Jim is having serious computer issues with his new baby, and has spent the last three days running a fifteen minute diagnostic. Insert sad face here. (So, if I promised to dupe things for you, I'll get there!)
All dvd's are unpackaged, albumed, and cataloged, but most of our other yulie toys are stil out being played with. And, the living room is vacuumed (because Jim is home. I am not good about vacuuming or dusting - I'm a clean up the kitchen as you go kinda gal, and I am especially sulky about having to clean up things I didn't get the chance to enjoy making a mess with. Dusting is my most hated-as-unfair job, especially since the phantom vacuumer upstairs is responsible for most of my dust, which shakes down from above in buckets while they are wrestling buffaloes up there.)
Even though I realize they can't hear me clearly since I am downstairs, it still gives me an odd kick to be running the vacuum while they are trying to do something else. We were hoovering like mad at midnight on New Years while they were attempting to sing Auld Lang Syne up there. I wish I had the nerve (and brute strength) to hold the electrolux to my ceiling.
Today I was up at what passes for an ungodly hour for me, and the boy upstairs (the one who throws lit cigarettes into the bushes by my porch instead of buying a @*^(%%$^%# ashtray) was holding band practice. He seems to be the bass player, and will sometime play the same eight bars of music over and over for 4 hours, at top volume. Today, there was actual singing going on - recognizable Grateful Dead flashbacks. I could make out Box of Rain and Friend of the Devil, but only just and after much oh yeah, what is that? This wasn't so much close harmony as close-but-no-cigar.