I am not necessarily political, but seriously Republicans, get the fuck over yourselves. The Affordable Healthcare Act is a fucking LAW.
I have never been embarrassed to be an American until now. These fuckers that run our country have shut down our government (whilst getting paid their own salaries mind you) and 800,000 federal workers are either furloughed or being told they are going to work without pay.
Blows my fucking mind how obviously racist and classist this country still is.
Just see this, people. And do it if you can. The Bloggess puts it together so much more eloquently than I ever could.
On a personal note, went to visit my sister this weekend to celebrate what my niece claims is her 8th birthday, but you never know with this child, everything that comes out of her mouth I take with a grain of salt.
Don't trust those baby blue eyes
It was a good visit. It's been a good week, actually. Good to have one before the pre-op (boo!) stuff next week.
Oh, and we had a potluck at work, and I took the infamous pickle dip, and it went over like gangbusters, so here is the recipe. You can thank me afterwards.
8 oz cream cheese, softened
16 oz sour cream
1 tsp garlic salt
1 jar refrigerated pickle spears (preferably Claussen)
Whisk together room temp cream cheese and sour cream until smooth. Roughly chop pickles (do not use a processor; hand chop into bite sized chunks). Add chopped pickles to sour cream/cream cheese mixture.
Refrigerate overnight; serve with sturdy plain potato chips. Stand back and prepare to be in awe.
Cheapest, best potluck recipe ever.
Until next time, here is my Mood Ring(tone) of the Day:
So, my sister asked me to watch my nieces yesterday, because she and my brother-in-law were taking my nephew to a comic book convention, and I have to admit, at first, I was hesitant.
Not that I don't adore these chirren with all my heart, but still...it's a big responsibility.
I mean, anything could happen. Cuts, scrapes, bruises, broken bones, drowning, abduction, drug overdose, dismemberment, murder-suicide...you just never know.
But I agreed, and I am so glad I did, because we had the best day!
It wasn't 10 seconds after my sister left that the 7 year old turned to me:
"So...when are we going to the pool?"
Drowning.
But, I dutifully packed them up, and down to the pool we went...at 9:30 in the morning. We were the only ones there, naturally. Because it was barely 80 degrees and overcast, but still, we managed to spend a couple of fun-filled hours without anyone turning blue, and then the 7 year old turned to me:
So we dried off, slapped on some makeup, piled into the Mazda, and thanks to Google Navigation, off we went.
We didn't quite make it to Claire's, we were side-tracked by Justice where we bought all sorts of pink and sparkly things, then the 3 year old turned to me:
"McDonald's!"
Yes, not so much a question as a statement, so McDonald's it was, where many cheeseburgers, fries, chicken nuggets and flurries were devoured.
And when my sister got home, she was greeted by two happy, well-fed and exhausted girls who were not missing any appendages.
Another weekend at the beach, yes, I know my life is so hard. Whatever.
Anyway, it was a very nice weekend, with more relaxation than work, and I have come to the decision that I am going to retire at the beach...hopefully within the next year.
In my dreams. OH, but I wish I could, because how I envy the laid back, easy going, island life. Even the Rottenator is in a better mood at the beach. There's just something about it.
So, thanks to my sister and brother-in-law, there was less furniture putting together, and more relaxing, and more eating this weekend, which is good and bad. And I cannot truly distinguish between the two, so I will offer you a mixture of both:
First good and bad: we had time to explore Botany Bay which is a protected nature habitat near Edisto Island which is great if you love birds and wildlife and, as the Rottenator calls them, "tree-hugging hippies". Whatever, is was very pretty, even though the "tour" left much to be desired.
I would insert a bunch of pictures here of our tour and how anti-spectacular it exactly was but for some reason, my phone and my computer are not communicating so you will have to just imagine the spectacular that was the "stone beehive"...and imagine the Rottenator saying, "What...the...fuck...this...is...bullshit..." as he sped up the car and we whizzed by at 100 mph.
And for once, I did not blame him. I was done at the ruins of the plantation house that consisted of a pile of bricks that sat surrounded by what I assume is electronic fencing. And this was after we passed the John Deere tractors. Did they have those back in the 1800s?
Needless to say, the tour was not memorable. But the beach was very nice, and the shells were quite pretty...to look at. Because don't take one, or someone might report you to 1-800-Thief, and then...yeah, well, get ready to pony up that $470 Mister, or you're off to the pokey.
Despite the disappointment of the tour, the beach is very pretty. Au natural, as it were. So, not a wasted walk. I will now offer you up a link of spectacular photos to look at because I cannot provide my own: Gorgeous.
I loved the hermit crabs the most.
