big deal out of it, eh?
Melancholy day. Melancholy, I say. What a melon, that's a colly, and it is today.
I think I'm going through one of those self-imposed nervous fits again. Nothing extraordinary. I'm just kind of ancy and squirmy. Today's basically a wash as I'm waiting for it to be five thirty so I can head up north to visit with the parent's for the Mom's birthday. I called her this morning to wish her well and whatnot, and I even said, "Happy Birthday", but it turns out I was still a wee bit tipsy and her birthday's not actually until Tuesday. I'm hoping that the thought still counts and I don't lose brownie points for this one. I'm an idiot.
I've actually never been able to remember my Mom's birthday. When Reagan was in office, and when I was a wee lass, she said something to the effect of her birthday being the day before or after Ronnie's, and from that point on I could never figure out what day its on. One of those ongoing, agnozing things where you don't want to ask her what day her birthday is on because it'll hurt her feelings, so you ask someone else (ie -- two little sisters or Dad), but no matter how many years in a row you ask them, you're guaranteed to forget it by the next year. All I know is that its in the beginning of February.
Damn Ronald Reagan, if the gargantuan debt he left us wasn't bad enough, now I have to deal with this, too.
Speaking of birthdays, ours is coming up soon. And I'm not using "ours" in the sense of the Royal "we". I mean us, the Panaphobes. Come February 12, it'll have been one year to the day. I was holed up in a hotel room in Salt Lake City, Utah, bored out of my mind when I finally decided to just go for it and work on this here BLARG. 365 days later and we're all still here, plus one, minus one, yadayada. In celebration I'm going out tonight after the dinner with Scooter and hopefully Zook.
And by celebration I just mean that we happen to be hooking up anyways, so why not make a big deal out of it, eh?
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