12.03.03 December - 6:05 PM

Before I even begin, the winner of $5.00 spanking dollars is Bux:

Who wouldn't want to get off on the hardman exit...

Cheers Bux...and spank spank.

So things here have been a bit eventful. I was up in Minnesota for a week in November for some job training. It was good. Since my hotel was two exits away from the Mall of America, I admittedly spent more money than I should have. Rent money, that is. Oh well. I did narrowly avoid the advances of a fellow trainee member from South Carolina who was just looking for "someone to ride the coasters with" at Camp Snoopy. First of all, Camp Snoopy. Second of all, gangly toothed chica who spends all training class selling hand made ornaments on Ebay, Iz got a boyfriend. BOYfriend. Please, take note of that first syllable. Syllable. You know, sill-a-bull. Oh, never mind.

For Thanksgiving...I had two lovely dinners and passed up a third due to a unknown sickness. My family of 30 was so kind in having me sit in front of the TV during dinner and during the Packer game. Don't want to gorge yourself at Thanksgiving? Try attempting to eat as 30 people stare at your head trying to see around the mash potatoes on the way to your mouth determining whether it was a pass or a fumble.

Then there was last Saturday. Last lovely Saturday at 3 in the morning. Last lovely Saturday at 3 in the morning when a dresser drawer flew through our living room window. Yeah, imagine that. Kevin and I had been out earlier with a few friends of his. By 1 AM we were back at home watching TV. I was blissfully intoxicated and started to drift off during the 'Brothers McMullen'. I can't give you much details from that point and the point where Kevin was screaming at me from the kitchen with the (registered and licensed) pistol waving in the air.

"GET OUT OF THERE! AND STAY DOWN! STAY DOWN!!"

It wasn't until I was crawling on the ground in broken glass did I have any clue that there was something going on. (I make that seem like Kevin screams and waves pistols all the time...honestly it was the first time I've ever witnessed it) (seriously, I swear) So I crawl into the bedroom while Kevin ducks from window to window all Don Johnson Miami Vice like. The only thought I had in my head at the time was, "where's the cat?" While I'm screaming for Chloe, Kevin's desperately trying to dial 911 from his cell phone. Which sucks. His cell phone that is. This only makes him more panicky and he feverishly continues to duck around windows and chairs like he's in Time Crisis.

Eventually the cops come. They can't catch anyone because the only description the fuckhead stoner neighbor guy can give them is that the guy who threw the dresser drawer was wearing a T-shirt. Guy. In a T-shirt. We've got a goddamn dresser drawer hanging out on the carpet with pieces of glass that I'm sure I'll continue to find until the day we move out of this stupid fucking apartment and all you've got is a guy in a T-shirt. Thanks loser.

We stayed up well past 5 in the morning cleaning up glass. Chloe finally emerged from her dresser drawer through the living room window sanctuary behind the couch at 4:30. We went to bed finally with a chair propped up against the bedroom door and dreams of inflated "no living room window" heating bills dancing in our heads.

Oh, and by the way, the window still isn't fixed. The landlord lives in Arizona. Don't - don't get me started.

To brighten my day yesterday, I put up Christmas decorations. Nothing much, a few lights here, a bit o tinsel there. And I decorated the Christmas tree, Christmas Tree Charlie.

If you think Christmas Tree Charlie looks pathetic now, you should have seen him when I pulled him from the trash last year. I like C.T. Charlie. He's my charity case. If you look hard enough at the picture, you'll see our Christmas Dachshund. Everyone needs a Christmas Dachshund.

That's about it. Hope you're all doing well. I'm sending out my Christmas cards this week so if you want one, now is the time to send your address to me.

Now for the token picture of the cat:

Little shit.

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