Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Christmas Is Over

Turned on the radio this morning and the first song on was not a Christmas carol:  

DELTA DAWN!!!!!!!!!!!!!  That is an omen to get my Lucille-karaoke voice back in shape.  And my mood can swing back to unfiltered heartless Bi+ch instead of caring giving loving sentimental crying-jag WTP.

NOW I can tell you what happened in the UPS place.  We went to ship gifts to everyone that we weren't supposed to buy gifts for (Rule #1: There are no rules for me), and there were 2 lines.  I got in the first line - why?  Because it was shorter (stupid stupid silly naive me - if the laws of lines at Walmart have taught me nothing, it should at least be that you NEVER get in the shortest line because there will be price checks and coupons and change shortages - I digress), I got into the short line and began to figure out that the girl in front of me with her unboxed stack of gifts, arranged on the counter in front of her as a towering monument to capitalism, has no box to ship in and did not check the website to see which shipping method would be fastest/cheapest.  The fool jerk idiot  a$$hole in a cowboy hat with a Santa hat on top of it - and thought he looked cute, but really he just looked like a moron - who was waiting on her. Anyway CowboyA$$hole is A) going to charge her $7 for a box B) going to charge her $4 more dollars for packing materials and C) tells her that ground service won't get to point X in-state by Christmas, so she better send it air service, which was $60 or $70 something dollars!!!!!!!!!! I KNEW this was crap because I had checked the website and my package was going to make it to Florida to Trainwreck by 7 pm on Christmas Eve.  And I bit my tongue.  HARD- just in case Santa was watching.  Because I figured my odds of making the "Nice List"  were getting slimmer and that it would not behoove me to suddenly burst into accusatory fits of screaming "LIAR!"  at CowboyA$$hole. 

Then I told MyPoolBoy that I was going to call the FedEx place and I would be in the truck.  I went and called information and the little guy at information said that he didn't have a listing for them, I told him that I thought it was under a name with Mail in it and it was on the highway.  He came back with the name and also offered that there was a UPS store in our town also.  I sweetly as h3ll tried to reply that I was at the UPS store and they were pissing me off, so I was trying to get the FedEx place on the phone before the words "in custody" became attached to my name in the local news paper.  He laughed and said, "I'm sorry."  I laughed and told him, "It's not your fault that the guy at UPS is an idiot, hun."  He laughed again and said, "I'm gonna connect you to the mail place - try to have a merry Christmas, ma'am." 

Now, I get ahold of the mail place, and because I live in Mullet County, there is no ground service available in our area.  Crap.  Of course.  So I was stuck with UPS.  I went back in and MyPoolBoy nudges me over to the line that had formed at the back of the store where a very sweet lady was waiting on customers.  YEA!!!!!!!!! Santa brought me a non-moron to wait on me for Christmas!  She weighs our box and smiles and says, "Wow!  This is saying that it will get there by 7 pm on Christmas Eve!"  And I, in my best LOUD no-shi+-Sherlock voice, reply, "Oh, I know.  That's what y'all's website said last night when I checked." and I shot a mega-bi+ch death glare at CowboyA$$hole.   CowboyA$$hole suddenly felt the need to trade spots with the guy who had been working in the back part of the store. 

Yep, holidays are over.  Peace and goodwill - OOOOOHHH Goodwill - let's go thrift store shopping!!!! 

ADHD and PMSly yours,

Thursday, December 24, 2009

You Know What?

White trash knows no cultural boundaries. "You are on the STUPID 100% of the time."  Dirty laundry aired on-air:


Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Hormones and Holidays Don't Mix

Please refer to rule #8 of "My 12 Rules of Christmas" post.   Yesterday was fruitcake-baking day. So I was already a bit of an emotional mess.  Thank goodness for waterproof mascara.  And then this happened: 

I went to Bealls to get cologne for Trainwreck. While standing in line, a guy comes through with a sales girl and he's dragging a suitcase and carrying a bouquet of flowers. He had a buzz haircut, and even though he was in civvies, I figured he was military. He and the sales girl were looking through the sale jewelry and she was scratching off some savings coupons trying to find one that was more than 20% off that he had. She got one and handed it to him and they go back to searching with another sales girl. They looked at necklaces and rings and finally I caught on that they were looking to find something that could be combined with the discount (that he was not supposed to use for sale items, but they didn't care) to meet his budget.

