Taking a “During School” Vacation? Start Here

It’s been a minute since I wrote anything on here. I guess I have just had less things to complain about. Lol. Kidding. Just much less time to draft my daily annoyances.  Seriously, during Covid I would have needed a thumb transplant if I chronicled all of life’s transgressions and we had the news and Facebook for that soooo….

Anyyyyway, I just saw a thread online where a parent was taking her kid out of school for an extended vacation (14 days) and wanted Sweet Cherub’s teachers to provide work ahead of time.  One of my teacher friends was put in a similar situation just this week.  Except her situation included the kid being gone for over a month and the parent saying that they wanted the work ahead of time so the kid didn’t have to be distracted by it while they were on vacation…for a month….during the school year. This comment probably gets stacked somewhere near “my taxes pay your salary” and “it must be nice to get summers off” and anything that insinuates babysitting and childcare.  

To be honest, this happens to us multiple times a year. You are not the first parent (this week) to ask, and we will likely respond while realizing that it’s situations like this which are why we need a new nightguard from clenching our teeth shut so  much but our dental insurance suc…..Nevermind.  

Dear Little Cherub’s parents with the packed SPF, 

Before you read this dissertation about one of the many reasons I’m questioning my career choices, go pack your child’s chromebook and charger. Have them check Google Classroom instead of TikTok before bed or when you are sick of taking them to places that cost ridiculous amounts of money so they can Snap and BeReal with their friends while not paying attention to the experiences you’re providing them.  Ask me how I know this will be your reality…

So, in response to your inquiry, I know the topic I’ll be teaching 14 days from now, but materials are customized DAILY in response to the needs of the class. I can’t tell you how my kids are going to respond in a lesson and do not plan materials that far in advance. Also, getting “the work” eludes to the fact that my work is all material (worksheet) based. How am I replicating discussion or the 1:1 time your child and I share developing their understanding? This all changes as fast as the classroom dynamic does! You’re welcome.  

This next part might seem contradictory or surprise you: I am one of the few who will tell you I’m happy for your family that you have the resources to be able to do this amazing trip. I will be so excited to hear about your child’s experiences and I’m thrilled they are gaining perspective and background knowledge about new things/places/people/cultures. But, do not throw shade if I don’t have my materials ready 21 days in advance for your extended vacation. Be thankful that my classroom isn’t a worksheet factory and that I rarely teach the same thing twice. Be understanding that my paycheck is based on my responsiveness to my classroom need in combination with my knowledge of the standards. Also, for my pretty handwriting, my quick wit, and the patience that I have stored like money in a mattress during the Great Depression.  Ahhh, if only I could find some long lost relative’s mattress money…. If that was the case, I’d buy a (one way) plane ticket and go with you—

Warm Regards, somehow, from my cold overworked heart, also my coffee is cold and I have to pee,

Mrs. HowManyMoreYearsUntil55 

Corona Shopping Problems

During this pandemic with Coronavirus, people have had some real problems. I am, thankfully, not one of those people with real problems, but I've felt a bit unsettled as our lives have been turned upside down in semi-isolation. To soothe that, well, I've done a bit of shoppy-shop.  Just a tiny bit. Ok, that's a damn lie. I've shopped so much in the last eight weeks, I don't even know what's coming, who's it for, and when I ordered it.  I don't want to perjure myself, but I've purchased an epic load of stuff that I didn't really need, BUT I JUST HAD TO HAVE.  I think I spent over 10 mindless hours, one day, looking up THE PERFECT outdoor pillow cushions.  I admit, it's dumb--but also numbing because when I was shopping, I wasn't itching. I do kind of blame Marshall's and TJ Maxx for this for being closed up.  That's usually where the things that needed me would find me.  Now, I just happen to stumble across nonsense online, and have to have it.

However,

this post isn't really about the crap I've bought.  I'd much rather let my husband discover most of our new treasures on his own without reading about them first (ohhhh heyyyyy new rugs for the porch, wooden spoons, A FOOD PROCESSOR, those heels were really only $5, and I swear that dress has been in my closet for awhile.  Yes, I know I rarely wear dresses. Yes, I know it's sleeveless and I always wear sleeves..... Look, there's a new "that guy makes knifes in real fire with real metal" show on...dontcha want to watch it? *slides out of room, stealthily*)

This is about what I *cannot* find in my *materialistic* shopping endeavors:

--I cannot find a pair of leggings or pants that is not high waisted. 
For the love of all that is holy, CAN WE STEP AWAY FROM MOM JEANS-MOM LEGGINGS-PANTS-TO-BOOBS? That is a look I cannot get behind. Yes, the extra height of the pants does a great job of holding in momloaf.  Yes. You can get compression that smoooshes your belly fat up to hold your tots or smooooosh your potatopooch around to make your flat-ass look full.  Yes. Both of those things are great. I guess....

however...