Part two of the good and bad: oh my Jeebus did I eat too much this weekend! I mean seriously, I am done. Not just with seafood, but I'm talking all of it: biscuits, chicken, hamburgers, shrimp, red snapper, hollandaise sauce, crab, more shrimp, more burgers, more Rubens, more chips and salsa, Reeses white peanut butter cups, Snickers peanut butter bites, you are all the devil! I renounce you all!
So, moving on, the diet starts tomorrow. Power bar breakfast, yogurt for lunch, lean cuisine for dinner. I'm not fucking around. Just one week of this and I'll be back on course. Because I am pretty fucking sick of my belly jiggling like Santa Claus every time I laugh. Yes, before you start, I have weight issues. I finally got to the point where I am in the "normal" weight range and I'm not about to let it go now, and I see my triggers and I'm catching the problem before it becomes a true issue. This is just me. A daily struggle on how to be healthy.
Meanwhile, my mother is about to get her pool all kinds of fancied up with a new liner so that's how I plan to spend my summer: laps in the pool. Because god knows, the only thing I hate more than excercise is sweating, so I figure, burning off some calories in the pool is a win-win...win.
In the meantime, I adore this tune, so here is My Mood Ring(tone) of the Day:
Are you kidding me, he is in Batman footie pajamas, how could I not love him?
I've just finished preparing a ginormous packet of useless paperwork to send to the IRS to prove to them why I can't possibly pay off the exorbitant debt that they claim I owe. I've managed to make it as confusing and disorganized as possible; payback, you might say, for how I've found their dealings with me when it comes to this situation.
Plus, my income is approximately $30 less than my outcome per month so let's see how they handle that.
Also, I desperately need new clothes. Like, desperately. I do not know how I managed to overlook this, but I have no appropriate spring/summer clothes. So I'm danger of either quitting my job for fear of appearing like a hobbit hobo or dying of heat-stroke because I'm wearing wool sweaters in 80 degree weather. So, despite the Rottenator's budget, I am going shopping this weekend.
I had a "WOW" call evaluation at work which probably means nothing to you, much as it means nothing to me other than the fact that maybe I'll be left alone for a minute. Basically, it looks like I'm fairly competent at a job that I despise. I don't know how I feel about that.
Other than that, nothing new.
Although, after reviewing my recent posts and Mood Ring(tones) of the Day, I have come to realize that I am this guy:
I'll have to examine that in a future post, how to reconcile my love of Britpop and Rap and the occasional country song into one cohesive summation of my overall being.
But in the meantime, I'll just share this picture of a pine tree that I captured at work the other day.
It is totally giving the world the finger. I am this pine tree.
And to continue with my seemingly out of character Mood Ring(tone) of the Day, I give you:
Incidentally, this song was played both at my sister's bachelorette party AND her wedding reception. We are an interesting family indeed.
That's good enough for me; however, it is not good enough for the Rottenator. Mr. "We need to save money for a second car and Harry Potter blah blah blah" would not touch a left-over even if it slapped him in the face and demanded to be eaten.
I don't get it. I can make a beef stew on Sunday, and still be snacking on it for lunch on Tuesday.
The Rottenator, however, is convinced that bacteria starts forming on meat within two hours of it being prepared so he won't touch it.
HOWEVER, he will chow down on a chocolate peanut butter Reeses bunny like it's nobody's business if it's left in a cabinet for more than one day.
He ate the face first. Then finished off the rest of it with abandon.
I relayed this information to my mother who happened to mention that I may possibly have food issues (duh!) and this particular "all the food in the universe is mine don't touch it or I'll cut you" impulse is heriditary.
Good to know I'm crazy for a reason. It seems my father was the same way. In fact, the Mother relayed an incident wherein my father and my godfather left their chocolate bunnies in the refridgerator for more than one hour and she devoured them both and my dad freaked the fuck out. With good reason. My mother's explanation:
"Well I warned them." Are you kidding me? THAT IS NO EXCUSE!!!!
It was MY chocolate peanut butter bunny and there will never be another one like it and you took it from me and now you must suffer and possibly die.
Those are the consequences of touching MY food.
Tell me people, who is right in this situation? And if you say that it's anyone other than me, believe me, I know how to cut a bitch.
So, this upcoming weekend, the Rottenator, the Mominator and I are going to spend Easter at the beach and I am SO looking forward to it.
Not only does this mean I have a four day work week, but I also get to be at the beach!
Incidentally, the family beach house is at Edisto Beach,SC which is approximately here:
And it looks like this:
And this is the oak tree in the yard that I absolutely adore:
I have been craving fresh seafood for a few weeks, so this trip is a long time coming. I'm kind of a snob when it comes to seafood; it has to be fresh from the dock to my plate for me to enjoy it.
