Our Real Christmas Tradition

I’m here to admit that all the stuff about the underground bunker in the last post wasn’t true. My parents don’t have a bunker under their condo. I just had to set the record straight to avoid any problems from the condo association. My parents got hassled enough when they replaced their windows, so I know an underground bunker wouldn’t go down well at all.

We really do have a family Christmas tradition. It happens most years without fail and we like to affectionately call it, Pam-I-Don’t-Feel-Good. As Christmas Day progresses Pam-I-Don’t-Feel-Good can morph into another tradition that we like to call I-Have-To-Go-To-The-Emergency-Room.

This year there was no emergency room visit, but the Pam-I-Don’t-Feel-Good tradition continued. It was manifested in the form of low back pain that prevented my father from carrying anything and made him walk extremely slowly, and of course, there was a lot of complaining. What’s Christmas without an ailment and complaints? It’s nothing.

Happy Holidays, Merry Xmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, and All That Jazz

The world didn’t end, so I guess not buying Christmas presents for anyone was a bad move on my part. Seriously, what are you going to do with a new Nook Color during the zombie apocalypse? While I think it would be air dynamic enough to hurl at an approaching ghoul, it certainly doesn’t weigh enough to bash in any brains.

I could battle the crowd of desperate shoppers at the mall to buy anything that is still in stock. “Oh, look they have a perfectly good tuna scented candle on sale for half off. Now who in my family really likes tuna?” Or I could smile really big and hope no one notices that I didn’t get them anything. Luckily, my family doesn’t really celebrate Christmas so I know no one has gotten me anything either.

Instead of exchanging gifts on Christmas Day, we hunker down in the bomb shelter my father has dug under the condo, eat military style rations, drink Tang, and wait for the world to end. It’s big fun. You should try it some time. Seriously, once you have you’ll never have a normal Christmas again.

Season’s Greetings from the Hunter Family bunker where we celebrate Christmas Mooch Style.

Big Boy

I love visiting the SPCA website so I can choose the dog I’ve always wanted, but will never get. The other day when I went to the site I saw a dog that looked surprisingly like my father. Meet Big Boy.

Big Boy

My father

Speed Reading Fail

Yesterday I decided to teach myself to speed read. Not because I’m a slow reader, but because I just thought it might be a good skill to have. How impressive would it be if I could read an entire book in a day! Hi, my name is Lovelyn and I read all of War and Peace yesterday. Come on, I know that statement impressed you.

The first step to learning how to speed read is grabbing a random book from the shelf and trying to read it really really fast. Once I realized that wasn’t working out very well, I decided to search for instructions online. I found these from Tim Ferris, of course.

Why do speed reading instructions have to be so long and complicated? Good grief, you already have to know how to speed read just to get through the speed reading instructions. I had allotted 25 minutes out of my busy work day of checking Facebook and updating my Twitter account to teach myself how to speed read, but the instructions seemed like they’d take 20 of those minutes to read. Still I pressed ahead … until I got to the part that involved math.

What the heck does multiplication have to do with reading all of Moby Dick in one day? Nothing that’s what. With that my dreams of speed reading were dashed. The allotted time was up and I had to get back to doing more important things, like watching this …

It’s Over!!!

Hooray!!! The election is over and I can have my life back. No more political ads or annoying phone calls. No more people standing on corners waving signs and encouraging passing motorists to randomly honk. No more conversations about the election or the debates.

Now that the all encompassing elections are over I have the brain space to think about more important things like whether or not my fingernails are growing faster these days. I think they are. I wonder if that means there’s something wrong with me. Is there a disease that causes your fingernails to grow?

Anyway, I’m so happy it’s all over.

Leaving Heathrow

Yesterday I finally go around to taking the 5 million pictures off my camera. (I’ve noticed that 5 million seems to be my go to number whenever I talk about there being a lot of something.) I always forget that part of being a “photographer” is actually doing something with all the pictures I take.

Anyway, I found some pictures we took in Heathrow the day we left and I thought I’d post them.


Aren’t I looking dignified …

Isn’t he looking goofy …

I think they should put one of these cardboard flag frame things up in every courthouse in the UK and use them for the pictures for the citizenship ceremonies. Standing in one of these with a cardboard cutout of the queen would make a jolly good picture.

Walking with Cows

The other day we decided to be brave and walk through the field of cows that is at the beginning of one of the public footpaths we wanted to explore. We quickly traversed the path that led to the field. The cows where there. They were happily eating grass, laying down, standing around, and doing whatever else cows do. They looked safe, so we decided to go for it. As we stepped into the field, they all lifted their giant cows heads and looked at us with menacing expressions. My husband decided that this wasn’t the day to walk with the cows so we turned around and left.

I kept looking behind us to make sure none of them were following us down the path. They weren’t, but I’m sure they were thinking about it. To make matters worse, when we got to the end of the path we found that someone had tied up their pit bull there while they popped into the store. Cows at one end and a pit pull at the other what is a pit bull and cow phobic person such as myself to do?

When we finally got home, I decided that the best way to deal with this problem was with education. So I did some research about how to deal with cows on public footpaths. I thought I would read some nice reassuring articles, but instead I found things like this and this.

Then I found this helpful video about how to walk through a field of cows safely.

You know what? I don’t feel any safer after watching that. I’ve actually decided that I’ll wait until the cows have been moved to another field before exploring that walk.

Hell Drivers

We watched a really good movie the other day. It’s about driving dump trucks really, really fast and features lots of sped of footage of dump trucks going really, really fast. If you haven’t seen Hell Drivers yet, you’re definitely missing out.

Blog Comments

I love blog comments. This blog doesn’t get many and that’s fine. I’m not complaining about my lack of comments, I’m just saying that I love comments. Don’t feel guilty or like you’re being pushed into leaving a comment. Seriously, don’t.

Sometimes I get really funny comments from people who are spamming my blog. That means they’re just trying to get a link for their website, but they haven’t actually read the blog post they are commenting on. Just the other day I got this funny comment on my Santa Mouse post from someone named Destiny.

I don’t know where you get your informatio-n but the Grand Hotel in Jerome, Arizona was NOT a former insane asylum — it was a hospital. I should know because I was BORN there (1939). Like most hospitals it did have a pyschiatri-c ward but it was primarily a hospital not an Insane asylum!!

Thanks for clearing that up, Destiny. I really appreciate it. Next time I travel back in time to 1939 to have a nervous breakdown in Jerome, Arizona, I’ll know not to go to the Grand Hotel.

I just looked up a picture of the Grand Hotel and I have to say that it does look like it might have been an insane asylum. Something about the red roof is screaming padded rooms and straight jackets to me.

It’s the End of the World…

I partied like a rock star this New Year’s Eve–a rock star who does yoga and watches made-for-TV movies. Someone once told me that how you spend New Year’s Eve determines what you’ll be doing during the upcoming year. If that’s the case, I’ll be very flexible and I’ll know a lot about serial killers.

This year is bitter sweet for me. You see I love the number 12 because it is one less than 13 and because 1 plus 2 equals 3 which of course is the magic number. That’s the sweet part, in case you couldn’t figure that out. The bitter part is this whole end of the world thing. I’m not sure why people are putting so much trust in the Mayan calender, I mean what have the ancient Mayans done recently? I don’t even think they managed to mark my birthday down on that thing.

If the world is really going to end this year, there are a bunch of things I need to get done before 12-21-12 (that’s 21-12-12 for my UK friends). I should go through my important papers file and get rid of the papers that aren’t really that important. I’m sure there is something else I needed to get done too. What was it? Oh yeah, I really should back up my computer. Other than that I think I’m all set for the end of the world.