There is (indeed) a first time for everything.
Every so often, there occur little moments in the day that remind me how true that is.
Today, I was driving on State Street, trying to find a place called the Mending Shed- a.k.a. my one last and only hope for getting my typewriter repaired without having to ship it outside of this Beehive State- when I stopped at a light, and saw, from the corner of my eye, someone drive up next to me on a motorcycle.
I looked over, and...
Yep. It has a flame job.
Anyway, the Mending Shed is only open Monday-Friday, so I turned around and went to Wal-mart to pick up some stuff. And there, I beheld...gingerbread house kits. For eight bucks!
So I bought one.
And then, I recruited the assistance of my friend Bryce for construction. It was a thing of beauty, complete with a landscaped walkway, leetle heart gummy things all over the roof, and a doorknob, and stuff. And our little gingerbread man, whom we decided to make a war hero; he is missing his right arm. (He even has a purple heart.)
And then tragedy struck.
The following video may contain disturbing material. Parental discretion advised.Welp, folks, that confirms it- I did not inherit any construction savvyness from my Grandpa or my Father. Oh, well. Neither did Bryce. (Note: I just previewed my post and realized that it'd be weird if he had inherited construction savvyness from my Grandpa OR my Father. Oops on that one. You know what I meant.)
Tomorrow is Sunday; the choir is singing a superb arrangement of "The First Noel," that kindof overlays Pachelbel's Cannon- to quote Stef, "I SO CITED!"
And while we're quoting Stefani...
"Give me all your MONEY!"
Welcome, Stef :]
I luff you too :]