Needless to say, I've never been a fan of Red Lobster. And rightfully so. Except for their god damn cheese biscuits. They are amazeballs; more than enough to pull you over to the dark side.
This will also mark the first weekend that the Nooge is going to be left alone overnight. This cat can barely stand a second by himself without going mental so I don't know what we're going to return to.
Side note: I accidentally locked him in the bathroom for a few hours while I was running errands this afternoon. And after he wrecked the entire room, I've had to deal with this:
"Never leave again...never leave again!" He's been passed out ever since his unfortunate incarceration.
I fully expect a demolished house upon our return.
Nevertheless, upcoming mini vacation, yay! I hope to find many shark's teeth and also am praying for no rain.
And an Easter basket on Sunday morning. If not a basket, then at least some perfume. I'm just sayin'...time to make up for Valentine's Day, Rottenator.
Mostly because she is a born again Christian, and she consistently "likes" most of the inappropriate posts I ever post on Facebook ever. She even comments on them.
Cases in point:
This is just a small sampling; now here is a sampling of Aunt B's daily posts:
It just kills me that she can be so religious, yet so accepting of her family, no matter what. I think it must come with age, and quite frankly, facing your own mortality. See, Aunt Bettie has the "C", the "cancer", and she's currently going through chemo, and, I'm sure, looking at her past and thinking: "Life's too short, man."
I flirt with that philosophy myself. I had my own near-death experience about two years ago (even though I didn't realize it at the time), and find that I am more accepting of other people, much less judgemental than I used to be (although I still have my moments, believe me). You just appreciate people who you find are loyal and loving, and you start to see more of the good in them more than their flaws. Even though you may not have the same beliefs, agree with their life decisions, share their interests, you still love them. Because they love you.
And if they recognize your greatness, they can't be all bad, can they?
And check out this accent; this is the true south, I love it!
Which brings me to my Mood Ring(tone) of the Day (because the Rottenator has been extra sweet since my recent mental meltdown about work)...and believe it or not, he is one of the most accepting and least judgemental people I have ever met...if he loves you, that is...
So, I still haven't gotten my nails did, but I did manage to clean my bathroom somewhat, so minor success on the not-being-lazy front.
So work, yes, well, today wasn't a bad day, but still I feel like it's killing my soul a little bit more every day. I really wasn't meant for this line of work. Sensitive people with low self confidence who take everything personally have no business being in a call center environment where they are trying to help people with a subject that they know little to nothing about.
Oh, and the politics. As my friend Meryl likes to say, "I've never been good at drinking the company kool-aid" and I am right there with her. My department is currently going through a restructuring that is not to my liking, full of more responsibilities with the same pay, and I find that it is not in line with my "do the bare minimum" philosophy of just picking up my paycheck every other Friday and sliding beneath the radar.
Here is the scary part of this job: even though I manage to do well on a daily basis, there is that fucking test they make you take which they use to decide whether you are worthy to continue to be employed at this corporation.
The girl who sits in the cube next to me: well she just failed it. And she's been in payroll for two years. And she has her CPA. And she finished the test early and actually felt pretty confident about it. Oh, and works part time at H&R Block preparing people's taxes.
My turn is probably coming up in May. It's funny in a way; I still am not overly worried about it. I have a feeling I may do fairly well, but you never can tell. I just think it's bullshit that it doesn't matter whether or not you are good at your job on a daily basis, this company judges you on your score of a single test comprising of 50 questions on a single day of whether or not you'd be a good "fit".
On the plus side, they give you three fucking chances to pass. And, even though this girl has more experience and probably better training than I have had, I have heard her ask questions that I know the answer to off the top of my head. So that makes me more confident.
I just wish that part of this thing was over already. Even though I bitch and moan about this job, don't get me wrong: I am eternally grateful for being gainfully employed in today's economy and I feel very blessed to have been given a second chance.
So here's to passing tests...and a bit of self-confidence...and realizing that you may actually be good at something you never thought you'd excel at.
And once again, I am inspired to present to you my two (!!!) Mood Ring(tones) of the Day:
And this one, a personal fave. This actually reminds me of my Dad,who loved this musical which is kind of amusing when you actually pay attention to what they're saying and the fact that he was a devout Catholic.
So after days of watching people around me call in sick and striving to be the better person, the trend bucker, as it were, I succumbed...and now I'm home "sick" myself.
Which has caused me stress. You see, my goal at my new job is to be the ideal employee, or at the very least, be the sort of employee that passes right underneath the radar and gets left alone. Or, ideally, forgotten.
Because this has become my life:
And also because the Rottenator woke me up at 3am to discuss finances because due to a slight miscalculation on his part, we are in the red again.