One rogue stitch can have you looking like your lady pieces are part of a camel's foot on a Wednesday.  Also, I'm sorry to say, if you push any of your muffinloaf up, you're getting backfat and you might not even have backfat.  Jeeeeeeeeez, you're just teaching your back by saying "hey back, meet upper hips. You two should spoon. Forever." And in my opinion, that's just insane. There is no need for premature backfatting. That shiz comes on it's own timeline and you don't want it there early.

--I cannot find a cute sweatshirt that is a normal length and size. Who's idea was it to crop sweatshirts and make them 52 times too big in the shoulders?? I know--the same person that thinks that YOU SHOULD wear pants that have waists that compete with your bra band. Some day, like today, we are going to say things like "when I was a kid, sweatshirts were something that we wore when we wanted to cover our midriff with something warm and cozy." and "Sweatshirts used to be a great garment to wear with regular rise jeans on a casual day, yet we didn't look homeless, fat, and homeless. Did I mention homeless?!" Yes. those were the days.

--I cannot find a swimsuit for my 10 year old daughter that will have enough fabric across her butt to keep her from needing to excavate unwanted fabric from nether crevice!  #1--She's 10. #2 Crack digging isn't a good look on anyone. Also, again, the high waisted cheeky cuts are killing me here--- Let's cover the stomach with AS MUCH FABRIC AS POSSIBLE, but let the junk in the trunk roam free---shoot,  these suits just leave the trunk OPEN and let all the groceries fly out.  I'm so confused. Also, Karens, this post isn't a bit about body positivity. She can wear whatever the hell she wants to wear that is comfortable for her.  But I can't imagine a 10 year old saying "oooh. I'd really love this suit if only more of it was in my asscanyon"

and lastly...
--I cannot find Anise Seed Extract, Clorox Wipes, more than single ply toilet paper, and rubbing alcohol.
Can't an isolated Italian make pizzelles, sanitize her door knobs, clean herself up without toilet paper shreds, and dry out her poison ivy? Ugh. The supply chain on that extract better right itself soon.... This pizzelle iron is getting dusty!

Tarzan and Jane are Not Available for Landscape Hire

My husband spent the last two days cutting down like eleventy-seven dozen trees in our yard. Don't get all Arbor Day, Save the Earth about it.  It's only because they have some weird invasive species chewing on them more rapidly than my kids devour the snacks in the pantry on grocery day. I guess it's a common problem people are dealing with up here.

So, we decided to be proactive, and cut the trees down before they were completely dead because these hungry little effers move on to a different tree when they get sick of the one they're munching on. You know, kind of like when your kids move on to the next box of cereal even though the current box is still 7/8 of the way full, leaving it to go stale and get tipped over in the lazy Susan only for little Cocoa Krispies to spread throughout the cabinet like confetti in NYC on New Years' Eve... (also, poor Susan. Why was she perceived as so lazy? Hmm. More on that another time). Anyway, it's recommended you cut these partially chompered down trees and burn the wood as soon as possible (chill. not before the burn ban is lifted....we know!) when you realize it. 

So, we (let's be serious...my husband is the chainsaw wielding tree murderer. not me.  I watch and huff and pace and get a little sweary. There is no "we" about this) have been dropping trees and hauling wood and brush in the cold, rain, and snow (yes snow. WTF, Mother Nature. It's April), up to our knees in mud in some of the wettest areas or our mud wrestling pit, I mean yard (our yard is up and coming...). I watched my husband work solo for a bit before putting on actual jeans for the first time in months (um. quarter of a year) thanks to these Social Isolation measures #corona, and I walked out there with my son's hunting boots on, mostly for moral support.  But then something magical happened-- 

I realized I was still strong AF and that I could be a lot more helpful than I anticipated. #girlpower 

In fact, I got super sassy because I realized he had chunked the wood into fantastically manageable 5 foot sections that I could deadlift onto the tractor bucket, which made for relatively quick cleanup. It sucked. But together we got through this, Hallmark-movie style. Awwwwwwwwwwww. 

