This was sent by one of the authors in the writer’s group in which the  Quill Sister’s belong. I’ve seen it before, but I thought I’d post it with a few comments as pertains to the Sisters. I’ve made comments in red.

The end of the world is scheduled for tomorrow. Are you ready? Are you prepared? 

I’m not. All I’ve done to prepare is eat all the cookies and let the gasoline in my car run out. I figure I’ll die fat but sated and I’m certainly not wasting any money on gas just for the end of the world. Where the hell would I drive to anyway?

These weather forecasts totally crack me up. I love that people are so clever.

Well, I’ll either chat with you on Friday with the 5 Favorite Things…

Or I won’t.

I’d rather the world end in a fiery ball as opposed to an ice age. I really, really hate being cold.

I do love me some Simon’s Cat.

Here’s Jojo Kitty preparing to attack me through the cord hole in my desk. He shoves both his arms through that hole and tries to grab you. There is much shrieking and glee and for a few minutes we forget whatever horrible work thing is going on.

I’ve told you that we’ve long had trouble with my boy not wearing underwear. I don’t know why this is such an issue. Wear underwear – don’t wear underwear, I don’t know why we care so much. Maybe it’s a control thing. Whatever. Little dude needs to wear underwear. When he’s better at remembering to wipe his butt, then he can decide whether he wants to wear underwear. Until then… Hanes are our friends.

This weekend, he and his father went out shopping while Sassy, her grandmother and I made 87,000 cookies. I have no idea what they did out there in the world. They refused to tell me. I hate this time of year because I hate secrets unless they’re my secrets.

After they’d done all the secret stuff, they stopped off to find some cool outfit for Christmas dinner.

My Honey insisted they try stuff on. Zeus bless him.

“I can do it myself,” the boy tried to tell his father.

“Yeah, no. Get in there.” My Honey shoved him into the dressing room and followed along behind.

“Turn around.”

“Just take off your pants.”

The Bandit pushed down his sweatpants to reveal shorts. Off with the shorts and he revealed pajama bottoms.

“Do you have underwear on under there?” My Honey asked with a shake of his head.

“Yeah,” he said with a grin.

We do not understand this child. He’s really weird. Some days we can’t let him out of the house because he’s underpants-less. Other days he has on nineteen layers.

Tonight at dinner he spilled his milk and sat on a chicken leg. No one knows if he had underwear on or not.

The girl is campaigning for a gerbil. I have no idea why. They smell and they’re noisy. I know it’s illogical that I would have this opinion since I’m so gung-ho about all the other animals. Nevertheless, I’m absolutely against gerbils.

She doesn’t care. She wants one. She’s priced them out at the store. She’s gone on Amazon and researched the cost of a cage and wood shavings and every other thing a homeless gerbil needs.

Except the cost of a willing mother. We are outrageously expensive.

I’ve tried appealing to her softer side when I assure her that Jojo Kitty will happily eat a gerbil. Her response that she’ll keep him in cage where he’d be safe. I assured her that wouldn’t keep that blood thirsty cat from eating a tiny rodent. I explained how he would stalk that poor animal until it died of a heart attack.

Still she insists she’ll use her own money and that she planned to name him Gibley.

I am not swayed.

She is trying to be sneaky. On the grocery list directly between yogurt and spaghetti she wrote in gerbil. ***snort*** Like they have those over by the produce section or something. Perhaps she thought we might have a coupon to redeem.

I keep hoping My Honey stays strong with me on this, but I can feel him wavering. Perhaps I should come up with a contingency plan. Do you suppose the pet store has a sickly gerbil they’d sell me? One with a patch of hair missing and no one knows why?

Today was the first real winter-y day in the desert. We went all out and dug out the parkas and fuzzy boots. It was 50 degrees. That’s freezing, people. Our Alaskan friends are going to make fun of us, but we totally expect it. If we’re not here to be made fun of, we don’t know what they’d do. Go ahead, point and laugh. We can take it. We won’t be able to hear you with our earmuffs on anyway. Here are some things to amuse.

1. Gingerbread houses. Once upon a time, Amylynn decided to make a gingerbread house with her kids. That will never happen again. The pieces wouldn’t stick and the frosting got everywhere. Someone ate all the candies and then the dog ate the entire house.  No one really likes gingerbread anyway. We’re going to leave it up to the professionals from now on. These people should make gingerbread houses all year long. Follow the link and be amazed.

2. Obama says, play hockey. Mr Obama is sick of this no hockey bullshit – at least that’s the way these guys reported it. We agree wholeheartedly. Gary Bettman didn’t return our call, but he sure as hell better return the president’s. He has access to nukes. Anyway, the NHL has ruined our New Years Eve plans and we’re not having any more of it. The Alaskan friend had predicted the lockout would resolve in January. We sincerely hope he has the right of it.

3. Vacation days. As we stated earlier in the week, Bank of No Forks won’t allow us roll over vacation days so we have to use them all up
by the end of the year. That means taking vacation days for absolutely no reason. We guess we like not getting dressed and taking 2 hour lunches but still, we’d rather be in Antigua on blustery days like this.

4. Cacti wearing hats. A Saguaro in a Santa hat is how we know for sure that it’s Christmas in the desert. Otherwise, we’d wonder why the traffic is so damn awful and they keep playing that ridiculous music on the radio. Besides, everyone loves a good hat.

5. Cookie Dough. The best part of Christmas may very well be the cookies. And the dough. And the warm cookies. And the cool cookies. All of those things  are truly wonderful. You all know the absolute best part. Not sharing. You know it’s true.

Aside from lunch, every time I sat down for longer than fifteen minutes, I fell asleep. More blog tomorrow.

I’ve been trying to figure out a birthday present for Ava. It’s a curse I bear – trying to find perfect presents for people. I’ve yet to be able to pull one off for Ava. I tried to get the actor who plays Boris on Royal Pains to give her an autographed picture but he – or his representatives – blew me off. This time I was on a quest for an action figure of Daryl Dixon from The Walking Dead. We’ve seen them. We even have a friend who possesses one. If you want one these days you can pick one up on Amazon for $279.99. Seriously.

So, then I started hunting for a Jax Teller of Sons of Anarchy action figure. Those don’t exist – not for any amount of money.

Crap crap crappity crap.

Instead I gave her something priceless.

I made her a gift certificate that entitled her to win one of our arguments. No matter what the subject matter, if she redeemed her coupon I would immediately stop arguing and she could win. For example, I would shut up and go get a stupid flu shot or immediately stop arguing and vote Republican or whatever repugnant thing she came up with.

I don’t have to worry about that Republican thing for another four years and, at this point, she seems to be actually hoping I get the flu so she can lord it over me that she got a flu shot and I refused.

Still, I wait with some fear in my heart. Perhaps I should avoid arguing with her for a while. At least until she loses the Golden Ticket.