So after transferring all of his fear and frustration and guilt onto me, he is peacefully sleeping and I am wide awake and slightly panicked. We will be fine, surely, but once again things are tight.
Short month, purchasing a secondary car that needs repairs, yada yada yada, the perfect solution is to call out from work right?
Right. Because if it works in the movies, then surely this plan will be as successful in real life.
And instead of relaxing and enjoying this much needed break from payroll, I will spend the entire day afraid of losing my job and getting into trouble. Because at heart, I am more a Cameron than a Ferris.
But I'm just tired, yo...and sometimes it's hard to stay motivated.
It's not easy being perfect. Believe me, I know from first hand experience. It's hard work.
It's also terribly frustrating carrying on this pretense of perfection. And lonely.
For many years, I strived to be perfect and that got me absolutely nowhere. It left me isolated, friendless, jobless and hopeless.
Because for many years I had a problem, an addiction you could say, that thankfully I managed to break myself of. Unfortunately, it was not my eating disorder. That is still a work in progress.
But the entire time I was suffering and weak, I was afraid to show it to anyone, even my family, which was truly devastating, because it almost cost me my very close relationship with my sister, that I value very deeply. And rightfully so, because I was a hot mess. I was so wrapped up in myself that I couldn't get past my own selfishness to see how my behavior was affecting others. Others who cared about me.
Luckily, my sister was the better person and hung with me long enough to see me to the other side. For which I am eternally grateful. Because she is my best friend, my bestie, my BFF. Probably the only other woman on the planet that I can get along with for an extended period of time, because honestly, women can be so catty and competitive and nice-nasty that they get on my last nerve.
But maybe that's just Southern women, I don't know. And for my female fans, I apologize. Maybe it's just me, maybe you have tons of fantastic girl friends, then good for you. I do not.
But I digress. What was I talking about? Oh, ME, that's right, my bad.
And my selfishness. I'm still selfish, very, but I'd like to think that I've grown out of that somewhat. I'm not the sort to inconvenience myself regularly for the sake of others, but if I like you, if I care about you, I'll put up with some of your imperfections. Oh, sure, I'll judge you silently, but I'll take the time to listen to your troubles, buy you a birthday cake, make you dinner, loan you a few bucks if I have it, wait with you when you've left the lights on in your car for someone who knows how to jump a battery to wander by (I'm looking at you, Meryl), but I'll generally take some time out for the common man. Occasionally grace you with my appearance to your social functions.
And although this may seem the bare minimum of human interaction, it's a far cry better than I used to be. When I lived by myself, I was a hobbit. I would spend every night, week or weekend, sat in my dank disgusting little house, watching television and numbing myself with a number of substances. I was a social leper. Self-inflicted.
Because I did have friends, I did have people who tried to get me out of my house to interact with them. I would always have a reason not to. Always have some fabulous other made-up plans, or a mysterious illness that kept me from joining them. I lost a lot of friends that way. My isolation from society worked perfectly. And it made me more depressed and alone and so began a vicious cycle that got to the point where my isolation was not so much self-inflicted. People stopped calling, people stopped inviting, and people stopped caring.
And I let them because I was afraid to admit that I was sick, that I had a problem, that I was not perfect. All they saw was a selfish bitch who obviously did not give two shits about them so why should they give two shits about me.
Touche. Their hatred was well warranted. Because they didn't know the truth, because I didn't let them. Because I grew up thinking that the most important thing was to appear normal and perfect and anything less was a sign of weakness.
But here's the thing, and I hate the fact that it took me to 40 to realize it: appearing perfect ain't all it's cracked up to be. In fact, generally speaking, people don't like people who appear to be perfect. Because we are all, when it comes down to it, hot messes. And there is so much freedom in finally being able to admit that. And by not appearing to be perfect it's amazing how much you find that you can relate to other people. And life is substantially less stressful. And lonely.
My Mood Ring(tone) of the Day:
(I've finally perfected a Britpop station on Pandora!)
For a long time I thought it was me, I was the black sheep of the family, the problem child. But no, oh good God no, I finally realized that every one of my characteristics and my troublesome nature are derived from somewhere in this branched and crooked family tree.
Number one would be my food issues. I'm sure I've mentioned my relationship with food before. As in, it's mine, all mine, not yours, there is no edible scrap of food anywhere on this planet that does not belong to me. I don't care if you bought it, you cooked it, you cared for it and cleaned it, it's mine. Even if I don't want it. I may develop a taste for it someday and therefore, you cannot have any, because it may never be replaced, and then I will starve to death.
In like...50 years, because I'm pretty sure I've stored up enough fat that my body can subsist on its own for that long by devouring itself.
