well, Christmas eve certainly was interesting. never spent part of it in an emergency room before. mom slipped and fell in the kitchen, hitting her arm on the barstool. the resulting bruise/blood blister was so nasty looking that a trip to brmc was in order, we all thought. the doc on call basically laughed us out of the hospital for being hypochondriacal (?), but better safe than sorry.

aside from that, things were good. the absences of madame matthews, mademoiselle phlegar, and monsieur bucher were notable and for the most part regrettable (translation: debbie and laura had to stay in pennsylvania this year. oh yeah--patrick did too). rick and pam, gran, aunts and crew were all about. the food was great, and the presents were better; lots of dvds for me this year! no snow, unless you looked at the top of the mountain. eh.

the holidays wouldn't be the same without booze, and I've discovered that I like white port. but I'm worried that drinking it is in bad taste, much like imbibing white zinfandel or wine spritzers. so don't spread it around.

jamie oliver = hot. I just watched him wash a cucumber. why can't my eyes be that blue, or blue at all? since that's not technically possible, why can't contacts agree with me more?

some guy online was talking about not being "biosexual." what the hell is that, wanting to hump flowerbeds? idiot.

the house is going bump in the night. either the dog or the ghosts are restless. either way, I'm used to it here.

I've loaned mum my copy of brideshead revisited until my birthday. that's brave of me, I must say. speaking of birthday, my amazon wish list isn't going anywhere. haw haw. hee haw, even.

speaking of hee haw, minnie pearl would be in bed now. I'll try to be more like her. well, the way she was. not now. she's dead. I'll sleep. not the big sleep. just a little one. a night's worth. or thereabouts.