Cuddly as a Cactus, Charming as an Eel

I feel like such a skeev for not writing to you lately. But, really ya'll, nothing noooothiiiing has happened. I don't want to waste your time clicking your way across the net to my humble little chunk of interweb just to say, "Dag, nothing." Not that I think I warrant a "dag," but still.

I am a grinch. I must be. I believe so because when I hear the merry, warm, friendly, christmas songs playing in the mall and the grocery store, I have to grit my teeth. I want to scream "Bah, humbug!" and throw a frozen turkey at someone. I understand how we are all* looking forward to the biggest holiday of the year, but can we please please get through NOVEMBER before you drive me crazy with your merry-merry holiday cheer? Here are some things that drive me nuts during the holidays.

1.) Song, "Frosty the Snowman" - This one has nothing to do with Christmas, except that sometimes (not in recent years) there is snow on Christmas. To some, this is a festive ditty. All it does for me is remind me of one of the worst-animated movies ever. And it reminds me of sitting on my uncle's scummy, dog-scented couch trying to hear the soundtrack of the worst-animated movie ever over the din of tipsy -sorry, "merry"- adults and their bratty, overtired children. And having to wear my footie pajamas in case I fell asleep in the car, so I could just be tossed into bed without waking up and disturbing their buzz. Sorry, "festivities."

2.) Anything pertaining to jingling bells. Jingle Bells. Jingle Bell Rock. Those J-I-N-G-L-E Bells (oh!). Dashing through the snow. For some reason, this is the most inane detail of Christmas anyone could've written a song about, and somehow Brenda Lee wrote a pop song about it and it was a hit! It's just.. how simple are people who are so very, very amused by jingling bells. Last I checked, a bell that made a noise wasn't a Christmas miracle, and I haven't seen a one-horse open sleigh in the past 21 years of my life.

3.) Wal-Mart Inflatables. Do I really have to get into this? Just.. ugh. Not classy, not even "Aww, it's kinda cute." Just Giant. Puffy. Cartoony. Tacky. I'm done.

4.) Eggnogg. Oh, come on! That's just gross! Merry Christmas, I got you salmonella! Why you would drink an EGG, and if I sold anything else under the name of Nogg, I'm pretty sure no one would buy it. Nogg isn't a pretty word, not something that makes one think "Ooh, it sounds pleasant." More like.. "I slept with a hooker. She gave me Nogg, man!" "Remember that trip to vegas? And the nogg? Yeah, man, that was a baaaaad night." "Mom, Dad, I have to tell you something. Please sit down. I- erm.. Nogg."

5.) People who say "Merry Christmas" when we aren't quiiiite through with November. No one ever wishes me "Happy Cotton Candy Day!" (December 7th) or "Happy Golf Tee Patent Day!" (December 12) or "Happy Lemon Cupcake Day!" (December 15). You can't just ignore other holidays cause your favorite is only a MONTH away. It's not fair. I might just walk around wishing everyone a "Happy Halloween" because that is MY favorite holiday.

6.) Christmas lights in November. Kind of goes with above, kind of doesn't. Do you know how hard it is to take pictures of you while you're sleeping when I have to duck every three-and-a-half seconds because my end of the lights is blinking on? Let me tell you: It is NOT EASY. These Christmas cards are going to be so crappy this year!

I'm sure there will be more. I stopped on six, the number of the microbeast. I'll let you know more as they occur to me.

Photopost, Sorry Ya'll

(I got a haircut. It's called, "The Librarian," and it was totally unintentional.)

He now speaks like Tommy Chong

Can I just- Holy hell! French Vanilla Cool-Whip!

I was going to write a cranky, sad entry (which still may happen, lucky you) but then I heard, from over my shoulder, an ad for French Vanilla Cool-Whip! That was a point of sunshine. And now, a snippet of a conversation with my Baby Bro:

Meg: any word on whether mom is rabid yet?
Zac: mom was born rabid
Meg: i know that. i mean, is it official?

My mother is the Great Pet Avenger. When she sees an animal in distress, or an animal in a less-than-perfect living situation, she sweeps in and rescues it. Yesterday, she tried to help a homeless kitty who had been hit by a car, and her reward was a set of teeth right through the hand. She left the cat with the house nearby (who confirmed that it was a stray) and went to the ER for tetanus shots. While she was there, she had an allergic reaction to something that caused her hand and arm to swell, a rash to break out and spread from her arm to her neck and ears, and her eyes to swell, and her throat to "feel funny" (which is GPA speak for "close"). That's what's frustrating about the Avenger, is she never admits how badly something hurts. Anyway, the cat died while she was in the hospital, so it is now at a Rabies Hospital being tested for...rabies.

My dog (Freddie) is in the ICU, after downing a week's worth of Rimadyl intended for Pongo. The vet guesses it was about 20x the max amount he would've prescribed for a dog a few pounds heavier than Fred. They made my baby vomit! They also are giving him charcoal, and flushing his systems to try and prevent kidney damage. He even has a tiny li'l catheter. I feel bad for the kennel noob who had to probe my dog's hot breakfasty vomit for pills, and then put a tube up his wee boy bits.

As I say, it's been quite an eventful 24 hours. I'll let you go now. I have to take pictures of my haircut (which I finally got, by the way) for Buh.

I don't believe you!

I have rediscovered a piece of my musical self that I thought had died. Today I fell in love with the Magnetic Fields, Rocky Votolato, and (sigh!) Sahara Hot Nights. I'm back, I'm back!