But hey guess what, I'm not the only one who has this til death do us part relationship with food. So does my sister.
We discussed it ad nauseum this weekend at her house during my niece's birthday party:
That, btw, is the one and only picture I managed to get of this child because much like her Aunt, she doesn't like her picture taken because she's afraid it may steal her soul. That, and she doesn't appear on film. This was a miracle Hail Mary shot.
So, where as all of the food on the planet belongs to me, my sister's thing is that she's desperately afraid that the planet's food supply is going to run out and it's never going to be replaced so she will never be able to eat again and starve to death. This is actually a realistic fear because being that the food is mine and I seem to be eating everything in sight, a world-wide famine is highly probable.
It's always amazed me that some people view food as merely the fuel by which we need in order to survive. It doesn't matter if it tastes good, they have no particular favorites, they just eat what they need to and move on. Even crazier are those people who forget to eat. How can you "forget" to eat? Like, didn't your stomach growling, or the fact that you're feeling weak or fainty clue you in to the fact that you may have missed a step. Like, sleeping, peeing, pooping, blinking, or, breathing? It makes no damn sense.
I've always had food issues. I don't know if this was a turning point for me or just another phase in my food obsession, but I distinctly remember connecting food with my father. We would have long, drawn out family meals that lasted for hours, long enough that you'd finished eating one meal and were hungry again for another one. It was where I developed my love of food, connecting it with family, and good conversation, and togetherness. That's also where I learned to eat slowly, so slowly that when I watch the Rottenator devour an entire chicken in 0.02 seconds, I am equally fascinated and horrified. Our meals are nothing like that. He's seriously done in, 10 minutes, tops, and I am struggling to keep up with him which usually ends up with me puking in a bathroom because I've eaten too much too fast and I'm totally stressed that my stomach is in a knot knowing that meal time is almost over and I may never get to eat again.
I finally understand my sister.
Going back to my father, I also remember when he got sick with cancer. The extent of his illness was hidden from me for a long time, I was maybe 12, so I didn't understand how serious it was. He was dying of cancer, but I remember my grandparents (my mom's parents) buying him Ensure because he was getting soooo skinny and losing so much weight he was getting gaunt and weak and they were trying anything to get him to keep his strength up. And I remember thinking to myself, "if only he would eat, if only he gained weight, then he wouldn't be so sick and he'd get better".
Food saves all. So maybe that's why I'm fat. Maybe it doesn't have anything to do with my love of ice cream and cheese at all. I'm just sayin'.
Another issue I have is OCD. And it's getting worse the older I get. This I get from my maternal grandmother. Yes, the older I get, I am not, in fact, turning into my mother. I'm turning into my grandmother, thereby completely bypassing middle age and hurdling straight down the tunnel of death towards the light with breakneck speed.
I remember my grandmother driving me bat fucking shit crazy when she got older because when she got something on her mind, it had to be taken care of now, not later, now. Like, stop what you're doing right this very second and handle this thing now. I don't care if you're in mid-stream, or driving, or solving the budget crisis, if you don't change this light bulb right now, the world is going to end, Rottenator. I mean, Buster (my grandfather).
Because I'm nothing like that at all. And neither is my mother who recently called me while I was getting ready for work in a panic because she couldn't figure out her direct TV remote and Judge Judy was coming on...in six hours.
I'm just sayin'. These issues run deep. And the good news is, I don't have to beat myself up for my bad habits anymore. It's hereditary.
And what exactly does this have to do with my trip to Orlando to Universal Studios in September to see Harry Potter? Not a damn thing, so it's not worth mentioning.
That's pretty much how I'm going to see every conversation for the next 8 months: "And what exactly does this have to do with my trip to see The Wizarding World of Harry Potter? Nothing? Then why are we still discussing it".
Christmas was nice but over too soon. I did manage to make it to my sister's for a very brief visit but it was awesome waking up and seeing the kids all get their Christmas gifts.
Of which there were many; you can read about that here and see a god awful pic of me as well. I am beginning to think that my sister is passively-aggressively taking out latent hostility towards me which is left over from my supposed torturing of her in our earlier days. Either that, or she's just not a very good picture taker. But I love her anyway ;-)
Work is still exhausting. The Rottenator asked how I could be so exhausted from just sitting and talking on the phone all day and it's kinda hard to explain how mentally draining this job is to someone who doesn't understand it. Hell, I don't understand what I'm doing half of the time...which adds to the exhaustion. The best way to explain my job is to imagine sitting for 8 hours a day doing math problems. Word math problems. When you're not good at math.
Pretty much sums it up.
