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:
It's kind of weird when you are a woman and you realize that you are not necessarily equipt with those natural instincts to procreate and mother young offspring; in fact, you realize that you are more like a panda mom, or an elephant mom who tries to stomp your children to death in order to avoid taking care of them.
My sister is amazemballs and I love her children to death, and when I am privileged to observe what she has to deal with on a daily basis...I am completely in awe.
I don't know where the mominator instinct bypassed me, but it did. Hell, I can barely deal with a moody cat, but I visit my sister and watch her handle three headstrong (albeit hilariously intelligent) children with utmost patience and understanding, and I am completely impressed.
She is patiently answering questions about the same subject over and over again, and tending tantrums and minor injuries with seemingly effortlessness while I am in the background arguing with my nearly 8 year old niece about how she's going to ruin my one umbrella, my ONE umbrella, and you have it on the grass, and now it's half damaged, and I don't care if your birthday is two weeks after mine, it's my birthday this weekend, and give me my umbrella and stop breaking stuff already!
God, you would think I was an only child, and I know that you are already thinking the same thing: thank GOD she has not procreated.
I am an awesome aunt, however. I'll give myself that. There is nothing better than little kids that just love you for you and are so excited to see you when you come to visit. And I will volunteer to babysit them anytime, anywhere, because we always have hilarious adventures together.
And I will always make sure that I'm the one that they can call when they need bail money. All I ask for is a group hug at the end of it like the one I got this weekend.
My sister made sure I had an awesome birthday, full of Crimson Tide and Hello Kitty and pickle dip and pee wee football (those parents are kray kray!) and it was exactly what I needed. Turning 24 (ahem) has never felt so awesome.
Especially the purple Hello Kitty purse...don't hate.
Rottenator: I can't believe you're missing the first day of football because of a stupid convention.
Me: It's not a stupid convention; it's DragonCon; it's a chance for me to reconnect with my peeps and indulge my inner geek.
Rottenator: I can't believe (bro-in-law) is going; he's going to miss his first game of the season too. Against Clemson...pretty important.
Me: He's not missing it; he's ditching us for the night so he can watch his game.
Rottenator: Don't blame him; probably he wouldn't be going at all if (nephew) didn't want to go; otherwise, he'd let you two nerds (me, and sis) fend for yourselves.
So, a week from today, I will be amongst my peeps, for it is the weekend of DragonCon, and I am so looking forward to it (even though it means I will miss the opening game of college football, Alabama vs VA Tech, we have that shit handled, so don't give me a guilt trip about not watching it with you, Rottenator, Roll Tide..etc).
And here's the question, which I ask of all Dr. Who fans: how do you get past it? That your favorite actor has been replaced? Oh, don't get me wrong, the concept as far as network television goes, it's brilliant. You can replace a lead actor at any time if they get out of line, or are feeling ornery, or wanting to bounce, or whatever, you just boom! Regenerate and then you're on to the next one.
But for the fans...devastating. Let me explain: David Tennant is my favorite Dr. Who, but when Christopher Eccelston regenerated into him....
A part of me died. Just saying.
Though it wasn't as devastating as this:
Moving on, I've combined two posts into one because they do seem to connect somehow and have the same meaning, and are funnily enough, all Dr. Who related...did I mention that I'm looking forward to next weekend? Not only do I get to hang out with my sis and favorite nephew, but we all get to embrace our inner geek, yay!
So, work crap:
What you may see in front of you is a mild-mannered nearly 42 year
old who doesn't speak much....inserts her opinion every once in a while
when a comment is deserved, but other than that, sits quietly at her
desk doing her job. But inside....sometimes....she still
rages....raging on against the dying of the light.
Funnily enough, Stephen Colbert inspired this part of the post.
And
it was also spurred on by everyone in my team talking about past
indiscretions, and my need to feel a part of the group and join in the
conversation, because it's funny, these people don't know me like that.
Their perception: middle aged woman who doesn't know shit about what the issues that the "young kids" are dealing with nowadays.
Side
note and mental check: most of my team are in their late 20's, and/or
early 30's so you're not exactly children. You're not in college anymore
people, and you're not that different from me, sorry to break it to
you.
BTW: think I
passed the second part of my "hey, you're gonna get fired if you don't
know the answers to these questions that have absolutely nothing to do
with your job." I'm in the payroll industry, btw...I hate
math, and I was a journalism major in college. Life is a helluva thing.
