The 24 THOUSAND hours of Le Mans...or whatever

Did I mention that my husband is a motor racing aficionado? Well, of course, motors don't race by themselves...they usually reside in a high powered vehicle of some kind...doesn't matter too much what -- a boat, motorcycle, snowmobile, lawnmower, or even a car. Car you might ask? Could be a dragster (also sometimes known as a funny car), pick-up truck, midget, quarter-midget, open wheel car, nascar car, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, and further more, BLAH! Doesn't matter -- he watches them all -- all the time, all of them, no matter what for, how long, or who's doin' it! This weekend it was the "Rolex Daytona 24 Hour Something or Other Race." Not sure about the "something or other," but there was some other part of the name of this race that I can't quite remember and it needs the extra syllables to "make it flow!"

Apparently my husband doesn't understand the concept of "you don't have to watch the whole thing to find out who wins." That's what I'm thinkin'. Because he watched the WHOLE "24 hours of something or other" race end to end, front to back, side to side, wall to wall! I know this because we share a sleeping (or lack thereof) space. The W-H-O-L-E thing. Every second, minute, hour, crash, tire change, storm, etc., etc., etc. ! Did I mention that our shared non-sleeping space has a 72 inch television set? That's right. 72 count 'em inches! And stereo! The whine of the cars, the annoying British accent of the commentator! Even with all that, I managed to escape into sleep for a few minutes....only to be awakened by the blue Porshe that exploded out of the screen seemingly to run me over! Oh, no....it was just a tight shot of the Porsh from the head on position! Sleepin on the couch felt pretty dang good about then...ME doing the couch sleeping ...not him the rightful recipient of couch time! He was busy watching Nascar in between commercials on the "24 hours of..." race! Stay tuned...next week, same time, same station!

Now, that's pretty silly!

ABOUT THAT CHRISTMAS TREE

SPEAKING OF INSIDE THE BOX, GUESS WHERE MY CHRISTMAS TREE IS? OUTSIDE the box as promised! I had threatened to leave it up in the living room for ever and ever, amen, but true to form and compulsion, I took the damned thing down on New Year's Day, just as I have done with every Christmas tree we've ever had since the earth cooled or whenever it was when we got married. I did not, however, NOT, stuff it back in the dreaded box, tape it in there to make sure it wouldn't escape, and throw it up on the top back shelf in the garage! I am a woman of my word, within limits, of course.

I stripped off the ornaments, sorted them, wrapped them, and placed them carefully in some of those swell plastic containers made for such things by obsessive compulsive nitwits who make such things. I left the lights, of course, especially since they are PERMANENT, and left the tree completely assembled and upright in its stand. Then I unceremoniously tipped it on it's side, and dragged it through the house and down the basement stairs. It went thump, thump, thump all the way down -- but wait, Houston, we have a problem! Yikes! But, of course: the three sections of the tree pulled loose from each other but remained semi attached by the light wires, strung out over the full flight of steps. SOB, I said, as the stand also dropped off and bounced the rest of the way down. Oh, crap, I said. I picked up the stand at the bottom of the stairs, placed it in a special spot on the blue-painted cement floor, dragged the three semi-connected sections of the tree by its top where the star goes, the rest of the way down, ka-bump, ka-bump, ka-bump, and across the floor. I shoved the sections of the now bent-up tree back together and jammed it into its stand, hoisted it upright, and covered it top to bottom with black plastic garbage bags. I felt proud! I was a woman of my word! The Christmas tree was the living Christmas tree I had promised! Scratching my arms and searching for a Benedryl in my pocket, I started back up the stairs, wondering how the living Christmas tree was going to feel about living in the bottom of my rotten hell hole of a dusty, dirty, awful, smelly basement under black plastic bags for a year. "Sweet dreams," I said.

Now that's pretty silly!

Inside the Box

Over and over we are encouraged to "think outside the box." No one, as far as I know, has ever suggested thinking INSIDE the box! How come? If there's an outside the box, it would follow that there is an inside the box, wouldn't it not? Or, consider this question -- if there is anarchy, is there also "archy?" Or maybe, if there is insight, wouldn't there also be "outsight?" Hmmm. The point being, that if there's thinking outside the box, there must be something inside the box to think about! I'm not sure I've ever heard what was inside the box! Having been accused of being at various times insightful, deep, visonary, creative, inventive, clever, interesting, and just plain freakin' nuts, I consider myself to be an ouside the box kinda gal! So, what's inside the box? Enquiring minds want to know!!!

Now, that's pretty silly!