He told them he had spent everything on a plane ticket from South Carolina to surprise his  girlfriend, and he just wanted a little something for under the tree. I couldn't stand it any longer. I got out of line and went over and tapped him on the shoulder and asked him if he was military.

He said, "Yes, ma'am."  I told him I was sorry for eavesdropping, but my son was in the Air Force and I was actually  buying his present right now - and I asked if he minded if I helped him out.

"Oh, no ma'am it's ok," he said... I interrupted him and told him that he wasn't going to be home for Christmas this year, and I would just like to think that someone would help out my son while he was away. So, he went and picked what he wanted, and we got in line together and talked a bit.

Then we got to the cashier, who had heard the whole thing, and it was a lady I knew.  So she asked about the boys. I told her we had the other 3 home for Christmas but we just couldn't get Trainwreck home this year. Then she said, "Kind of a bittersweet holiday, I guess."

When she rang up our stuff, I handed her his coupon. She looked at it, then looked at me and winked - and even though she wasn't supposed to take the discount off of fragrances or sale items, she discounted it anyway. So that was kind of cool.

Then she handed us our sacks and I turned to tell the young man Merry Christmas and he hugged me and said that he hoped a hug from him would take the place of being able to hug my own son at Christmas.

I had a hard time letting go of him.

Someone commented that I gave him and his girlfriend a Christmas present that they will never forget.

Actually, it was the other way around. 

See there, Baloney? I'm not COMPLETELY heartless.  You can resume listening to your "Christmas Shoes" song again. 

Saturday, December 19, 2009

My 12 Rules of Christmas

1.  The first rule of Christmas is that there are no rules for me.
2. The second rule of Christmas is that I reserve the right to go around making rules for everyone else.
3.  The third rule of Christmas is leave your crying-a$$ kids at home if you decide to go to Walmart.  I have a to-do list with items that must be accomplished, and there is probably a self-imposed deadline on those items, causing me huge amounts of neck-tensing anxiety.  I probably know the "Santa" in the garden center and I cannot guarantee that I won't bribe him with a six-pack to tell your brats that he won't bring them anything.
4.  The fourth rule of Christmas is everyone gets fruitcake.  And likes it. Or pretends to like it.
5.  The fifth rule of Christmas is tell me when we are out of Scotch tape. I cannot be held responsible for my actions/reactions if I get all merry and jolly and go to wrap a gift for someone and there is no tape because one of you used it all up trying to hold the batteries into the remote control because you lost the back. 
6.  The sixth rule of Christmas is don't give me a crappy Christmas gift (salt and pepper shakers shaped like the band members of KISS) or send me a sappy Christmas letter and not expect me to make fun of it.
7.  The seventh rule of Christmas is to stay out of the chocolate candy that my students gave me at the Christmas party at school.  It had my name on it.  I may have taken it out of the bag or box that had my name on it and laid it onto a beautiful Spode Christmas tree candy dish in a fabulous presentation in our home, but you will pull back a nub if you reach your grubby hand in to snatch a piece of it.  Unless it is cheap stuff.  And incidentally, truffles are not considered CHEAP STUFF.  
8.  The eight rule of Christmas is monitor your own behavior in accordance with my hormonal imbalances and mood swings.  I will cry if I hear "O Holy Night" while I am making cookies or fruitcake because it reminds me of my grandmother.  I will laugh if I hear "Christmas Shoes" at anytime because it is stupid.  If you can't discern the difference, too bad for you. 
9.   The ninth rule of Christmas is I do not like winter, but I do like Christmas.  You are not allowed to run the A/C during the month of December - I don't care if it is Texas and the wind chill is 94 degrees. I will turn on the electric fireplace and drink hot cocoa and you MAY be required to sit on the couch with me and "snuggle,"  subject to rule number eight (see above).   An amendment to this rule, also subject to rule number eight, is if I get the whim to go out in an unpredicted cold snap and look at Christmas lights, you are obliged to haul your a$$ out of the warmth of our cozy home and drive me where ever I command you to go. 
10.  The tenth rule of Christmas is the Snoopy ornament goes on the tree FIRST.  It has been this way for most of my life.  It has been this way longer than most of the inhabitants of my household have been alive.  Get out of the way and let me do it.
11.  The eleventh rule of Christmas is don't touch the radio.  It is set on the Christmas channel because I WANT it on the Christmas channel.  If I get a wild hair and decide I want to hear something else, I will change it.
12.  The twelfth rule of Christmas is if you have a know history of gastrointestinal dysfunction (including flatulence) you are limited to one serving (equivalent to 8 fl. oz.) of eggnog  per week.  If you would like more than one serving of eggnog per week, I suggest you space it out in this manner:  Drink 1 oz. per day, and you can have two 1 oz. servings on Saturday or Sunday as a special holiday weekend treat.

