Thursday, December 27
May I just say that Pakistan continues to scare the ever loving bejeebus out of me?
RIP, Ms. Bhutto, I think you were our best shot at a little stability over there.
Did you all have a deeelightful Christmas?
My sweet Sister-in Law, my brother's wife, has started a war.
She gave Little O a pink and black tackle box full of make up.
In response to that volley, I told her that she left me no choice but to buy my gorgeous seventeen year old niece a fake ID.
Because the make up is, in fact, damn near invisible, I conceded that we will make sure it's a one name ID a-la-McLovin.
McLovely makes her sound like a Grey's Anatomy cast member.
My weird mother-issues continue.
I have had an ice cream maker on my Christmas list for the last three years, ever since my brother and sister in law started making ice cream. When my mom came through just before my birthday, I spied an ice cream ball in her back seat. I was sure I was getting one for my birthday or maybe Christmas.
She gave an Ice Cream ball to my brother and his family (who already make ice cream with his ice cream maker and started me on this whole kick) and she either gave one to SIL's cousin (who is a fabulous guy and I certainly do not begrudge him a flipping ice cream ball), or maybe balls to each of the kids? I dunno, there were two floating around, and not one for me! Still nothing for my birthday. I am becoming obsessive and a little crazy about the whole birthday thing. I feel like golem.
It's a little black speck on my shiny green soul. (Do you see your soul as colored? I envision it as granny smith green.)