Go East, Young Woman

I got a phone call from my mother this evening, after she took a trip to Michael's with my father:

Mum: ... and all of the Christmas stuff was half-off! I picked up some things I knew you would like.

Me: (already suspicious) Well, that was sweet of you.

Mum: Yes, there were ornaments all over the walls, and they're easy to make. I picked out ones that only need a glue gun, which I have. I thought that they would make great presents for the baskets next year. And they're crafty! I'm sure you'll have fun making them for me.

Me: ... for you?

Mum: Well, you can make them for you as well.

My father didn't help much, when he got ahold of the phone:

Me: How could you take her to Michael's? Do not let her go near the Hobby Lobby sales. Tell her the car is tired.

Dad: She'd just walk. Look upon it like outsourcing.

Me: ...

Dad: She's like a major company outsourcing the raw materials to be turned into a finished product and mailed back. You're a link in the corporate chain. Like China. Or Thailand.

Me: You take my mother to Michael's and then try to make me feel better by calling me China?

Dad: Or Thailand.

Me: Let me know before she sends the box out. So I can actually move to China. Or Thailand. Without a forwarding address.

Pumpkin Spice!

I was recently reminded of my love of all things pumpkin spice by Rebecca, so you get to hear me ramble about that for a bit. Hey, it's Day 9, people, the bottom of the barrel has just begun to be scraped. Enjoy the coherent entries while they last.

I feel the need for a list for this:

1. Pumpkin spice cake doughnuts: Krispy Kreme clearly decided that I was eating too healthy one year when I was in high school and came out with these delectable beauties for the autumn. On weekends I would actually make up errands to my parents that were located in the vicinity of the Krispy Kreme just on the off chance that they would stop by when the Hot Doughnut sign lit up. If they ever read this, there will be a sudden lightbulb atop their heads, "Oh! That explains all of the times she needed pens. And notebooks. And staples. And shoes." Then I would be killed. On the bright side, I'm only now running low on pens.

One of the saddest moments of my college years, well a sad moment at the least, has been when the Krispy Kreme in Norman shut its fragrant doors. This was the place that, when my roommate at the time, the Best Roommate Ever, was set to take her seven hour practise MCAT [Edit: Practise GRE? What? Oops, changed.] we went to at ridiculous-o'clock in the morning to convince her that she was not going to come home that night a failure, that she was indeed brilliant, and that all right just-in-case we could totally move to California and become beach bums for a living if she failed miserably. Plus we had to make sure she had enough caffeine and sugar to survive the ordeal. Seven hours?! For that long, you should make it into a med program if you survive and don't run off into the night shrieking, "Chromosomes! Neutrons! Photosynthesis! Ahhhhh!" To add insult to injury, they replaced Krispy Kreme with a BBQ place. BBQ. They really think that's going to help the sense of loss?

What other pumpkin spiciness thrills my soul? Find out tomorrow! (Why yes, a cliffhanger did just occur to me. Look, I need time to come up with another topic or you'll be subjected to monologues about the awful shade of carpet at work. And no one wants that.)

Is It Better to Show Up Late or Not at All?

Well, I apparently missed the beginning of NaBloPoMo. (An acronym that I have yet to figure out, though I assume it's somehow related to NaNoWriMo. Or there are two people in the world who like to make me giggle over random syllables that sound like they should be an actual word to the point where I've tried them out in sentences. Which led to more giggling.) In any case, I've decided that will not deter me from attempting to post an entry every day for the rest of November. I only missed - what? - five days? I can so catch up.

Well, I could if I had anything to say.

Oh, wait, I do have news! I'm moving on December 1st to a lovely little efficiency that is begging me to sign lease papers. Yes, I will finally have a home all to myself, so I will no longer begin the 'five-block-prayer,' an apt phrase for the way that I begin praying that there is no one in my house for the last five blocks before I can see the driveway. It has changed over time, moving from the 'five-step-prayer' in the dorms to the 'five-stairs-prayer' at my last two apartments until its current incarnation, but the presence of such a desperate pleading at least once a day for the past three and a half years has led me to believe that I am perhaps better suited to living on my own. At least until I can find a roommate who believes in the sanctity of silence, particularly when one's roommate has to get up at insane-o'clock and it's already after eleven and who the hell cleans the kitchen at eleven-o'clock at night anyway with the added sin of very loud country music? As perhaps too-convincingly evinced by that last sentence, I need to move before I consider offing my current roommates. They deserve better. After all, she was cleaning the kitchen. And then the bathroom, the living room, the hallway, the hall closet, and her own room. Cleanliness should be encouraged. Particularly after my last Roommate-From-the-Lower-Depths-of-Hades. But honestly, eleven? Midnight? One? Ad infinitum?

Okay, deep breaths.

I am very excited about moving. Partially, of course, because I'm going stark raving mad, but also because I just like to move. It's the perfect excuse to go through my belongings and organize, to clean out all the useless stuff I've accumulated, to make lists of what to pack and where to put things like books and shoes. This is the point where my friends begin looking at me like I'm speaking a rare dialect of Swahili, but I know precisely who to blame. My mother. Not only did she teach me how to move with every military order my Dad received, she also passed along the genes that cause one to take an unholy delight, generally reserved for a fully stocked dessert bar, in a completely organized room. She's also the one who taught me to read, sew, cook, stress, worry, and panic prematurely. My Dad taught me to procrastinate and got me addicted to the internet and rock music. The combination of these elements has often been disastrous.

I think I derailed my topic, but my initial points were:
1. I'm going to be blogging through November.
2. I'm moving!
3. I'm currently being driven to slowly mad.
4. But I'm moving!
5. And I'm excited about getting to pack!
6. Wow, that was a really short list for the amount of words it took to express those ideas.

Right, so I'll see you tomorrow, with absolutely nothing to say. Again. So at least you're used to it, right?