Last year for our anniversary I got Steve opening weekend tickets for the Cleveland Indians.

This year for our anniversary I got Steve opening weekend tickets for the Cleveland Indians.

My god. I nearly fell into a coma just writing that.

But we enjoyed it last year. Cleveland swept Minnesota. I nearly froze my ass off. We ate a lot of pizza.

Last year, I was too embarrassed to wear my ratty purple sock cap. This year, I’ll have a fuzzy hat that I got for Christmas.

But I’m still boring.

I can’t access www.chainreading.com any longer, and there is much gnashing of teeth in Casa Carter.

I love Chain Reading. I need Chain Reading. Bring back, bring back, oh bring back Chain Reading to me, to me!

The day turns and it is Christmas. Suddenly, things that yesterday didn’t look like foodstuffs become foodstuffs. I’m starving. I want whole turkeys. I want the cart full of potatoes, plus the cart.

Later, in a stupor of dressing and rolls, I shall lie on the sofa and moan about how full I am, and how good ice cream sounds.

Steve and I are shockingly instant gratification-type people.

What does this mean? You guessed it. We opened our gifts already.

I got loot, people. Serious materialistic joy was had. And then there was the maple popcorn which might sound nasty but my god. It’s like a bucket o’ crack.

My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is: Lady Madame Julie the Weary of Similar Ealand Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title

With thanks to Stick Poet for the link.

What Steve doesn’t know is that there is a theme to his Christmas presents. He won’t even know it after he unwraps them. And then I’ll stupidly try to explain, and then he’ll stare at me as if the Eiffel Tower were suddenly springing from my eyebrows, and then I’ll regret trying to explain and also regret the extra twenty or so dollars I spent to bring the theme together in a very inexplicable way.

Yes, I think about this stuff too much. I should just give him food.

I received a copy of David Cazden’s book Moving Picture yesterday as part of my book exchange. It’s like early Christmas loot!

There’s a reason people don’t know certain facts about me. The reason is that they would fall into a coma with boredom if I told them.

But I have discovered that I was tagged with a meme lo these many weeks ago, and I am supposed to share five little-known facts. I natter on about myself so much that I’ve probably mentioned just about everything about me, so if you already knew these facts, tough noogies.

1. I sob inconsolably at books and movies if they are even remotely sad. One of my favorite books is Charlotte’s Web but I won’t go see the movie version. Not because I’m afraid of what they will do to it, but because I wouldn’t be able to writhe on a sticky theater floor if it’s as sad as the book.

2. I taught myself to play the piano after listening to my mother play. I begged her to teach me, but I wouldn’t pay any attention when she wanted to teach me about scales and keys. I just wanted to play the beautiful song she was playing. Finally, she just said, “Fine!” and showed me the starting key for each hand. I had to learn the notes by counting where they were in relation to E. I still play the song: “Fur Elise,” by Beethoven. She wanted me to take lessons but I refused. I regret that now, but I don’t think I have the discipline to do it.

3. If I’m expecting someone and they’re late, I assume they’re dead. No, I’m not exaggerating. “My sister was supposed to be here ten minutes ago. Whelp, she must be dead.”

4. If I go two days without cauliflower, I crave it desperately. I’m a cruciferous vegetable junkie. I would rob banks for the stuff.

5. I think poetry takes more brains than I’ve got. See, you might have known that it does, but I’m telling you that I think so, too. I’m a very shallow thinker.

The 20th is our 9th wedding anniversary. He deserves an award. I just deserve cake.

Nic of Very Like a Whale asks me 10 questions here.

Apologies for my grumpiness. I obviously needed booze.