Note: The growing/green season hasn't begun here. (yeah. Looking at you, Punxsutawney Phil.  Solid job on this year's Groundhogs Day. #dumbbadger #stupidsquirrel) This is an important piece of information...

Andddddd after I finished that intense outdoor workout, I came in, stripped down to my undies in the laundry room (again, save your judgement, I was muddy!) and ran back to the bedroom holding my boobs so I could get a sports bra and workout clothes on to ride an awesome Peloton class. 

And it really was an epic class. #thanksDenisMorton 

Last night before bed, I was, well, a little uncomfortable and had a very hard time getting settled. This morning I crushed another Peloton workout and I was ok, but still felt off. And then after my shower when I got dressed, my bra just felt horribly wrong. Like the metal of the underwire was cutting into me and making me itch. 

I took my bra off but kept itching, and itching, insatiably. Ugh this wire! Who made bras with wire? Did I change detergents? What the hell is crawling under my skin? Finally, after hours of discomfort, I went to the bathroom to realized that I literally had fingerprint-welted-hives all over my boobs. 

Poison. Ivy. In. The. Middle. Of. Winter. ON MY BOOBS. 

And then it dawns on me. I rushed from the laundry room to the bedroom carrying my boobs with me (I mean. there were no other volunteers! Who else was going to carry them?!) Then, I adjusted those lady tots right into the perfect position in that sports bra and finally proceeded to sweat my ass off, opening up allllll-the-pores, allowing the devil nectar of the poison ivy leaf to destroys my melon canal. #cantaloupesthesedays #imhereforthegloriousvisuals

And as I draft this, I'm currently marinating in a sea of puréed gluten free oatmeal in my bathtub (we FANCY 'ROUND HERE WITH OUR GF INSTANT QUAKER), wondering how many times in my life I'm going to forget that poison ivy doesn't go dormant in the winter. And those vines I was twirling and pulling free from those logs? Yeah. Those weren't jungle vines to swing off. My name might be Jane, but from now on my Tarzan can scoop them right up with his Kubota because I'm not going anywhere near anything that even LOOKS like a vine. Sorry Brooooseph, but the remaining brush cleanup is a solo job for you from this point forward. 

So, who's got poison ivy remedies for me? Until this clears, me and my irritated lady lumps are going to find some sandpaper or a cactus for me to hug. Repeatedly. While moving up and down. 🌵

Where My Girls At, DC Comics?

I like to post funny stuff because funny stuff is fun to write. This isn't funny and it wasn't fun to write. If you have a young lady in your life, you'll understand why I felt compelled to shed some attention on this.

I read an article this evening about a little girl that wrote to DC comics, questioning why there weren't more female superheroes.  Her letter is beautifully executed (her parents are college English professors), and she addresses the fact that she's watched comics since she was a little girl and knows that she's not the only little girl that ends up questioning why there are few superhero figures that are girls.  She goes on an explains that she received a set of Justice League figures for her birthday and of the 12, only 2 were female.

How sad that this 11 year old has already discovered that female superheroes are just not desirable enough for DC to market and make. Yep. It's not important to show little girls that they can aspire to be strong and save the day, because that's a boy's job.  Errrrrrrr. Which means that we are also subconsciously reinforcing this same message to little boys. Little girls don't need strong role models. Girls aren't strong enough to be considered superheroes. They're not as strong, and they aren't smart enough to save the day.

In case you didn't read about this article, DC comics did tweet back to Rowan and tell her that female superheroes and movies where female superheroes are the main character are in the works. Their artists also turned Rowan into a superhero and I think their response is cool for this little girl, and also continues to shed light on what Rowan has exposed as a problem.

And now it's time for a little story:
I am one of those moms that pretends to enjoy making my kids' Halloween costumes.  It's fun to get crafty, but I'd be lying if I said it WASN'T a major pain in the a$$ most of the time. Long story short, I ran out of time and energy a couple of years ago and I sat down at the laptop with my 6 year old BOY and said "let's find costumes for you and your (3 year old) sister."

Side by side on Amazon were Batman and Robin costumes. My handsome man flipped out and determined that he was going to be Robin and that his LITTLE SISTER HAD TO BE BATMAN.  I asked him if he was sure that I heard him correctly and that he didn't want to be Batman (shame on me). He confirmed his selection, and the purchase was made.

