Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Dear Santa. (or Jesus.)

Whoever is more appropriate to ask for snow. Now, I am perfectly aware that something forecasted for the tenth day of the ten day forecast should be viewed skeptically. Mainly because weathermen have been known to crush dreams on the weekends for sport. BUT. This would make my life. Or you know, Christmas. But life is only a semi-exaggeration.

Seriously. Bing had it all figured out. White Christmas, people. And go big or go home.

No that's a lie, I'll take what I can get.

(PS. Who thought it was a good idea to name their child an onomatopoeia? Did he have a brother named Bang? That would have been perfection. But you know, in a totally cruel way.)


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