My Hatred

On Thursday I was thankful but now it's Saturday and I can tell you what makes me angry:
Fake Christmas trees. My hatred of fake Christmas trees stems from my disdain of fake shrubbery and objects in general. It's as silly as fake fruit. Have you ever been in someones house and took a gander at a bowl of fake fruit?
First of all, usually fake fruit bowls can be spotted right away because in my experience, bananas normally don't collect dust. But if one dusts regularly and can pass off fake fruit as a real fruit bowl, what purpose does the fake fruit have? If I'm starving and bite into your well dusted fake banana I'm going to be angry not to mention probably break a tooth.
Which comes to the fake Christmas tree. Sure, it looks like a real Christmas tree. You can hang ornaments on it and even put presents under it and it can pass as a real tree. Except for one very important and some might say the most important part. The smell.
The smell which a real Christmas tree produces is right up there next to puppy breath in my book. As in the situation with the finely dusted fruit, if one is tricked into going in nose first into a fake devil tree and taking in a deep whiff ready to smell the goodness which ones expects to receive and is sadly met with plastic, well, one can become disillusioned and might even sneeze. Let trees be trees and fruit be fruit as Jesus intended them to be.

Great, now I'm still angry plus hungry for a dusty banana.

We Laugh at Blisters!

We walked 60 miles in 3 days and raised 11.2 million dollars to help fight breast cancer...I think I might take the week off. As opposed to last week when I worked one day.
Why walk? Well, I think just writing a check for that much is silly but getting together with 5000 other people and walking 20 miles a day for 3 days in a row and camping like refugees is a more noble approach. Besides, since my mom and sister are both breast cancer survivors it's the least I can do. I'm sure they would walk for me if there was ever a A.D.D. comedian walk.

These Boots

Boots are not made for walking 60 miles. Most people aren't made for walking 60 miles. Jesus walked a lot but He is God so that doesn't count. I'm on my way for my 7th 60 mile 3 day walk to raise money for Susan G. Komen for the cure. My mom and sister survived breast cancer and all I got was this lousy walk. Me and 6000 other fools will be out and about this weekend so honk if you must but I would rather you throw tylenol.If anyone yells, "hey Aleeve" to me I will throw a punch.

Fam-Damily

All the sisters came home to celebrate Pop's 70th birthday (more of that later). So of course when we are all together we must take a family picture...because you never know when one of us might become horribly disfigured in a accident involving a hamster, pruning shears and a bottle of Nyquil, it could happen, I read about it on the internet. The internet does not lie.

Poo!

My Aunt Mary is visiting from Bismark North Dakota. Aunt Mary to you, but in this house we refer to her as Auntie Poo. Poo got her name from a nasty habit she use to have. Before you get scandalized, the habit was smoking. When I was around her I would say, "poo, that stinks". Hence the name stuck...I wasn't that original considering the day I was handing out names Uncle Boots had a certain kind of footwear on.
Anyway, my favorite thing about Auntie Poo was what she use to bring with her and that was some extra hair. I would chase people and even myself around the house with her wigs barking...I thought it was the coolest thing in the world. Auntie Poo was the first one in my life to call me an explicit but for some reason it was done so with love. I was reminded as I came in the door tonight and was greeted with one, ahhh, somethings never change. Like Auntie Poo's hair in a wind storm.

They're Back!

After 15 days at sea the parents are back and now my house is a mess! Exscuse me, their house is a mess. While they were gone the dogs and I had ever so much fun and you can hardly see the stains on the carpet anymore.
They came bearing gifts as you can see in this picture. Me and my sister now match my dad with our "dam ship" sweat shirt. They bought them using their "dam dollars" on the "dam ship". I'm not cussing, that's just a clever Holland America Cruise line marketing ploy...pretty "dam stupid" if you ask me, but I got a free sweatshirt out of the deal. Perfect for those chilly November nights now that we are dipping into the lower 70's. Also in the picture you see the sweet Hawaiian bling bling my nephews were gifted with. They are so happy...I wonder if they still know where those leis are 24 hours after receiving them...my sweatshirt is in the closet, after being washed of course. Who knows what was on the damn thing.

Say what?

Tonight I was informed by my niece that one of her friends thinks I am a baller.
I have no idea what that means so I did what anyone would do after I asked the dog ans he didn't know I Googled it.
Baller

A thug that has "made it" to the big time. Originally referred ball players that made it out of the streets to make millions as a pro ball player, but now is used to describe any thug that is living large.

Example sentence: Pain is a part of the game when you're a baller.

Yep, that's me.

Hooray for Joseph!

I first met him at USD when he was just a pup. And now he's all grown up and married, but he still can't handle his beer. I must really like Joseph because I drove all the way to San Diego today for his wedding plus I put on a dress. I usually don't like to wear a dress since when I do, I look so good that everyone around me gets such low self esteem when they see me that it's not good for our Country's morale.

Mac Davis was right, it really is hard to be humble.