But I think Bob would be pleased.

The tree I just drew has a serious hitch in its giddy-up.
Still, I might just keep the crooked little dear.

(Yes, I'm still drawing those snowy trees.  Only three more to go, though.)

But where's the heart?

I think I've done something wrong.
According to the stores, it looks like I should be decorating using one of two color combinations:
Red and white, or silver and white.
I've got those colors in my decorations, but I've also got a lot more because that's what Christmas is about.
A splash of color in a snow-white world.
Not that there's anything wrong with a color coordinated tree.
Or using only a few colors.
Or being all sophisticated.
It's just not necessarily my cup of tea.
Therefore, I've come to the conclusion that I prefer the less dignified Christmas.
The homey Christmas.
The handmade Christmas.
The Christmas where you drag out the art projects you made in elementary school.
And the ancient ornaments, some of which might be a little broken, or cobbled together, but are still good.
And the neat looking things that you just had to buy because they made you laugh in the store.
You know, the Christmas with heart.
Then again, I am one of those people who prefer the multicolored lights and a good helping of tinsel.
I guess I'm just not cut out for the sophisticated Christmas.
That's okay.
A sophisticated Christmas is no place for an octopus or a t-rex, and it wouldn't be Christmas without them.

What about first minute shopping?

I keep hearing about last minute gift ideas.
You mean I was supposed to have started shopping already?
And now be almost finished?
Surely not.
Surely I'm supposed to be starting now.
Or maybe waiting another week or so.
We're nowhere near last minute gift idea time.
That's what you call the day or two before Christmas.
Isn't it?

Technically, it was right.

The only fortune that's ever come true was the one that said my current plants would succeed.
I think it was a typo.
Still, all of my plants are alive.
Even Frank.

Sorry champ, but perhaps you should look in this mirror.

The kid who just asked his mom if she enjoyed being conventional and uniform is the same kid wearing baggy shorts, skater shoes, a t-shirt, and a baseball cap set daringly aslant.
(Maybe he thinks that the Justin Bieber hair cut is the thing setting him apart.)

Shouldn't you also be wearing curlers and a housecoat?

The fact that your slippers have hard soles doesn't mean you should wear them when you go shopping.

I've got the idea.

I just need the motivation.
Soon, though.
Soon.
Now where's that dictionary...

I are a robot.

I will say this once and then not speak of it again...maybe.  I am morally opposed to stores opening at midnight on Black Friday, and don't even get me started on the ones opening on Thanksgiving night.  I think that it is disrespectful to the employees and is essentially telling them that they do not matter and that they do not deserve to have a holiday.  I also think that there's no reason to and that sure, if you don't, people will be mad because they can't buy something that they're just going to return anyway, but frankly, people don't need reasons to be mad these days.  They just are.  They don't need any excuses to act like spoiled children and treat employees like they aren't really people.  They just do.  And if stores open at midnight (and at least one seems to be opening at 10 on Thanksgiving), then what's to stop them from just being open on Thanksgiving and saying, hey, find time to get with your family some other day...oh wait, you can't ask for any days off between now and Christmas.  Oh well.  How do you feel about Thanksgiving in February?

(And before you get up on your high horses, I have had to work on Thanksgiving and it basically ruined the day and I missed out on my family and now that four out of the eight people who were there are now dead, they're memories that I'll never get back or get to have again.)
(And frankly, if they do that, who's to stop them from being open until midnight on Christmas Eve?  Family, it's overrated, right?  I'm not actually supposed to have one, right?  Holidays are for other people.  I guess I missed that memo.)

No, I don't want to save.

Not when, upon opening the file, I see that the three pages I just wrote are now blank when I know full well that they shouldn't be, considering that they're in the middle of the file.  So no, when I'm asked if I want to save the changes when I haven't even changed anything, or typed anything for that matter, I don't want to save those changes.  I want to see if closing the file and opening it again will give those lost words back to me.  That part was hard enough to write the first time.  I don't want to write it again.

(Thankfully, it worked.  I think it's time to backup, not that I haven't been all along.)

Happy Nigel Tufnel Day!

Break out the green skeleton shirts and turn it up to eleven.

Wish I'd seen that.

They're called sundogs, or parhelia if you want to get technical.
I just think they're neat.

(And if you haven't been checking out Astronomy Picture of the Day, you should start now.)

I really didn't want to do this.

But I thought it was too funny to miss...and if I put it off, I'd forget.

I'm going mad, I tell you, mad!

A quote has lodged itself in my brain and refuses to leave.  I don't know where it's from, but I have a feeling that I am in possession of the movie/television show it comes from.  The worst part is, I don't really even have a clear idea of where it happens, so I can't pin it down.  All I know is that I think it takes place within a group of people, and it happens right after someone really freaks out and asks them all why they aren't laughing and then, when someone finally speaks up, they say, in a very calm, low, maybe even sinister (though that one could just be me) voice, "You're just not funny anymore."  I have no idea where it's from, but it's been running laps in my head for a while now.  I hope it goes away soon, or that I remember where it comes from and can put an end to this madness.

(And as of this moment, I'm not even sure that that's the exact phrase seeing as how all my searches have failed.)

Unless it tastes like pie.

I'm starting to think that pumpkin juice isn't all it's cracked up to be.

I think I'm going to be sick.

Last night, at 11:30 p.m., they played the first Christmas song at work.

(For the curious, it was "Santa Baby" by Madonna.  They could have at least picked a good song.)