|Back to work.|
I don't know where I'm going with this, but I feel good about my decision.
Also, this frees me up from having to write about "parenting" stuff every day. I mean- REALLY.
Oh, I kid.
I would, however, like to thank the superbly nice folks who have been so gracious as to not spam-block me each and every time that I request votes...and also the three hundred additional folks who have been visiting the blog every single day. (Please stay! I promise to keep talking about parenting, if that's what you dig!)
I also feel good about the other three potentially life-changing events that could occur this coming week. I've said too much. But it could be boss.
I can, however, tell you about my newest obsession: Ghost Adventures. Sure, this is a television program that premiered in the Fall of 2008, but I've never claimed to be a timely person.
For example, I recently recommended Def Leppard's 'Hysteria' as a must-listen for albums.
Back to the show. It is awesomely creepy. And I just happened to catch three straight hours of it on Saturday night. (Judge not.) I mean, sure, the guys on that show can be downright vaudevillian in their responses to the spirits- noodle legs flying up from a chair, jazz hands splayed to ask the camera: Did you SEE that?- but boy oh boy, was I not ready to sleep alone.
Thankfully, I didn't have to. My husband was asleep on the sofa next to me the entire time. Which leads me to my next segment, entitled:
My Husband Cannot Stay Awake For The Telly.
It's true. Right around 7:45pm, a little after Nora calls it a night, he begins the popular refrain of "What Would You Like To Watch?" (Do not pity. Sometimes we play board games or Mario Kart.) I always roll my eyes and respond- whatever you'd enjoy falling asleep to. He then promises up and down to stay awake and even bolsters himself with a cup of coffee or black tea, followed up by eagerly setting up the newest, edgy movie. (Which, let's be honest, is not my cup o' chai.)
Twenty minutes later- Outsville, Illinois. Population: 1 dude snoring. (And one rather bored/tense gal uncomfortable with all of the currentitude on her television box.) I've started telling him- Look, if you know you're gonna fall asleep, let's just call out the charade and put on some BBC. You'll sleep better, I'll be happier, and anyone walking by will believe us to be cultured.
Win/win. Unlike the Bloggies. Or the Oscars.
But the Footie Pajama-Clad Miniature Person Climbing On My Chest To Comb My Hair With A Doll Brush Awards?
It's best not to get too greedy.