X-mas Tales

Well...'tis the Christmas season (though that passed a few days ago...sorry I didn't send cards or anything, but I'm lazy), which means that the Queror family has been up to their insane ways...again. Ah, it's good to be home. So. My father had to go in for a minor procedure on December 23rd. Nothing very serious, but apparently he was doped up while at the doctor. He returned home that afternoon, having been picked up by my mother, feeling "groggy." Father then decided it would be a BRILLIANT idea to light a fire in the living room fireplace. Mind you, the nurse said he could not operate heavy machinery and not participate in any dangerous activity. To my mind, fire = danger, but apparently not to Mr. Groggy. Under my mother's watchful and ever-skeptical eye, my father gathered his firewood, opened the flu, placed the logs and then requested my mother light the match. She did so...up popped a merry blaze. All seemed to be going well. Then my father directed my mother to add a log to the fire. She did so. It did not land where he wanted it to. Catastrophe. Then, the living room began to fill with smoke. So what does Mr. Groggy decide to do? Add more wood. That's right folks, something's wrong with the fire....better feed it to see what's wrong. The entire living room began to fill with black smoke. It filtered upstairs and set off the smoke alarms. It set off the main alarm. So there we were, in the middle of an Oregon rain storm with all the windows and doors open, frantically fanning out curls of black smoke. Turns out Mr. Groggy hadn't opened the flu; he'd shut it. Delightful. I spent the next 2 hours cleaning the living room, trying to free it from smoke and ash. The house still smells like burning.

After recovering from my first illness, which ravaged my voice until I sounded like a 60 year old smoker, I then caught the stomach flu my brother and sister-in-law brought with them from Los Angeles. I spent 2 days prostrate in bed, groaning and wishing my room were inside the bathroom. Ugh.

In other news, I am in desperate search for an apartment. After promising me an e-mail with floorplans, etc. Mr. BrokerMan decided not to come through. Until he called me. While I was on the line with Travelocity. Which then hung up on me after I was on hold for an hour and a half. I hate progress. Okay, not really, but kind of...