Trying to Invoke the Christmas Spirit: “No *click* no *click* no…”

22 12 2008

Okay, you know, yesterday’s story about Santa kinda did help.
And then it all went to hell with this mornings commute.

Anyway, hoping to rekindle Kris Kringle…

(waving waves of time machine)

The house I grew up in had a generic tall tree in the front yard (as did all the houses on the street) and it was quite  common to run a string of lights from your porch to the tree.
Dad (hmmm, why do almost all of my stories seem to revolve around him?) decided to hang “dancing”* lights on the tree.  While an excellent idea IN THEORY this lead to him standing in our front hallway, flicking the switch on/off a dozen times until the strands coordinated.  This involved all of the decorative lights going on and off as we had a bunch of outlet extenders and extension cords running from the porch light [power source].
Sometimes, I’d reflip the switch just to un-sync the lights.
Sorry Dad.

blink!

blink!

And then there was the time Dad helped the neighbor hang her lights.
That spring, Dad had surgery to repair a constantly dislocating shoulder.  By Fall/Winter he was pretty much good as new and decided to help the Nice Old Lady next door hang the lights in her generic tall tree.
He’s up on the ladder, finagling and then he’s down on the ground, having dislocated his OTHER shoulder.
True Story.

The first year Steve and I were together, I came over to his parents house one afternoon.
Coming in through the front door with my backpack, I pulled the door behind me.
Thinking a tag from my bag had become stuck in the door, I pulled with all my might and heard a POP.
I had crushed a C-9 bulb in the door and effectively, caused the entire string to go out.

* “Dancing” lights: Lights that would do a variety show… blink, chase, fade etc.





The Plight of the Lowest Men

26 11 2008

While most of the nation gets to stay snuggly in their beds on Friday, The Canadian, Pronoun and I will be at work.

me: So, what time should I get the keg here by?
The Canadian: Uh?
me: Is eight am too early?
TC: A keg?
me: Yeah, I mean, it’s Pronoun, you and me here Friday…
Boss, cutting through the kitchen: Drat, you’re one player short for a game of euchre.
TC: Euchre?
me: It’s a card game.
TC: Ohhhh.
me: I’m only good at “Go Fish” and “War”.  I’ll bring in the Scrabble board or Cranium.

Tomorrow afternoon, I will get the following questions asked about twenty times:
“Are you pregnant yet?” (in their defense, the “winter coat”  has come in early, but it’s not like I can go to the gym with an open, yet almost healed, back wound.)
“Why aren’t you pregnant?”
“Are you going to have kids before I die?”
“Do you have to work tomorrow?”
“Are you going shopping tomorrow?”
“Why?”
“Why?” (added a second time to cover being asked “why” over fifty times)
“What do you want for Christmas?”
“Are you going to see your parents/grandparents for Christmas?”
“What time are you coming over on Christmas?”

And as soon as we drag home from Grandma’s, Steve starts with the “Can we watch Christmas Vacation/Elf/any other holiday movie??!?!”  as I have a strict No-Christmas-Until-After-Thanksgiving rule.

So, Dear Reader, are you “working” Friday?  Are you going shopping Friday?  Do you have any “Holiday Rules”?  Why aren’t you pregnant?!?!