On the Last Days of Rebeccamas

In this house on December 25th we celebrate Rebeccamas. I turn 32. That kind of bums me out -- I like the number 31. It's a cool number. It suits me. It's what I always play in roulette. 32, well, 32 doesn't do much for me. It's just a number like any other.

Been keeping busy with home renovations and managing No Tell See, I want to schedule and program all the content until the end of March by the end of January (hopefully sooner). We'll see if I'm able to accomplish that.

As for the home stuff, hah hah, Weds night Chris and I were moving everything downstair so the carpet guys could install our carpets Thursday. Chris managed to hurt his foot pretty badly on the stairs. I thought he had broken it the way he was walking, but it turns out to be a bad sprain. The carpet is down and his sister came by and helped up move most of the stuff back up the steps. Tonight we finish the nursery and stencil.

The rest of the weekend Chris will be installing the vanity in our bedroom. I caused some marital discord by calling up his mother's handyman and seeing if he could do it. Apparently Chris really wants to install the vanity himself. I'm worried about time. So we agreed that the handy man would only install the second vanity in the guest bathroom (which I'm pretty sure Chris won't have time to do before Christmas Eve when my dad arrives).

Note to all you potential homewreckers who wish to publicly support Chris on his quest to do all the work himself. Back off! I'm in a very delicate condition right now and cannot handle the competition. There is no time for him to dally on dreams of what it might be like to be with someone who understands or even appreciates him. Or someone who won't rabbit punch him while he sleeps.

This whole week I've been walking around the house muttering and quoting Norm MacDonald:

"Happy Birthday, Jesus. I hope you like crap!"