Lucy Pleticha rocks my world, and then some.

Oh ye of the uber-round cranium..

Did I mention how I was awakened this morning? By the Small One (who, by the way, now responds to "Midget") sitting in her crib, going, "Dirka dirka dirka.. BOB! SPONGEBOB! Dirka dirka dirka.. BOB!" Repeatedly, interspersed with a questioning, "Dad? Dada? Bob? BOB!"

Oh, and as of last night she has taken to calling me "Bob". Why? I don't know.

I got your fucking cheese.. right here

After the fiasco wherein my desk was again reorganized, and vital information pertaining to my work was thrown away in a bag of dirty diapers, I was, of course, fairly peeved.

Imagine how I feel this morning to walk by my desk with the innocent goal of putting my dogs outside and notice -on my desk- a copy of the book, "Who Moved My Cheese?" Subtitle: "An A-Mazing Way to Deal with Change in Your Word and in Your Life."

Now, having lived with my mother for as long as I did, I already know what the book is about. It's not so much change in terms of property being moved around, but knowing the way the giver of this issue thinks, and knowing the giver's reading level and taking also into account their level of intelligence, I am a bit peeved, again, at this veiled (though very poorly planned) strike.

So, I'm going to go read it, learn what it has to say, and grow up. But, I will also be very careful so that when the giver of this gift asks me, "So, did that book help you any? I heard it's, y'know, on organization and change." I can say, "No, actually, it's much larger than that. Let me expound for the next half hour or so.. because you so deserve it."

(I'm not really that bitter, just digging deeper into the inital reaction. But really, I'm going to go read it. I'll let ya'll know what it says.)

Get it? Get it??

I forgot to mention the family's halloween costumes. Kailey went as Pongo (101 Dalmations PJ's and a cute hooded jacket), Wayne went as Caesar (toga from iParty) and I went as a cry for attention.

I shopped at Goth-in-a-Box (Hot Topic, for my younger audience) and walked away $80 lighter. Decked out in goth-punk -hereafter to be known as "gunk. Big black hat over pink hair, black eyeliner, band tee, red-starred wristwarmers (you know how I get when my wrists..get..cold..?) I put long across-the-street gashes on my arms with lipstick and dribbled fake blood down my arms. A cry for attention. Get it?

No one else did, either.

The Pilgrims! They are here!

I have had so little to do today that I have begun experimenting with the light-sensing bit on a calculator to see what materials block light enough to choke out the little "0". Snuff calculating. It's hot. So far the winners have been:

1. My thumb.
2. A sticky-note (folded, or else the weight of the note pulls the sticky part away)
3. Scotch tape with a layer of white-out.
4. Setting it halfway under the shadow in the desk drawer.

The losers include:

1. Air.
2. Regular scotch tape. (I thought maybe it would filter out the necessary parts, but whatever. I guess it's just light in general)
3. My water glass.
4. Lots of individual staples.

One Singular Sensation

I know that one of my last posts was about new metallic additions to a less-then-wise part of myself. Everything's great there, but there's an important part of the healing process I forgot to take into consideration. The itching. And the rule that says "don't scratch certain places in public". And oh god, the itching? I've been trying to keep it under wraps, but I think what I've ended up doing the most of is the half-assed forearm-press-to-the-chest that makes me look less like an intelligent member of society and more like that kid with the helmet on Crank Yankers.

Just now I had the unfortunate realization that there was a slight breeze to the nether regions when I walked out of El Jefe's office. (Read: pretty sure I flashed my boss.) So now, on top of other covert activities, I have to figure out how to fix my fly.. in a glass room.

Yesterday I think I came to terms with my employment situation. I can do this job, there's no reason I can't do it. Really, a monkey could. If the monkey had really good organizational skills and a strong attention to detail and very neat handwriting, it would work. I wasn't that monkey a few days ago, but I'm becoming that monkey.

Speaking of primates, we had notice from Court yesterday. Everything stayed the same, except that now on top of child support, Wayne has to pay for half of Kailey's medical co-pays (he already carries full insurance). It's not a huge change now that she's out of the stage where she needs to get a checkup every few weeks. In addition, he has to carry life insurance on himself with Alison named as the beneficiary.

This news made me stop and think. He's a 1/3 beneficiary on my life insurance (since we're not married, my family is the other 2/3). If we get married and something happens to him, his money and property could arguably go to Alison in trust for Kailey, even though they were never married. Knowing that I have that to look forward to, and knowing that things like this will interrupt my married life casts a harsh light on the whole arrangement. I love him, and I have been thinking about dropping hints to get him to propose again, but I don't know if I can deal with what it all entails. Beyond the commitment to him, I have to make a commitment to deal with his angry days when he's unreasonably upset with her, I have to deal with the inevitable accusations from that side if something goes wrong with Kailey (I was blamed for the Social Services call, did I mention that?), I have to commit myself to fighting for what's best for someone else's daughter when the parents start looking at how they could benefit from the deal. That's mind-boggling, panic-inducing stuff there. Just thinking about it makes me want to curl up in a corner and rock slowly while humming and chewing my hair. I can't believe I'm even considering this. Love, anyone?

(Oooh! Oooh! I bought "Love Actually" and "Man on the Moon" for TEN. DOLLARS. last night!)

Oh, and And the fly is officially UP.