Oh Christmas Tree

I am blogging from my homeland in Happy Valley, also known as the epitome of Midwest suburbandom. Just about the most thrilling place on earth, I know. My sisters, 13 and 15, and I are sitting in what is probably the smallest room in the house and accessing the fine internet together. Christmas is about family you know and Jesus of course. We all have those ridiculous Biore Pore Strip thingers on our noses which supposedly remove blackheads. I don't know if I have blackheads but I will find out it a matter of moments.

Today the temperature reached 40 deg Fahrenheit so I felt inclined to open up the sun roof of the shiny Volvo. This was a wonderful plan until melting snow from an overpass decided to land on my head and also in my lap and interrupt my sun filled journey towards the homeland. Please note that I did infact have four blackheads which have now been removed. I am certain you are relieved.

A boy made me dinner last evening. I was nearly certain things like that only happened in the movies but I was proved wrong. We went out for dessert and then watched a French film with subtitles and stared intensely into each others eyes. If only I believed in things like romance. I only believe in things like getting girls to take their pants off because let us be honest, that is the objective. I know this because I once took a biology course in which I learned that. Okay, not exactly that but it is my interpretation and therefore is as good as fact.

Some friends from high school called and asked if I might be interested in an evening of Vicodin and boxed wine. I told them I had to cleanse my pores but I might stop by later to witness their self-destructive behavior. I have such interesting friends and by interesting I probably intend to say fucked up.

Tomorrow I will go bowling with my family. It is a tradition that I once found to be highly embarrassing because my family is highly obnoxious, especially in public places, and I used to think I was too cool but I have since embraced my own obscurity and plan on maintaining my record as the worst bowler in the history of woman kind with flair. Flair really means flamboyant dance moves, complicated bowling rituals, and the singing of Christmas carols in the incorrect key. Updates (and maybe photos) to follow.