For someone who racked up thousands of dollars of debt...to have a job
in payroll...without getting into details, check your paystubs, people.
And check them carefully...oh, and pay your taxes. Because if you
don't it will come back to bite you in the ass with a vengeance.
My outfit for DragonCon:
With this button:
My sister's outfit:
She is either awsesomesauce or a heifer for showing everyone else out...I haven't decided yet...
So, finally got my lab results back from the gyno appointment I had last Monday. Good news: blood work came back fine; thyroid, cholesterol, blood sugar, blah blah blah, all awesomesauce. However, there seemed to be some concern with my pap smear:
The first words out of the nurse's mouth: "Now, I want you to put all thoughts of cancer out of your head."
Me: "Oh my fucking god, I have cancer."
She assured me that this was more common than one would think; in fact, she's already called three other patients and given them the same news. Which only means to me: "Great...we are the three out of five that have cervical cancer."
So, I'm due back in on the 16th for a colposcopy (not to be confused with colonoscopy but near about in the same nether regions), and I'm actually okay with this; much better mine frame than one would think because, hey, cancer: it's old news in my family. Meaning, it runs rampant throughout my relatives both here and in the beyond, so I feel more than prepared to handle any news they give me after the results. Even though it did concern me a little when I told the nurse I would "see if I could get off from work" on the 16th and she said: "Um...yeah...see what you can do about that."
Hmm...okay...well, done then.
Nothing else to report except that I started watching Homeland and it's SOOO good! I forgot how much I loved Damian Lewis. The show is brilliant; good summer watching since there's fuck all else on except for Top Chef Masters.
Meanwhile, I'm still planning on going to Dragoncon with my sis and fam, and she has ordered a dress from Lameasaurus on Etsy.
The dress she ordered was this one:
How absolutely adorable is this? Now to decide...to dress up or not...
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.
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.
The Rottenator does love his stew. And I welcomed the opportunity to cook something other than Hamburger Helper or Beans and Rice so today's meal of Beef Stew was a happy change of pace.
Behold...
My apologies to Riot Kitty; this one ain't for you ;-)
What you'll need:
2 lbs of stew meat
1 lb red potatoes, cubed, skins on
2 celery hearts, roughly chopped
1 large sweet onion, roughly chopped
1 pt cherry tomatoes, sliced
1 pkg baby carrots, pre-washed and peeled
1 envelope Lipton's Onion Soup mix
1 can cream of mushroom and roasted garlic soup
2 T. flour
2 T. olive oil
1/4 c. Worcestershire sauce
1/4 c. Dale's steak sauce
Seasonings to taste (I'm not giving measurements, because we are a family that loves salt, but really between the soup mix, sauces, and soup you really don't need anymore...but you can't be Southern and not add some Lawry's...)
salt
pepper
garlic powder
non-stick cooking spray (like Pam)
Heat 2 T. olive oil in a pan; sprinkle flour, Lawry's seasoned salt, pepper, and garlic powder over stew meat and toss to coat.
Lightly brown stew meat in pan for seriously, 2-3 min, just enough to seal in those delicious juices.
Spray crockpot with non-stick cooking spray, and throw that stew beef in there.
Chop veggies and throw them all in a big tupperware bowl, lightly salt and pepper and stir to mix them all up. Or pop a top on that bowl and turn it upside down and shake until they're all mixed up and pretty.
In another bowl, pour in worchestershire sauce and Dale's; add soup mix and whisk together. Next, add can of soup, whisk some more until it's smooth.
Throw half of the veggies into the crockpot on top of the stew meat. Add half of your soupy mixture.
Throw the remaining half of veggies into the crockpot, and the rest of the soup sludge.
Top on top of crockpot, cook 6-8 hours, depending on your crockpot. This is my first time trying out my sister's hand-me-down crockpot and she says it's a fast-cooking one, so I'm going for six. It actually took about 8 hours for the potatoes and carrots to get completely done...
Now, a lot of people love crockpots because you can just leave it. I like to check on it every two hours and give it another stir, but that's me. And that's why this meal is best made on a weekend.
Back to work tomorrow, blech! But it's a paycheck that brings me that much closer to The Wizarding World of Harry Potter so I will endure...
My Mood Ring(tone) Of The Day...and this one is dedicated to Riot Kitty because she recently reminded me of one of my favorite movies, and what it is like to grow old gracefully and fabulously.
