Bloggin' Fo' Realz

Due to popular demand (at last count two individuals), I'll be attempting to maintain a fairly consistent blog. Here. On Blogger.

So...

According to wikipedia, the word blog is simply a "contraction of the word "web log"". This is a good tidbit of information for a blogger.

And now, without further ado, I'd like to share another familial occurrence.

In my house, there is a set routine and way of things. I like to think of it as our Order of Operations, but instead of "Please Excuse My Dear Aunt Sally" we have "Please Is Just A Word We Use To Preface Our Commands Which We Expect You To Follow Unflinchingly And Without Delay", or "PIJAWWUTPOCWWEYTFUAWD". It is a very long and unwieldy acronym. They also bear little resemblance to one another in form or function. The only thing tying them together is the "Please", really.

Um, sorry about that. Like I was saying, there's an order to things.

At 8 o' clock, it's bed time for the younger siblings (Aged 2, 4, and 7), and all of the "adults" proceed downstairs, to the common room. It's basically a wide open space two/thirds the size of the house's exterior (occupying one story, mostly underground, as we have a split-level). One wall is completely consumed by shelving units, about 20 feet of cubical storage bins filled with children's playthings.

It is a glorious monument to consumerism, instant gratification, and carelessness in stewardship.

My puppy is asleep next to me... He is twitching. It is adorably concerning.

Where those shelves meet the northeast corner of the house, more toys spread another twenty feet to the west. A large, overflowing toybox stuffed with...stuffed animals, a three-foot tall animatronic dinosaur, a Disney (does this need one of those little trademark dealies?) Princess vanity set, and a Dora the Explorer kitchen (startin' domestication early!) all adorn this wall, and lead to the "living room" portion of things.

In the northwest corner rests a sizable fireplace. Upon its mantle, our television (on which "I Love You, Man" is playing. But not anymore, because I turned it off after feeling guilty about being wasteful...and I've already seen it.)

OHMYGAWD. I'm just going on and on about my fucking basement, which is only pertinent to the story in that I was in it at the time. Fuck. I must be channeling Tolkien.

Anyfuck, we go downstairs. And there, we watch TV. That's right. Family time is watching TV. We sit in the dark and watch sitcoms, or dramas, or what the fuck ever is on. Scratch that, it doesn't even have to be on, for with the advent of "DVR" we can record and save DAYS of the stuff.

Man, can that dog twitch.

This weekend my parents attended a wedding, and I was left in charge of the house and kidlets. Well tonight (them having just gotten home today), during family time, my mother turns to me and says "So, was there an incident in the kitchen while we were gone?"

Me (Completely confounded): "Like what?" (As -something- must have prompted this conversational oddity.)

Father: "Good answer."

Mother: "Well, the dining room table's been moved."

Me: "Hmm. Uh. Not that I know about."

Mother: "Well I know something happened. It's a noticeable difference. You wouldn't not know what happened for it to move like that."

Me: *Burst of laughter* "I have no idea what you're talking about. Brother(15), did you move the table while mom and dad were gone?" I continue to snicker.

Brother: "Yea, totally. I just did it to mess with you." *sarcasm*

Mother (starting to get flustered): "This isn't funny. One of you knows what happened, and I want you to tell me."

Father: "I moved it.

Me: "HAHAHAHAHA."

Mother: "What? How could you have?"

Father: "You asked me earlier if the table looked like it'd been moved. I told you that I moved it."

Mother: "You never said that."

Me: "Hahahahahahaha."

This place is stupid.

/Fin