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Who knew Russians could move so fast?

In a conscious effort not be be any more bah-humbug than I already am, I took out the heavy artillery. That's right, the Christamas music. Mind you, this ain't your mama's Christmas music. Mine mostly consists of Trans-Siberian Orchestra, along with Handel's Messiah, and lasty the Nutcracker. Not the suite, or the mutitide smarmy arrangements therin. No, this be the real thing. I happen to like it a lot. That, and I can laugh at the string players in it, because I am not playing it this time around. Anyway, back to topic, I am currently jamming to the Trepak (aka Russian Dance). Actually, I have it on repeat. I defy anyone to listen to this and not be happy and at least a little hyper.
I am currently at Mom's, waiting for the clothes dryer to decide to start again. Thing is possessed, I swear. Every time I have to use it, it waits until the load containing my pants is in it before it decides to stop. So, I end up sitting downstairs pantsless, wrapped in a blanket, hoping no one decides to stop by. Yes, I am aware of how pathetic this makes me.
Christmas cards are done, thank god. Mom had all of the addresses I needed, so my grandfather won't be calling me to see if I still exist. And maybe some of the relatives on Mom's side in CA will send me money. I can only hope. As it is, I have not much to spend.
And of course, it's snowing again. Maybe I should trade in my truck for a sleigh. Probably get better gas mileage, too

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