So, 2013 is upon us. And I know, everyone says, "Oh, I'm not going to make resolutions; it's so stupid and predictable and everyone makes resolutions, so I'm going to be different and contrary and not make any." Well, to those people, I say "fuck off, loser, stop trying to be contrary and different because now the fad is to NOT make resolutions so you're still a poser who's just trying to be different for the sake of being different."
So I'm making them. Because I'm edgy and cool. I saw this on Facebook the other day and because I was having a particularly bad one where I doubted everything and was hating my life and questioning my existence on this planet and my purpose in life, I reposted it.
And though it may be cheesy and sentimental, I still feel that way. It's the most difficult resolution of all, however, isn't it?
So, onto other ones, some more or less difficult, some more or less realistic and serious.
In no particular order:
I'm still kinda serious about the 365 milkshakes taste-test in 365 days. Perhaps it will lead to a book deal and not the life-threatening diabetes which is probably the more realistic outcome.
Lose (not loose, grammatical idiots) 40 lbs which is in direct conflict with the resolution above. Also, eat healthier so I feel better and not sickly and tired all the time.
Doctors appointments: mammogram, physical, gynecologist, dentist, top to bottom check out. Bloodwork included.
Celebrate my birthday at The Wizarding World of Harry Potter at Universal Studios. I have not yet celebrated my fourth decade on earth as a monumental occasion, so I may as well make this the one.
Start writing again; even if that means nothing more than updating this blog more faithfully. It gives me a creative outlet and keeps my brain from stagnating.
So far, that's the list. I'm not going to go crazy with it, because then I'll look back on it as a insurmountable, unachievable list of "things I will never accomplish so fuck it all!" and not do a damn one of them, so let's keep it simple, stupid.
So, less of a list of resolutions and more of a touchstone of goals that I need to keep focused on. That works for me.
Mood Ring(tone) of the Day:
Sidebar: I know nothing of this band, or any of their other songs; I just know that Pandora played it on my station today and I must say: great job Pandora! Usually the songs they pick for me at random are totally like, WTF, seriously?!? How do you get Michael Buble from my stating that I like Oasis and Blur, but whatever...
This one was different, though. Very catchy. Foster the People. I'm afraid to research them for fear of ruining my enjoyment of this catchy little ditty.
Update: of course, I had to read up on the band. Good news: I'm still okay with them! Better news: I found a song I like that's only a couple of years old.
Kinda funny: they played this song on the Vampire Diaries. Which explains why I had visions of myself dancing around in my bra and underwear getting drunk with Damon Salvatore. And why I looked like Buffy Summers.
Ooooh, another update: I'm suddenly 16 years old just looking at these two together.
Another resolution: get really hot, be 20 years old, and have a devastatingly handsome and dangerous vampire boyfriend. Noted.
I have a lot to say and not a lot of energy to say it.
I am exhausted. From work, which has kicked into overdrive, and from my own explicable depression during one of my (normally) favorite times of the year.
Yes, I've seen the lights...pictures to follow...if I feel up to it...
And adored them. But God bless him, though the Rottenator has tried very hard to participate in my (admittedly) insane over-enjoyment of this holiday season, it's just not in him.
He doesn't get it. He doesn't get Christmas at all. It does not excite him, enthuse him, or bring him one iota of joy. At all. And this kills me. I just...don't...get it.
I mean, I understand it to a certain extent. He does not have the happy memories of Christmas and presents and family and presents and Santa and presents and trees and lights and presents that I have. His memories are unpleasant and heart breaking, and I'm not going to get into all of that here, but I did think that this year, a year that we're doing relatively well financially, one that he participated in at least one holiday family gathering, that he might just show a little more interest in all of the spectacle and pageantry.
But no. And I don't blame him, I can't blame him, but it doesn't stop me from wanting him to be a different person this time of year. One that can share in my joy of watching the Grinch, or laugh over Christmas vacation, or cry over the Little Drummer Boy.
The Rottenator is the Grinch. The Rottenator is Frank Cross.
By the way, Scrooged pretty much tops my list of favorite holiday movies.
Followed closely by this one; it's a pretty long scene, but go ahead and fast forward to about
1:45 into it. Oh, it's the best line ever.
Sorry, where was I? Oh yes, my holiday depression over my job and the Rottenator's lack of Christmas cheer. Eh, screw it. I just cheered myself up a bit by watching the clips above so I'm going to quit moaning and bitching and just randomly list some things that are going on with me right now.
My job doesn't quite suck but it is mentally draining. And I'm angry and bitter over the fact that we're working mandatory overtime, we are not getting the free lunches that were promised (unless you count a mini-snickers and a single serving bag of Doritos lunch) and the Rottenator (the boy who hated Christmas) is getting two weeks off from his job. Life isn't fucking fair.