Boom....Halloween.  No sewing machine, coffee binges, and 4 hour Michael's and JoAnn Fabric trips.  My 3 year old, sassy, beautiful, strong, sensitive little miss ROCKED that costume while her much taller, handsome, confident, older brother stood proudly next to her as HER sidekick.  He even pulled the wagon with her in it from house to house, because that's what good sidekicks (and amazing brothers) do.  And there were comments about how cute it was that their roles were reversed, and how people couldn't believe that the older brother wanted to be Robin and that he "let" his sister be BatMAN.  We ignored them and continued to enjoy the fact that we gave the proverbial middle finger to traditional gender roles that night.

So to review and state the obvious, at six years old, my little guy saw nothing wrong with taking a sidekick role to his sister.  And my 3 year old was thrilled to be Batman. BatMAN...(and to get technical, she was Batman wearing a tutu...because that's how, as a culture, we deal with the fact that there aren't many female superheroes to pick from--we just throw tutus on the male superhero characters...#totallynormal).

Throw an equal number of empowering girl superheroes into the mix and we might encourage a generation of strong, empowered, advocating, save-the-day females.  They might grow up to be superheroes and have male sidekicks. Or they might grow up, completely smitten with the CHOICE to choose what and who they want to look up to. And the boys, well, they would be completely cool with the fact that girls are bumping elbows with them for leadership roles. Whoa.  Mind blown.

Girls are much stronger than they (and others) give them credit for.  I mean, so strong. Even when they don't mean to be:

Hey Rowan, you don't need a superhero to inspire you to be strong, but I appreciate the fact that you're advocating for little girls so they don't have to fight so hard to be considered as strong, as tough, and as deserving of a #1 spot.

So, thank you, Rowan.  Keep pushing for what you believe in.  Dedication and persistence are quite the superpower...

You’re the Parent of a Hockey Player When...

* Your entryway smells like an absolutely horrific combination of mildew, Febreeze, feet (err, skates), and mint "flavored" alcohol disinfectant, yet you're sure the only thing that's been disinfected are your nose hairs from breathing in bleach fumes from trying to remedy what is now (until April) referred to as the "entryway situation"...

* You say things like "get your blocker away from the crockpot" and "have you waxed your stick lately?" and it is part of a completely normal and acceptable conversation.

* Sleeping in on a weekend morning means you can sleep until 7am (!), instead of leaving the house BY 7am. #booforweekendalarms

* You suffer extreme embarrassment when your seven year old tells your cousin and his fiancée he can't be in their wedding 9 months from now because he *might* have a hockey practice or a game. 

* You eat macaroni and cheese and hot dogs for two months leading up to the ice fees due date...(and vow, again, that next year you will budget better...)

* Your youngest child is often referred to as a "rink rat" and you are completely okay with it.

* You know how to construct a "balanced" meal in a pinch from the rink's snack bar (#cheesesauceisALMOSTdairy)

* You know more about what is going on in the lives of the other hockey parents than you do in the lives of your own family members.

* You've purchased three or more pairs of gloves this year because you keep forgetting one of your 42 pairs at home.

* Even though it sounds like you've put a small mammal in the washing machine, you're aware that it's just a cup (the protector of the "beans and franks"...not the Red Solo kind)

* You base your level of enjoyment on how well the heat works in the rink you're traveling to or whether or not you can grab a brew or two there, and NOT whether or not your kid's team is going to win or even be competitive.... (oh. perhaps that's just us and not the majority of hockey parents. OOPS.  I guess I mean #goflyers, not #samadamsplease)

* You're proud to be one of the insane parents that supports this ridiculously expensive sport because your kid (or kids) glow on the days they get to breathe in that crisp air, gliding from line to line, developing skills but also friendships that they'll cherish forever. #hallmarkmoviereadyscript 

Baby Alive's Real Name Should Be "Baby Stab Me In the Eye"

If you are my Facebook friend, you may have noticed that we started a casualty list with my daughter's toys.  On Christmas Eve, she ripped the arm off a lifesize doll and proceeded to laugh hysterically about it.  Perhaps I was the one laughing.  Not sure on that one, but regardless, it was funny.  That was casualty #1.  Honestly, that ugly doll had it coming.  I'm not sure whattttt Santa was on when he slated that poor gal' for our house.  She didn't stand a chance....

I knew enough to number these "casualties" because my daughter is, ahem, a little rough.  She's not exactly the type of delicate flower that you'd expect in a four year old girl, unless that delicate flower can be mistaken for a nuclear missile.  Her smile can easily light up a room.  Her hands can easily tear down a nation, or the internet in a nation (I'm talking to you North Korea).

