I haven’t written much lately, so here’s a short update of the happenings since a scorpion entered my home and tried to kill me.
We woke up to a scorpion on the wall a few days back and sucked it up with the vacuum. I’m still afraid of the vacuum, even though I hauled it out to the garage and dumped the vacuum bag wearing three pairs of socks in rain boots, a scarf wrapped around a Halloween costume mask and kitchen gloves before setting the trash can on fire.
We haven’t seen anymore in the house. I think I got my point across to the rest of the hive/nest/family that may still be lurking in the backyard.
Yesterday, my wife asked me if I wanted to go to aywacee sushi. She’s a food adventurer so I figured it was an event type of dining, something like dim sum. I responded with my usual trepidation but agreed.
We walked up and it was an all you can eat sushi buffet. “I thought we were having a-why-cee-eee… or whatever?”
“Yes. It’s AYCE sushi and it’s really good.” I looked at the sign and back at her again, obviously still confused. “A.Y.C.E…. All You Can Eat,” she finally had to explain.
“Who abbreviates all you can eat?”
“Everyone. And it’s an acronym not an abbreviation.”
I explained that no one knows that acronym and she countered that everyone in Vegas uses it. I had to explain that not everyone lives in Vegas. Plus, I’ve never heard of it and I was born in Vegas, which means I obviously won the discussion.
If you’re aware that A.Y.C.E. is an acronym for all the food you can stuff down your pie hole, please let me know and I’ll stop assuming she made it up on the spot.
P.S. It was really good, especially for A.Y.C.E dining, so she was correct in that respect.
Christmas 2015 Is In The Bag
We do Christmas in our house… sort of. We’re down to a tree my daughter still puts up and some half-hearted apple cider my son throws together. My kids are old now and I’m glad I no longer need to pretend that I enjoy untangling lights while dangling from a ladder in the it’s-too-freaking-cold-outside-to-hang-lights pre-season.
My twenty-year old asked if Santa was still going to fill stockings this year. “Yes, but it will require an entire cake and rum egg nog left by the fireplace. Because the older you get, the higher the ante.”
They left me nothing by the fireplace, but I did fill both my “children’s” stockings. I sent them on a hunt using rhymes displayed in a three-page continuous PowerPoint presentation. Because I’m a nerd.
The first screen read:
Children who are more than eighteen years born,
Must search for their stockings this Christmas morn.
I’m thankful my kids were too old for Santa and that we “missed out” on the whole Elf on the Shelf thing. In case you’re not following me on Twitter or Instagram, this is the Elf on the Shelf’s drunk Uncle Bob, the Elf in in the Tree, that does visit us every year. I’m not confident he flies anywhere or even knows Santa. He mostly burps and talks really loud.
I hope everyone is having a wonderful holiday season and has a wonderful New Year!!