Santa's fucking workshop

it's a christmas present factory over here. maybe i should just grow up, put on my big girl pants, get my bananas together and go to the mall...but just thinking about that makes me want to curl up into a fetal position. things would be going well if i wasn't working on a large men's black cabled sweater (which i'm far too blind to see) in the evening. bah.

my mom's present was easy as pie. over the summer i made her a cobbler and left it in her fridge as a surprise for when she came home from work, i then for weeks afterward had to beg her for my pyrex dish back because she was so in love with the tupperware style lid that it had ("but you can stack things on top of it!" i know, mom, that's why i bought it). really pyrex with lids gets you going, mom? done.

but my dad had to have a black sweater "just like colin's" only not- since i am not in the business of knitting my dad and boyfriend matching outfits. i'm pretty sure this is reasonable...only now i'm stuck knitting a black cabled sweater(!) ali and ben want hats, i could just kiss them for this, they are being so nice to me, clearly they're up to something. somehow, i see this turning into some sort of major clusterfuck right at the very end, i need all the luck i can get.

sigh. tis' the season and all that bs.