In addition to the ugly a$$ doll (Lefty, I like to call her) that Santa stained Christmas with, my little miss was gifted a lot of art supplies.  My husband and I, even against our better judgement, SOBERLY, purchased her a rubber stamp kit.  Casualty #2 was my window sill which was stamped with beautiful purple and pink fairies. For the record, a magic eraser will remove rubber stamps from painted window sills....

This post is actually about Casualty #3 though.

ME.

I AM CASUALTY NUMBER 3. I made a major error in judgement and told a family member to purchase <drum roll, or trumpet Taps> BABY ALIVE.

For those of you that don't know, Baby Alive is a doll that eats, drinks, and sh*tzzz her pants. You feed her, give her water *SO SHE DOESN'T GET CLOGGED, according to the directions*, and then wait for the digestive magic to happen. So I tried to get her on Black Friday at a reduced rate because who the eff pays full price for a doll that makes poo and requires so much damn attention? 

I ordered it on Walmart's website at a discounted price, only to receive an email 12 hours later (after I'd already been to Walmart and walked past her Black Friday display, saying "hey girl, I ordered you online already so I don't even need to pick you up right now because you're in a box with my address on in a FedEx terminal somewhere) that says "Your item is unavailable, but we've credited your account.  Sorry about the inconvenience."

How wonderful of you to credit me for the item that I could have purchased in the store that day for the discounted price but didn't because I ordered it online earlier that you've now deemed unavailable.

And that, my literary friends, was some foreshadowing.  I should have taken this as the universe's message: "Lady, you don't want Baby Alive, so take this as your hint and buy an Easy Bake Oven." But I didn't. 

Shortly after, a family member asked what they could get my little darling for Christmas.  I remembered that I was unsuccessful with Baby Alive and offered that as a suggestion.  The family member even questioned my sanity when I make the suggestion.  I said "she really wants it.  It'll be fine!" #dumbdumbdumb

Fast Forward to yesterday, while celebrating with said family member.  The rest of this post will be a bulleted itinerary of events:

* daughter opens Baby Alive and nearly sh*tzzz her own pants out of excitement.

* daughter feeds and "waters" Baby Alive until that doll sh*tzzz her pants so many times that we run out of the provided diapers "in the value pack". Don't worry.  The directions say you can order additional ones (more on this in a minute).

* family member reminds me that I made this suggestion so I cannot be upset.

* I pour myself a large drink and eat a handful of chocolate.

* daughter cries 14 times after I say "we cannot feed this little sh*tter baby until we buy her more diapers" the 19 times she asks. Yes.  I ignored her the other 5 times.

* daughter sneaks into her bathroom, rips open a pack of Baby Alive "peas" and sprinkles some of that mess all over the bathroom floor, then cleans up her spillage with water, creating something I can only describe as a pistachio puddling exfoliation treatment for my bathroom vanity, counter, and floor.  She may have fed small amounts to Baby Alive, as well. I clean said spillage up and reprimand daughter for ATTEMPTING to do exactly what I asked her not to do. 

*Baby Alive proceeds to succumb to the call of nature. I cannot write "sh*tzzz her pants" however, because we had run out.  I place her in the bathroom sink as my daughter cries, horrified, that I would even consider making her sleep in there.

At this point, one would have thought I would have questioned the whereabouts of Baby Alive's spoon and dish and the "non spillage" of peas.  I did not...

*I get both of my kids cleaned up for bed, and happen to trip walking into darling daughter's room. I catch myself on the door, throwing it backwards against the door stopper, and hear darling daughter exclaim "Oh NO!!!!"

*I look down and see that she has hoarded the "non-spillage" Baby Alive "Peas" behind her door, which have now sloshed all over her white-ish Berber carpet.  She was totally planning on sneaking that non-diapered baby into her room for a late night snack!!!

*I freaked out, cleaned up pistachio-exfoilating-suppposedtolooklikePeas-mess on her carpet, threatened taking Baby Alive back all while Baby Alive chimed "Where are you mommy? It is time to play?  Did I make a stinky?" from her comfortable spot-relieving herself in my bathroom sink.