The Nooge systematically destroyed all of my Christmas decorations and the Rottenator wouldn't help me hang lights so I ripped down everything, threw the crumpled fake tree into our spare bedroom and dramatically proclaimed this domicile as the "House that Santa Forgot!"
I picked out my own Christmas present today. I bought myself a lovely 10 piece set of Better Homes and Gardens pots and pans. I was very generous with myself, and really, I am the best gift giver ever.
I discovered that using a brush to apply foundation is AMAZING and I am both angry and amazed I have never tried this before.
I bought myself new makeup brushes and foundation for Christmas. Do go on, Kathleen, you are far too generous and kind for words.
I am wrapping everyone's gifts in left-over birthday wrapping paper. They shall look crappy and not at all festive. Hell, even if they were wrapped in swaddling clothes like baby Jebus they would still look craptacular. I am not a good present wrapper. It's the thought and the gift inside of the box that counts.
I have an amazing idea for a new book, as well as a New Year's Resolution I will surely keep. The title is tentatively called "365 Milkshakes in 365 Days". I will begin on 01/01/13 and will do a taste test of a different flavor of a milkshake from various establishments and review them all. This will also set me up for my 2014 New Year's Resolution tentatively called "My Milkshake No Longer Brings All the Boys to the Yard or How I lost 365 pounds in 365 days".
So, Thanksgiving has come and gone, and I have to say...it went better than expected.
Not that the Rottenator wasn't horrible. Lemme tell you, that one was trying to get out of going to my fam's house until the very second we were in the driveway and he was pouting: "You don't care, you don't care, I don't want to do this and you just don't care!"
Well, it's too late now, buddy, get out of the fucking car.
And though he would never admit it, he actually had (dare I say it) a good time. At least a good time for him.
But the weeks leading up to it, his impending doom, were god awful. He was like a petulant child, a loud bully, and a grumpy old man all balled into one.
I really wasn't sure if our relationship was going to handle it. He did not understand how important him meeting my family was to me, and I had no idea of the sheer panic and terror coursing through his veins at the very thought of spending the day with a "bunch of strangers".
He honestly almost had a heart attack. I have been known to suffer from a bit of social anxiety myself, but never had I witnessed someone about to have a full blown panic attack over the thought of, in my eyes, hanging out with people who are basically going to be a part of our lives for a long, long time.
Sickly green, clammy, sweaty, riding in silence, I was beginning to wonder if it was really worth it. But I also knew that once he got there, it would be fine. It would be good for him, and it was completely necessary if we were going to be together.
Melodramatic on both of our parts, I know.
But it was such a good time. My sister and brother in law were the perfect hosts, and by the time the day was ending, there was smack talk about upcoming football games (thank God everyone's teams won), and the Rottenator was helping himself to food and walking around, and my niece, the 6 year old flirt, was flinging stuffed animals in his direction.
All signs of a successful gathering. And the best part? I didn't have to suffer any consequences! In fact, I was told that even though it certainly wasn't going to be an every weekend kind of a thing, the Rottenator wouldn't be completely opposed to attending such an event again! And no, I do not have any photographic evidence to prove that this momentous event actually happened, because I didn't want to push my luck, so you'll have to just take my word for it.
Needless to say, I am thrilled. I can't promise a Christmas reunion this year, but the possibilities are endless.
Speaking of Christmas, what the fuck is this?
Sacrilegious, that's what it is.
Also speaking of Christmas, because of this:
We will not be having a tree this year. Bummer. I love a Christmas tree, but I also don't want to spend every second of every day keeping a certain someone from knocking it over or climbing up it. So, plans are in the works to have a tree outside on our side porch.
In the meantime, I've got this on our front door:
And I've decorated every inch of our house with lights. I took most of these pics in the dark, because the lights are so much glowier that way (except the first one, obvs...)
And now...to the worst part of the holiday season.
We ventured forth to the 9th circle of hell (aka Walmart) to witness the spectacle of Black Friday because the Rottenator had never witnessed it before. As he watched with open-mouthed shock at the dregs of humanity that knocked each other over for $5 video games, I stood out of harms way and took horrified pictures.
This is the exact opposite of what I think the holiday season should be about.
See, I love Christmas. The Rottenator does not understand this because he does not have happy memories of Christmas. To me, Christmas is not just about giving gifts, or getting great bargains, or Santa, or Jesus, or the lack thereof.
I still hold onto the belief that Christmas is the time that we, as people, (in general), treat each other as we should treat each other every other day of the year. Yes, I have worked retail during the holidays, and, yes I have been yelled at or cursed out because we didn't have the newest or hottest toy in stock at rock bottom prices for parents consumed with the obsession of fulfilling their little spoiled brat's every superficial dream.
