Everything from funerals to Justin Bieber. Beat that.

Today we attended church, as is our usual Sunday ritual. Did you know that there are so many sweet little old people in my ward? It's like Tom and I have access to a couple dozen grandmas and grandpas at all times, which is fantastic—because grandmas and grandpas are awesome, as we all know. I've never been in a ward like this before—we ARE the definition to that cutesy "newly wed or nearly dead" phrase that Mormon folk like to giggle about, except that lately it doesn't seem nearly as giggle-worthy since just yesterday I spent a portion of my morning helping out in the kitchen for a funeral of a lady that I had visit taught. This funeral makes the fourth funeral our ward has had in less than (less than!) a month, and I've lost count of how many we've had in the past year. And the cute little old people attend all the funerals—that's just what they do. They all have their inside jokes about it too.

I'm in the stage where I attend wedding and baby showers for friends but eventually I'll be in the stage where I do the funeral thing. Isn't that so depressing? I know! And that's precisely why these cute little old grannies and grampsies amaze me to no end, because they stay so perky and happy even though so many of them are widows or widowers, live alone and get the chance every couple of weeks to get dressed up so they can go to a funeral. I think they're all hands-down fantastic (even if they do criticize my music leading). And boy howdy if they don't just fall all over themselves to say hello to Clara.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that someday when I'm nearly dead I hope that I can come up with a few decent wisecracks about funerals to make all my other friends (what's left of 'em) laugh.

In other news, in interest of the "Giles Germ Infestation 2011" that I've so diligently kept the blogdom updated on, you'll be pleased to know that I, Season, am sick. Again. Third time. At this rate, I'll never make it to the nearly dead, joke-about-funerals stage. Sweet niblets, this past week (month) has been long. (Aside: sweet niblets is from Hannah Montana. I really know how to make myself sound cool among the 12 and under crowd.) Earlier in the week, at precisely 7:00 in the morning, I made the executive decision that our family needed a vaporizer, since between the three of us we only seemed to have one functioning nostril. So I threw on some ugly boots and a dirty sweatshirt and headed for Walmart, in what became my earliest excursion to Walmart ever. (Along the way I almost ran out of gas and engaged in a bit of a panic because good grief when did that Sinclair on University Parkway disappear?) Anyway, as it turns out, it doesn't really matter what time of day you go to Walmart, there are always weirdos there and I was 100% one of them.

Speaking of the 12 and under crowd, today I had a lovely chat with my sister (why, it's her birthday of course!) and she was telling me all about the in-depth love her soon-to-be-twelve-year-old daughter has for Justin Bieber. Get this everyone. Justin Bieber has a line of nail polish. (Or maybe I'm the last one to know?) Anyway, in my sister's day everyone had the hots for Kirk Cameron. And it was Jonathan Taylor Thomas for my generation. And frankly I'd like to announce to all of blogdom that Justin Bieber really needs to step it up because he's got nothing on JTT. (I really know how to lose my cool status with the 12 and under crowd.)

Well now. How's that for an aimless, random and completely unimportant late-night Sunday post? And what's this? An aimless, random and unimportant late-night Sunday picture? Yes, please.