“Give it a whirl, girl. Be like the squirrel.” –Jack White

I hate bed and breakfasts. I do. There is only one I have ever enjoyed, and that was because we didn’t spend all of our time there. Why would you when you’re on an island in Maine, with really amazing swimming quarries, and fields of lupines? What is it about bed and breakfasts that I hate? Umm, let’s see…the fact that they sometimes smell funny, are usually full of antiques, which freaks me out because I’m afraid I’ll break them, and the owners are hoverers. And I hate hoverers. I always feel like tiptoeing when I’m in the B&B, and that’s not something I do very well. Quiet is not my thing. Plus, I always feel like I’m doing something wrong. B&B owners have eyes EVERYWHERE. The word scrutinize was invented for them. That last time I stayed in a B&B, I was in Minnesota. The owner reminded me of my old dance teacher, which was good, but she called me Tanna. And that’s not my name. Even though I told her my name, she still called me Tanna. Plus, her house was filled with antiques. And every single one of them had a story about her childhood. And because I was only seventeen, and Sibling-Creature was in Alaska, and my parents are too nice, we listened to every single one. And the shower was the weirdest shower of all time. Not that it was dirty, it was just old and weird. And it smelled like cats, even though the owner only had a really old dog. The only good thing was that I discovered a new favorite cereal.

I have no idea what brought on this B&B thing. I guess I just feel that it’s time to confess the fact that I am very anti bed and breakfast. And apparently, so are my good friends Lorelai and Rory. Mind you, I am not anti-inn. A family owned and operated inn has much better vibes. I can feel good about an inn.

Well. I feel much better, don’t you? This has been another very crazy week. The best example of my mindset this week is as follows:

They sure do know what they're talking about.

They sure do know what they're talking about.

I was totally living up to my Calvin and Hobbes attitude…last minute panic explains the reason I only got three hours of sleep on Tuesday. However, it’s the last week before exams and this time next week, I’ll be in an airport people-watching while I wait for my plane to take off. I’m excited, because I really like flying. I’ve flown twice in the last year, and that’s different for me. Mostly my family are road trip kind of people. Hence the need to sometimes stay in a bed and breakfast. I’m sensing a trend.

I’m feeling extremely scatterbrained after this week of crazy cramming and work. And this weekend is going to be fun. But two different types of fun-one straight up, one sarcastic. I’ll spend the entire day tomorrow cramming Robinson Crusoe and logic proofs and French verbs into my head, until it’s time for Christmas. All of the chicas are going to the local botanical gardens tomorrow night to look at all the pretty lights and then we’re heading back to Stella’s house for hot chocolate, Christmas movies and PRESENTS. And boy, am I excited. I love Christmas, I love the chicas, and I love presents. I love giving presents. A lot. I love buying them, I love wrapping them, and I love watching people’s faces when they open them. The only problem is that I sometimes get so excited I get afraid that the presents won’t live up to the hype. Eh well. It’s still fun for me. Did I mention the wrapping? I think that’s my favorite part.

Beginning to sing Christmas carols,

S.

P.S. So there, Junie B.  Take that.

“”When you wake up in the morning, Pooh,” said Piglet at last, “what’s the first thing you say to yourself?”
“What’s for breakfast?” said Pooh. “What do you say, Piglet?”
“I say, I wonder what’s going to happen exciting today?” said Piglet.
Pooh nodded thoughtfully.
“It’s the same thing,” he said.”

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