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Y’all are a crafty sort. If one wanted to make one’s own cards for Christmas 2003, using a certain picture (no, you may not see it. Mostly because I haven’t taken it yet), is there a place (preferably online), where you can buy, basically, blank cards that come with envelopes that you can decorate as you wish? (Note: I’m a dumbass. It never occurred to me to check at Michael’s! Duhhhhh…)
Tell me, for I am clueless when it comes to these things.
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Movies rented today: Goldmember, Notorious C.H.O (I’ll be watching that one by myself, I’m sure), Halloween: Resurrection, and The Crocodile Hunter. This has been your public service announcement for today.
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The spud’s band is having a Christmas concert tonight, which I am simultaneously looking forward to, and dreading. Looking forward to, because at least it’ll be over with for this year. Dreading because we have to sit through another band before the spud’s band plays. The band teacher tries to get all bossy every time there’s a concert, saying that the kids from the first bands that play need to stick around and watch the other (older) bands. Know what? We’ve never stuck around once the spud’s band is done playing, and we’re not going to tonight. The first band to play will be the 6th grade band, and I wouldn’t expect them to stick around and watch the Spud’s band play, either. In fact, I’m sure I’ll be watching them leave with a hearty wave and jealousy in my heart. Lucky bastards.
The spud told Fred that the only reason she’s still in band is because she doesn’t want to do gym – see, in our local school system, you can do gym, or you can do band, but not both. The rumor according to the spud’s friends is that gym is “Like boot camp!”, and “The gym teacher yells at you and makes you run around!”
The spud is certainly giving me a run for that “Laziest Gal in the South” title lately – her school is a mile from our house. Actually, no, it’s less than a mile. Once a week, she has to stay after school for band practice, and every single week she throws a fit about having to walk that entire .9 mile home.
Poor abused child.]]>