Saturday, December 12, 2009

I can't even think of a title for this post

Ok, I was on BannedCamp this morning and the ads at the top of the forum were alternating between a FlyByNight University and a Christian World Charity organization of some sort asking me to please send money to buy a goat for an underprivileged third-world child.

A goat.


NO.  I said GOAT. 

And there was more than one version of the ad rotating through.  Then a little while ago, I got on again and now the ad wants me to buy a SHEEP for little Diwali or whoever the heartstringtugging child in the ad is supposed to be.  And I'm wondering why he couldn't just ask Sinter Klaas or Father Christmas to fulfill his livestock wishes.  I guess a goat won't fit in a stocking.

And how could Santa get something like that down the chimney without making the whole hut smell like barbacoa and ruining the surprise for little Diwali?   

Then -- I got on Facebook, and this was in the sidebar of my profle:

"Mom" looks a little bit like a serial killer to me.  Or Jesus.  I'm pretty sure I could at least find "her" photo in a registered sex offenders lineup.  Is this "Mom" from a Slavic country?  Perhaps they got the scholarship ad copy intermingled with the photo layouts for the depilatory cream ad campaign.  I'm really not sure.  What the H3LL am I surfing on that makes this sh1t come up?

That's IT.  No more vodka while I'm on the web.  I don't even want to know what my Amazon recommendations would be this morning.


MyPoolBoy doesn't get me AT ALL. I am hereby sufficiently caffeinated and in the right mood that I am dancing along in my seat at the bakery watching this -- He is rolling his eyes at me. He may need slappin'.

Anyway.... The moves! The harmonies! You can't beat the Pips! This version is a little skewed (warning - not the original Pips!) But I freakin' love this song!!!!!!!!! So, let's recap for the morning: I'm a Pip, but I'm a Pip with cramps.


Thursday, December 10, 2009

Saturday, December 05, 2009

Half Wit

One of the BannedCampers just posted that a Facebook friend of hers from high school was spouting off about her brilliant 3-year-old that the preschool is telling her is "pre-reading," and that the ditz wondered if the child was so gifted because she is half Korean.

After having a good laugh about what "pre-reading" is (recognizing the golden arches and assigning meaning to that letter as McDonald's, or the "Happy Meal Place") everyone launched into an assault on the chick's racial profiling of her own offspring.

Upon further determination that some of us (like me) have wonderful unlikely crossbred/inbred bloodlines such as Irish, German, and Comanche (shot of whiskey, chase it with beer, get uncivilized) -- one of the ladies told the original poster to tell the ditz that studies show Korean kids will peak early like that but level off after 3rd grade or so, and the to tell her that since the kid is only half-Korean perhaps she had a shot at making it all the way to middle school before tanking completely... with a reminder about Long Dong Whatshisname from Sixteen Candles.

To satiate my search for another fabulous comeback, I googled Half-Korean.

The first result was porn.


Chatting on Facebook with MyPoolBoy at breakfast this morning I realized that online chat is a great way to communicate those feelings that you otherwise couldn't utter in a public place. H3ll, we could have an entire knock-down, drag-out domestic disturbance right here in the bakery and as long as I don't go after him with a golf club, no one would ever know.