*After getting a hyperventilating preschooler to bed "BUT NOW SHE DOESN'T HAVE FOOD OR DIAPERS!!!", I start searching #amazon for the replacement food and diapers for this PITA toy (which my daughter loves more than pink starburst and more than I love dry red wine).  Oh HELL no. $13 dollars will only score you 10 diapers and 2 more packages of food.  whatanEFFINGdeal.

*I google "Baby Alive DIY" and find a plethora of ideas (newborn diapers, don't feel like you have to get Pampers, DIY cloth diapers, baking soda and food coloring "peas" and "peaches" food, etc.)

Fast Forward 16 hours and through Daughter's 31 questions of "When is it time to get "mibebe"(yes, she's french-mexican now) her diapers?"

*I go into #walmart and purchase some cheap newborn diapers.  A lady walks up to me and asks me if I'm expecting.  My response?  "No, but I have recently lost 15 pounds. Thanks so much." She walked away quickly.

At this point, I must say, I waved the white flag.  You win #babyalive.  I'd like to think I was a nobel competitor.  #casualtynumber3isme

Black Friday Just Ate Thanksgiving

Black Friday has now turned into "Eat Turkey And Pie And Leave So I Can Shop" Thursday, ETAPALSICS Thursday for short.

Oh yes.  And more commonly known, PRE-2010, as #THANKSGIVING.

What the hell, big box stores!? You are opening at 6pm? That's so @&*%ing ridiculous that I cannot even gather my thoughts to compose this post. Someone is reading this saying 1.) "no one forces anyone to go shopping."  Someone else is reading this saying 2.)"who cares what time they open? It's allowing me more time to plan my evening."

Here is my rebuttal:
1.) I like Thanksgiving.  It's one of my favorite holidays.  I don't want to cut it short to go stand in line for the crap that I think someone in my family needs.  I want to have the holiday, AND THEN go stand in line and drop sharp elbows to people getting pushy around the crap I think I need after JUST being thankful for all the stuff that I have (that I don't use...that I just store and organize). That's what I want to do.  Furthermore, I live in New effing York.  It's expensive to live here.  For the love of Pilgrims, have you seen our gas prices? They're lower than they've been in a half of a decade and they're still like 40 cents higher per gallon than anywhere else. We get taxed for everything.  I sneeze and get a tax bill in the mail saying I owe something for it.  I can't afford NOT to shop on Black Friday.

Which brings up someone else's thought: You need to realign your priorities so that your family members don't want for so much and they see the value in simplicity.

Frickin' good point.  I'll get right on that.  I'm sure my entire family will love a scarf which I will painstakingly make from dryer lint and bathroom drain hair. I'll surely wrap that b**ch up in recycled paper bags that I dug out of the recycling bin at the grocery store. Don't worry, it will have a burlap bow too, making it extra fancy.  I'm sure I'll find a pattern on the homemade christmas board on Pinterest....

Oh, and to the person who was thinking "who cares what time they open? It allows me to spread my evening out..." Let me ask you a question. What's special about standing in line at a store at 6pm on a Thursday night? My friend Shari and I had this conversation and we determined there is NOT A DAMN THING special about that.  You can shop on Thursday nights at 6pm.  You can shop at most stores at 9pm.  But you are not supposed to be shopping at 2am in a store unless it's the most magical grocery store on Earth, #Wegmans, and you are drunk.  So, by starting at 6pm, you will get the crap you think you need but you don't and you will go home at a reasonable hour, and will not be craving lunch at 8am like in previous years. #lame.  

Economic materialism has impacted these stores to open earlier and earlier and release their ads months ahead of Black Friday, I mean ETAPALSICS Thursday (Let's brand that.  It has a really nice roll off the tongue. E-Tap-Al-Sics).  There will be NO MORE enjoying a day with family and friends, being thankful, watching football, leaving the table and getting the most comfortable seat to pass out in before Uncle Johnny starts snoreweezing in that spot so loudly you can't hear the TV (Fun Fact: I do not have an Uncle Johnny).  You will not be tearing through the ads in the paper, because you will have developed a ETAPALSICS Thursday plan which is color coded and organized for efficiency.

So, to recap, Thanksgiving is now to be cut ridiculously short, and shopping on Black Friday doesn't even matter because all the good deals will already be over, and all the stores will look like Fallujah, post-invasion. I mean, what are people supposed to do on Friday?

Perhaps I'm just bitter over this, but in my opinion, the deals kind of suck this year, anyway. I'll be busy though, because I have some dryer lint and hair to knit into a scarf. I wonder what I washed that was red?