I wrote 12 sentences before I got into bed last night. They were boring and overly dramatic. I closed the book and threw it on the floor. It will stay there until I have company and have to tidy up my place.
Prior to this, and after leaving the yarn store, I stopped by my parents house. There was some sort of party going on over there. Not really. I mean, not in the invitations and balloons and cake sense, but there was a small congregation of people including my mom and dad (obvi, seeing as they live there), my sister, my bro-in-law, my cuttestbabyever nephew, my brother, and my maternal grandmother (we often refer to her as 'Grandma F'). I ate some pasta salad and breaded and fried eggplant. Then I ate about 3 different types of cookies. If you know anything about my parents house, it's that it is actually an oreo, chips ahoy, anyothertypeofgenericcookietheycangettheirhandson, warehouse. I enjoy this aspect of visiting.
My brother is seldomly home, and when he is he likes to hide away in his bedroom. So after consuming enough cookies for a full on belly ache, I descended the stairs to go chill with him for a bit. There was actually a mini party going on when I got there. The scene: My brother, sister, and brother-in-law, all standing around my brothers bed, which was covered in boxes of all different sized knives. Like pocket knives. I thought he was doing something illegal, until I looked at the much larger box that these smaller boxes came in. It was from QVC. My brother had ordered a zillion knives from the home shopping network. You have to love my wacky family. See, I'm not the only weirdo. The knives bore names like "the avenger" and "the vigilante" and there were two "Deep Sea Diving" knives. There were many many more, but I was so completely shocked by the amount of knives, that I completely didn't have the mental capacity to remember the names. It was hilarious. We craked all of the jokes that we could about starting a gang, and what we were going to do when I got pulled over on my way home with my 87 year old grandmother in the car, and got arrested for 35 concealed weapons. Ok, I exaggerate a bit, I only went home with 4 knives total, and my brother assured me that if the blades were smaller than my palm, they're not illegal to carry. My father came down and discovered our operation. We suckered him into not telling my mother, but then someone let the cat out of the bag and she was in on it too. Insanity insued. She tried to steal my knives. I wouldn't let her have them.
The moral of the story is: Don't fuck with me. I'm armed.
In other news, I also came away from my brother's room with some other lovely parting gifts including:
-A bottle opener magnet from the Bellagio in Vegas
-A mini leatherman
-2 pads of post its
-A screw driver. The kind that as a bunch of different screw heads stuck to it with magnets.
-I know there was definitely more, and I'm sure he slipped a few things into my box of goodies when I wasn't paying attention.
He was clearly having a nervous breakdown and felt the need to declutter. Boy o boy does that kid hoard a lot of junk. Thankfully, most of it was cool shit like tools and electronics. He even had some soder, but, sadly, I did not get that prize. Maybe next time.