We always debated over where Victoria got her spectacular blue eyes from, and that unique impish expression, and finally have photographic proof.
Genetics are a hell of a thing. I miss my dad; it's been nearly 20 years since he passed away of "the cancer" (always said in a whisper) and I still think about him constantly. How things would be different. And how he would love his grandchildren, especially that little supastah up there.
My nephew turned 11 years old yesterday, and my mom and I travelled to my sister's house to celebrate this momentous occasion.
This is the birthday boy:
Yet I remember him when he was like this:
And even younger. Man, I'm old.
This kid is awesome, btw. All of my sister's kids are. Thank God she had some to carry on the family line because I sure as hell wasn't going to.
I can barely handle a Nooge and a Rottenator.
Such is life.
My sister, btw, is a cupcake genius. Check out these badboys:
And they were delish. The Rottenator and I are on a budget to save up for a second car so currently I am no longer concocting delicious dishes (unless you count Hamburger Helper or Beans and Rice as delish, and why would you) so I am living vicariously through the sis's creativity.
And am massively impressed.
Meanwhile, it's St. Paddy's (not Patty's) Day and to honor my forefathers, here are my Mood Ring(tones) Of The Day: (and oh yes, there are more than a few...)
Sometimes I forget my own philosophy. It's the Virgo in me, I guess. What the above does not say, however, is that sometimes, you have to take a breath, pull up your big girl britches, grab a faithful companion, and get shit done!
So the money situation is somewhat resolved. It involved me taking a day off from work, and driving up to our state's capital with a purpose: I needs my merney!
The IRS: could not get my agent on the phone; bank would not release my money, IRS didn't send over the right release form, back and forth, each blaming the other, I would call it phone tag with the exception being I was the only one making the calls, so bottom line, I hunted that bitch down and showed up in person with one evil looking boy from Alabama and refused to leave until I got paid!
And was home by 11am. And had my money returned that same day. Funny how even in the age of new technology, with smart phones, texts, emails, faxing, sometimes the old fashioned approach works the best.
Show up in person with folder in hand and take no shit attitude.
Still, we are out $300 in bank overdraft fees, but we got the big chunk back. Which is significantly better than nothing.
The worst part of it was (other than the returned check from my garbage pickup which was my final straw) was the fact that it wasn't just my money that was affected.
The Rottenator and I have a joint account, so not only was my paycheck hijacked, so was his. His hard-earned paycheck from a job he can't stand (which he is soon out of) was eaten up by means of a direct deposit and overdraft fees.
I felt guilty beyond belief; he, however, handled it wonderfully. Even though this was MY mistake, made long before the two of us even met, he saw it as OUR problem, OUR money, OUR hurdle to get past.
And I love him all the more for that. Maybe this was a lesson, that I was taking him, and our recently more comfortable life for granted by claiming I was bored, I don't know. Of course, my boredom could have also been cured by suddenly inheriting a million bucks, but this worked, too.
A heightened appreciation of the Rottenator, and an appreciation of my "boring" and drama free life. Lesson learned. And I realized, that once again, I do have a support system, people that love me, people that are willing to help out no matter what, and I am infinitely blessed. PS: thanks Mom. You know what for. I am, as always, grateful. And I promise that one day, you will not have to step in and bail out your 40 year old daughter.
Though I'll always be your favorite, right? ;-)
So, things are better, not completely perfect, but close enough for me to be able to relax for a minute and appreciate. I've also reached out to a very close friend that I knew over college and through my own selfishness, let the relationship flounder and die. And they responded favorably, as they always have when I have failed them in the past.
It makes me want to be a better person, and to appreciate people more. And be more accepting of what I perceive of as "flaws" and "shortcomings" in others.
Because I am far from perfect, and yet seem to be the first one to cast a stone. Empathy, it is MY major shortcoming, because I seem to have very little of it for others, yet demand tons of it for myself.
But I'm learning, and I'm working on it.
Oh, and Happy Valentine's Day! My sister sent me this:
which was amazingly awesome; have I mentioned that you must be watching the Vampire Diaries? It is the one hour a week that I can escape the pressures of adulthood and forget myself in teenage drama, and I love it for that.
And the Rottenator and I enjoyed a lovely dinner out; we celebrated early because he's working tomorrow night, but that's okay. At least the IRS couldn't manage to ruin that.
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.
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.