But still I manage to hold onto the feeling that at Christmas: everything is beautiful and sparkly, and magical, and if it makes just one more person treat another a little better than they normally would on an average day, then it's worth it to celebrate. No matter what religion you follow...or don't follow.
Cheesy? Probably. Sappy and sentimental, absolutely. And I don't care.
I mean, seriously, watch this video and tell me you don't feel a little bit happier today.
Two more days of work this week and then I'm off for a lovely Thanksgiving holiday. I'm really looking forward to it this year, possibly more so than Christmas even. This probably has something to do with the fact that since my change of career, I won't get much time off for Christmas this year. And by much, I mean barely any other than Christmas day.
However, I was lucky enough to score the Friday after Turkey Day off so not only am I looking forward to an extended weekend off, this year marks the first time that this guy...
will meet these people...
Needless to say, I am uber excited. The Rottenator is less enthused. I believe his comment was, and I quote, "I'd rather poke my eyes out with a dull butterknife."
He is not a social person. Sociopath, maybe. Sociable, no. But it's high time he meet the fam. I mean, it's pretty obvious he's not going anywhere any time soon and I am very close to my family, so he just needs to suck it up.
Besides, he's gonna be watching a day of college football with a fellow SEC enthusiast who has testicles, so that's gotta be fun, right? Even though their two teams may just be playing each other for the championship game, but thank God, that's not until December, so that definitely lessens the possibility of smack talk that gets deadly serious. And luckily we don't own guns. And the alcohol supply will be limited.
And there will be food. Oh, yes, there will be.
Turkey
Ham
Mac and cheese
Mashed potatoes
Green bean casserole
Stuffing (or dressing, as the rednecks like to call it)
Cranberry Sauce
Cheesecake
Artichoke Dip
Little smokies in bbq sauce
And though the turkey may not be stuffed, I sure as hell will be.
I just hope it doesn't turn out like this.
But if it turned out like this, that would be pretty awesome.
My Mood Ring(tone) of the Day...
PS: the only version I could find of this was in Italian but if you've seen this movie as many times as I have, you'll know the English by heart.
And no, for once, I am not talking about my monthly "troubles", I'm talking about my jinx...which I guess could also be considered my monthlies, but I digress.
I am not a sports player, nor necessarily an all-around sports fan. In fact, I didn't really learn to appreciate college football until about three years ago, when the Rottenator barged into my life.
However, I have been known to follow a sports figure or team now or again. Jim Courier comes prominently to mind. Have you ever heard of him? He's a tennis player, he won a few Opens, probably could have won a grand slam, all four Opens in the same year, but he never did. Know why? Because I became a fan. He retired soon after. A loser.
The list is long of the teams, actors, actresses, athletes, bands, all who have ended up losing that cherished trophy or broken up because I suddenly developed an interest in them.
I'm pretty sure I single-handedly brought down the entire genre of Brit Pop. You're either welcome, or I'm sorry. Whichever fits.
So this brings me to this weekend. Normally, I am an Alabama fan. Luckily, they seem immune to my curse so far but I think that's mostly due to the Rottenator and his undying life-long love for them. His powers far outreach my own when it comes to things like that. He is the Yoda to my Obi-Wan. Thank God. Because they are looking unstoppable so far this year...knock on wood. For the love of God.
The Gamecocks...not so much.
I attended my first college football game yesterday, at my sister's alma mater, the University of South Carolina. The Gamecocks. They have been having a really good season this year, with the exception of the past two weeks where they lost a nail-biter to LSU, and a smackdown by Florida. But, this weekend, they were playing at home, against the Tennessee Volunteers, and it was pretty much a given that they were going to win.
Which they did...barely...but not without a great deal of damage.
This is Marcus Lattimore.
He is an amazingly talented running back for Carolina. He practically wins most of their games for them by himself.
This is Marcus Lattimore yesterday, during the game that I attended.
Yeah...so...sorry? I'm not saying that I'm bad luck or anything but I'm freakin' bad luck! Well, I can at least take solace in the fact that I'm not the WORST luck, because if that were the case, then I would have taken out Jadaveon Clowney too and the entire season would have been a wash, but as it is, Tennessee has far worse luck than even I can conflict on a team, so they ended up fumbling in the last few minutes of the game, and Carolina ended up winning.
Though I do have a fondness for Tennessee's coach, Derek Dooley. And losing that game yesterday probably cost him his job.
Oh God.
That being said, the Rottenator and I had a really good time. And here are the pics to prove it! And no, it didn't rain. Yet as cloudy as it was, I ended up with a sunburn. Yes, I am the palest girl on the planet. However, now, I am a bonafide redneck.
The Rottenator...and a handsome young man in an Atari shirt
