LOST

"Hello," I wave my hand frantically in the air and Phil pushes the pause button. Listen, listen, talk, talk, listen. "Good-bye." Un-pause.

"Hello," and we do the whole pause-listen-talk-good-bye routine two more times.

So, because of the pausing during LOST I did not have to watch any commercials. And because Phil had the remote, I did not get to watch the commercials that looked interesting. Zip, right through them all. All the upcoming movie trailers--didn't see those. The brand new commercials that looked halfway decent--didn't see those.

But...because we had also pushed the magic button. The little red magic "record" button I can go back and watch it all. And look for hidden meanings and clues and try to figure out what is going to happen in seven weeks, when the writer's strike is still on and we are left hanging...again.

I wonder how many babies have played the part of Claire's baby? And how many will? And are expectant parents in the LA area hoping for bald headed twins with blue eyes?

I wonder if it's in Hurley's contract that he can't diet until the series is over?

I wonder if this addiction is better or worse than a being addicted to chocolate.

And hey! What the heck ever happened to that plane-shaking, pilot-snatching, smoky monster? How many plot lines are possible in one series? This one looks like an eighteen-legged octopus. And if we remember all the people who have died--that had an interesting semi-plot going--it looks like a whole aquarium full of octopi, and a handful of worms thrown in, just for good measure.

I'M TOO TIRED TO POST

I'm too tired to post tonight. It would just be nonsense. I wrapped caramels all day. Okay, so that part is exaggerated but it seems like all day. I didn't get the ornaments on the Christmas tree, that's for sure but my Dolly Parton candle display is beautiful. Phil calls it Dolly Parton because it's glittery and glitzy and my granddaughter, Miss Dolly Parton incognito--masquerading as a seven year old, will love it. I made him turn all the house light out, including the several hundred lights on the Christmas tree so I could light the candles and bask in the glittery display. He just chuckles. I do love a man with a good chuckle.

I must learn how to put pictures on this blog soon. Pam will come to my rescue, she rescues me at all times, for all kinds of reasons. She calls at a moment's notice and we speed off for unmentionable pleasures. Not that kind of unmentionables. Okay, I'll tell you. We sneak off regularly and get J-Dawgs. Evil, horrible, probably nitrate filled hot dogs from Heaven. (The Polish are best--they only offer Polish and beef dawgs--this is enough to make your mouth water. "Slurp.") They are evil and horrible because they are an addictive substance and should be registered with the narcotics division. Once you've had a J-Dawg you can go about a week and then you are finding reasons why you have to drive on 7th east, where it dead-ends into lower BYU (Brigham Young University) campus, and just happen to pass this tiny little kiosk type building that used to sell flowers, of all things. "Hey," you say, "Look at that! We're driving right by J-Dawg's. Might as well stop--as long as we're here."

There is no sign. The owner doesn't advertise and he looks like he's all of nineteen years old, for Pete's sake and he is making a bundle of money, a good deal of it mine. J-Dawg's are sold out of a little shack and there is pretty much always a bunch of people standing in a line that sometimes snake into the street. Do the line-snakers care that they might get run over. You bet, if it is before they get their J-Dawg. If after they would just lie in the road and chew. One day I will do a blog about this phenomenon and maybe post a picture, after Pam teaches me how.

So, Pam, who rescues me will surely help me soon to figure out how to screech into the photo blogging business and you will see my Dolly Parton candle display and I will take a picture of a J-Dawg and you will have to come on a vacation to Provo so you too can have a new addiction to add to your whatever-you-are-already-addicted-to list.

What is on your list anyway? I am working on carrots. I am trying to drown all the sugar, from my Christmas-goodies-addictions with beta carotene. It's not working so well but I'm determined. Never underestimate a determined woman, especially one with carrot breath.

And when I'm not to tired to write maybe we can have a decent conversation about something meaningful. Like my son's belly button lint collection. Bless his weird little heart.

Or we can talk about my other boy's dreadlocks that he had his sister, the talented hair stylist who is cheerful beyond my level of understanding, cut off years ago, and that he has saved the dreaded things in an Altoid's tin. How this blond haired boy got his hair to make dreads is beyond my level of understanding. It is also beyond my level of understanding why my youngest, beautiful daughter--I have two beautiful daughters--anyway, the youngest has the hair of the God's and is also dreading her hair, at this moment. There are many things beyond the level of my understanding.

Or we can talk about my other son's addiction to radios. Not the kind that play music and news but the kind you hear a whole bunch of static and then he says, "Did you hear that? That was someone in Japan!" And you say to yourself, sure it was, all the time rolling your eyes. But he gets so excited and after all, he is the son who introduced me to the computer and built the one I'm typing on--even though it is old and has an attitude--and so whatever he says is all right with me. Japan? "You bet," I say, "he sounded like he was speaking Japanese." With a static accent.

What were we talking about? Oh, that's right. Nothing. Because I'm to tired. I'll write something tomorrow maybe, if I get the ornaments on the tree and soon, when Pam is unbusy, I will learn how to put pictures on my blog and then watch out! I may get interesting.

Right now I'm going to eat more carrots and go to bed. Right after I check out my favorite blogs. Or not. Because I really am too tired. So if I usually comment on your blog and I didn't tonight you'll have to make allowances.