just call me seven

We just finished putting up our Christmas decorations for this season. Our tree is probably, by some peoples’ standards, rather overdressed, but what can I say? We have a lot of ornaments. We have lots of antique hand-blown, hand-painted glass balls that my Dad’s mom gave my parents when they first were married. They are cool. We also have the same kind of thing most families have… you know, of the popsicle-stick craft persuasion. And we have a bunch of just really random ornaments. We have this one that is Santa & Mrs. Claus in their trailer… Santa’s just sittin’ there watchin’ TV. I think it’s cute. And then there’s the gift tags… my dad has this strange compulsion to save gift tags that are cool looking, punch a hole in them and stick ‘em on the tree. Which, though I think it’s sort of weird, I have to admit is kind of cool. At least it’s unique… I can honestly say that no other Christmas tree I’ve ever seen has had even one gift-tag-cum-tree-decoration, let alone multiples.

My sister just dropped by the computer and tried to put my underwear on my head. “They fell out of the basket!” O…kay… So here I sit, typing my blog post, with a pair of underwear in my lap. It’s sort of hard to be any kind of serious when, in the back of your mind, you are aware that there’s a pair of stripey underwear hangin’ out in your lap.

So, I bought a bag of Hershey’s Kisses, ’cause I had me a powerful craving (I really am not a hillbilly… I just type like I am) to get me some chocolate. And I ate a few, and then I noticed that instead of just saying “Hershey’s Kisses” on the little paper tag thingie, these ones have random phrases. Phrases like “Kiss Someone” and “You Rock.” Why? is my question. What right does a turdpile-shaped piece of chocolate have to instruct me to bestow smooches on another person? What makes Hershey’s think I need affirmation from a substance which, while wonderful (don’t get me wrong– I love Kisses), will most definitely make me Not Rock if I eat too many? On the other hand, I just ate four in a row that didn’t have the paper at all. I don’t know why, but I hate the paperless ones, even if it means I don’t have to analyze some pithy axiom. I’m just saying.

I love that the suggestions for labels that Blogger provides are “e.g. scooters, vacation, fall.” I don’t think I would ever have occasion to label a post “scooters,” but maybe that’s just me. I just think it’s deliciously random. I mean, really, how many people blog about scooters?

I love Clam, Crab, Cockle, Cowrie by Joanna Newsom. I have no idea what anything in that song means, but the tune is simple, pure, melancholy and beautiful. “And some machines are dropped from great heights lovingly… and some great bellies ache with many bumblebees.” I don’t get it, but I don’t really care, because it’s such a pretty song. (Confession: sometimes, when no one else is home, I play this song and sing along really loudly in my dining/living room, because we just put in laminate flooring and it echoes beautifully.) This would be a good sing-in-the-shower song, if I did that (I have no idea why I don’t… I sing everywhere else, which embarrasses Pippy to no end when we’re out in public, but if I’m in the shower, I am endeavoring with everything in my power to make no noise whatsoever. What is that?), but I don’t. Though I think it has more to do with my paranoia of people watching/listening to me when I have no idea… it’s one of those weird things. But I think if I had my own house, I might sing in the shower. So… yeah. Anyway.

I just (yesterday or the day before, don’t remember which) joined a group called 20-Something Bloggers… I’m curious to see what happens. I have 4 subscribers now, instead of two, but I really don’t know how to analyze my Feed Burner thingie to figure out if anyone’s actually reading this besides The Croodler and Pippy. We’ll see how things go.