I was checking ye olde Facebook when my notifications alerted me to a fantastic post from one of my favorite blogs, Dinosaur Dracula. The guy that runs that blog pretty much lives in my head, where we sit around, drinking Kool Aid and kvelling about all the shit I love. We're probably watching VH1's "I Love The 80s" too. What I'm trying to say is I probably want to make out with him. I'm just kidding, I only want to make out with The Fixer. And Seth Rogen. And Sarah Silverman. And maybe Adam Richman. And definitely Julie Goldman.
The greatest gift a girl can get on Christmas is an opportunity to smooch a bunch of sexy Jews.
|No cutting in line just because it's your birthday.|
What was I talking about? Oh yeah. So much joy. The post concerned something I hadn't thought about in about 25 years. I've mentioned in passing that my childhood was shit, littered with awesome junk. And the 7UP Christmas calendar was one of the best things. Granted, mine was a hot mess because I used pink glue. Like all smart 8 year olds, I'd figured out that putting strips of marker-soaked paper in my Elmer's would change its colour. So, globs of pink glue would seep through the cotton balls, causing Santa to look like he was headed to a rave.
That's really all I wanted to say, so I guess we can just file this post under "quickie" or maybe "drive-by."