Protesting reality.

The long weekend was nothing short of bliss.

I ate. And ate. And ate. I'm proud to say I can still zip my pants this morning. But it's back to a liquid diet for me. At least for three more weeks until I begin the feeding frenzy again. And will be able eat my weight in cream cheese.

We decked our halls and put up our tree. Much to the Captain's chagrin, I require additional lights on the pre-lit tree. He humored me and helped me wrap 128,000 more lights on the tree. Because I believe a tree should have over 675,000 lights on it. Lights were on. Ornaments hung. We stood back to behold. And that's when all but 57 lights went out. Bah. Then the pluggy in thingy started melting which could have resulted in nothing short of a small forest fire in my den. I'm obsessed with getting more lights back on the tree. Obsessed. And before my head hits the pillow tonight, this will be rectified. The Captain is over it. Because he believes 57 lights on a tree is enough. Poor misguided soul.

Could there have been any better football games? (See also: What an awesome Hog win!) I may or may not have sent Connie a text on Saturday that said, "Please don't use your China. I'm wearing a Hog shirt to your feast." It was my NICEST Hog shirt. I did, however, draw the line and not wear the big plastic Hog hat. I do have some couth, you know. Because I know that wearing hats at the dinner table is just rude.

Back to work and back to school and back to reality today. And the thought of leaving my house wearing shoes and real clothes has practically moved me to tears. That, and no more pie. Oh, and my poor tree.