So I'm watching Seaquest and remembering my crush on Jonathan Brandeis (it was epic, once) and enjoying the coffee from my Christmas coffee maker (it's black and shiny like a helicopter! and can be autoprogrammed to make coffee before I wake up so I just have to stumble blearily to the kitchen and find a mug before stretching and coming to life like Dolly Parton in 9 to 5!) and staring at my apartment filled with home improvement zest. Yesterday I built a table (out of cinderblocks) and filled a book case and thought about hanging a mirror and felt like Martha Stewart or Ty from that show that always makes me cry. It was a good day.
But largely right now I'm here to jump right up on a bandwagon: Guess my yuletide story and I'll write you a ficlet, ladies and gents. Yes, yes I will.
I'm going to go back to crooning love songs to my coffee maker now. You were meant for me, coffee maker. Yes. Yes you were.