It's Tradition, Dammit
July 05, 2011
Hey, so you know what happens when you get an email from your blog provider that reads, "The credit card on your account expired. Please provide a new one within X number of days or else you won't be able to post on your blog?"
And then you forget to provide a new card within X number of days? You totally are not able to post on your blog! Just like they said! I know, right?
And then you're like, OKAY FINE, WHERE'S MY WALLET and you can't find your wallet and you're like, SCREW THIS, IT'S A HOLIDAY ANYWAY and you put it off again and then you find your wallet the next day and finally update the card information...only to realize that this exact anecdote about mildly suspenseful credit card hijinks is the ONLY INTERESTING THING YOU HAVE TO TALK ABOUT ON YOUR BLOG.
And then you're like, I REALLY SHOULD REEVALUATE MY LIFE. ALSO STOP USING CAPS LOCK SO MUCH.
But hey! I've been saying both of those things since I started this blog back in 2003. And hell, if I can't even be bothered to find my wallet within a perfectly reasonable, specified time frame, I'm probably not going to do anything that requires much more effort than that. Maybe by the time this current credit card expires. In 2015.
It's nice to have goals, I think.
We took the kids to see fireworks last night. But the actual fireworks were waaaay less exciting than the part where they got to sit on the roof of the car.
Seriously. Experience of a lifetime. Next year we're staying right in our own damn driveway. I'll throw some glowsticks and shit from the shredder basket in the air or something.
Ike watched the fireworks from my lap in the front seat. And by "watched" I mean "completely ignored the copious amounts of commotion and BANG BANG BANG and WHOOOSHEEEEE noises and a bonus crazy lady wandering around the parking lot yelling at all the double- and triple-parked cars (of which we were one), all YOU CAN'T PARK THERE YOU CAN'T PARK THERE."
We ignored her too, actually. Bitch, we've been double-parking next to this same dumpster in the same back corner of this same semi-suspicious-looking gyro shop every Fourth of July for five years now. This dumpster and us go waaaaay back. We call her Smelly. Don't you be hassling us about Smelly, okay?
Anyway. Ike nursed and stared into space for awhile, and then Noah and Ezra got bored of the roof and decided they'd rather sit in the driver's seat and honk the horn, like, yeah, MORE NOISE IS WHAT WE NEED HERE.
Also: Hair. Has anybody seen all my hairs? I had some a month ago and now I haz no hairs. Woe.
And when the fireworks were over we came home and put everybody to bed and then I ate some Advil. The end. Happy Fourth!