Happy Anniversary, Me.

Hi there. I hope you had a nice holiday and that you're busy gearing up for some kind of New Year's Eve fun. We are old people so our fun consists of cooking something fancy and drinking sparkly wine that isn't actually champagne. We might also play with our new Wii and probably won't stay awake until midnight.

I'm still on vacation (from everything, including this blog) but I couldn't miss my five-year blog anniversary! That's right, kids. My very first entry was written out of temp job desperation. It can be found here.

It's not much of an entry but the months I spent temping had to be documented - you can't make up shit like that. Anyway, go have some fun and I promise I'll be back to updating in a couple of days. Whee.

Happy New Year!

The Final Countdown.

I have about an hour and a half of work time left before I'm set free for eleven days. This is so fantastic I can hardly wrap my brain around it. The week has not been without the annual Family Drama Email Parade, complete with a solid page's worth of guilt-text from my mother. Lord above. I'm hoping we can all just get tipsy and let the shit goooo. That's my plan, anyway. That, or just running away and changing my name.

Otherwise, things are fine. I still have a pile of gifts to wrap (ugh) and the tree is still sans decorations (oops.) It'll all get done eventually. Or not. I've been busy this week with other things, things like trying to find something on TV worth watching. It's been a horrible TV week and my lack of DVR (Hi, honey!) means that I have to watch an infuriating amount of diamond commercials. I think diamond jewelry commercials are sincerely my most hated ever. I had a little chat about it with a friend who was nice enough to buy earrings from me in an attempt to gift someone with "non-Zales" jewelry. Here is the rest of the exchange:

me: I hate those diamond commercials like poison. I was actually thinking of writing a blog entry about how much I hate them.

Friend: Seriously, I fucking hate them too. They make me want to stab someone violently.

me: YES. I hate the one with the wishbone and the shrill little girl, "WHATS THAT, MOMMY?"

me: THAT'S A GUN, KID.

Friend: Exactly! "Oh, I think I already won!" BARF!

me: GGGGGGGGGAHWskfhwq;oWEHATES

I think more than I hate the commercials, I hate what they imply: gifts = love and if you really, really love the person, diamonds = TRUE LOVE. It's impressively awful and the diamond jewelry that's being pushed is mostly very hideous. And the commercials make me want to die inside. In my world, every kiss begins with SUCK IT.

You want to show her you really care? Buy her a pony. Works every time, I promise.

Here, catch.

A few days ago Essaywriter posted this and made me laugh:

Not to be cynical or anything, but sometimes I wonder why we just don't sit around and throw twenties at each other.

I KNOW. I was doing fine for a while but the last few days of last-minute-gift-scramble and the frustrated realization that I have to give the new temp a gift has made me feel like flinging money at people and screaming, "HERE, TAKE IT. JUST TAKE IT ALL." I really do like the holidays but I hate that weird pressure that what you've bought or made isn't enough and MORE IS REQUIRED. OH, AND IT BETTER BE THOUGHTFUL.

Wah! I think I'm pretty much done. I don't really want much myself this year, though a "thank you for the new brakes" card from my car would be very much appreciated. Speaking of cards, last night I got the card I wait for all year! It's from our ex-landlord and she does a photo card of her pet rabbits. The card is from all of them, which I appreciate. The photo card of my nieces this year was pretty great too, but sorry kids, the rabbits totally win.

Anyway, here's a short list of what I want this year:

- a pony, even if it's bitey and eats dog houses.
- for my mom to email me or call me and NOT assign a task.
- world peace! Ha, not really.

The Reason for the Season = SUGAR.

This week has been such a pain in my ass because it's totally in the way of all the good shit which comes down starting this weekend and right through next week. Next week is one of those work weeks where it's all long lunches and office parties and then it's the weekend before Christmas! And I love me some Christmas in the same pagan/secular way my sister does. Fuck all, can't I love the tacky lights, the tree, the awesome food and the cheesy songs without having to drag Jesus into it? I SAY TOTALLY YES.

One thing I really hate, though? Wrapping gifts. If I had a pet helper monkey the very first thing I would teach it to do is to wrap all my gifts so I never have to. HATE IT. This year I've at least got a proper table at which to work and I think if I have a big glass of wine next to my sissors my wrapping won't suck quite as much. I know most people love it, but me? Not so much. It just seems so fussy to me, what with all the angles and corners and ribbon and shit. Beh. Next year I'm wrapping everything in brown paper lunch bags. Stapled at the top.

But, that's pretty much the only thing I don't like about the season.

I'm generally not much of a baker, but Kate and I get together every year and do a crazy all-day baking session (which will be this Sunday). This is maybe our fourth or fifth year and it's so much fun, except for two years ago when I had a terrible cold and Kate ended up doing most of the work while I sat there stuffy and spaced-out and tried not to infect everything. That kind of sucked.

Also, every year since I was thirteen my dad and I get together and make peanut butter & chocolate fudge. It's pretty much the only father/daughter tradition we have. We use the same outdated recipe every year (4 1/2 cups of sugar! One jar of marshmallow fluff!) and every year it's like the first time we've ever done it. Someone will get burned, something will go wrong, hijinks galore. Weeks in advance we joke about the freight train necessary to bring in enough sugar. Dad will call me and leave a message like this,

"Well, it's your father. I just wanted to tell you that the train arrived today and unloaded the boxcar full of sugar. I think it should be enough. I'll go down to the depot this weekend with a pickup truck to get it and then bring it to your house. Do you have a shovel?"

Man, I love Christmas.

Everything sticks like a broken record.

God, how did I do this every day for an entire month? I am wracking my brain for something pithy or witty to talk about. I mean, y'all are pretty simple, really, as flying grits eye trauma seemed to amuse you plenty. Good luck with that.

In lieu of any kind of real entry, I feel instead that I need to address a very important comment made recently pertaining to my last entry about Pushing Daisies aka the BEST SHOW IN THE WORLD. This comment distressed me deeply:

I've been watching, but I don't know that I can continue... it seems so fruitless.... although I love the characters, the pie maker and the girl CAN NEVER BE TOGETHER!!!! It makes the will they won't they pointless and I feel sorry for the other girl pining (pineing?) away for a guy that doesn't even know she exists. It's actually quite depressing when you boil it down to the actual facts. I think I'm done with the daisies....

Oh yeah, I'm calling you out, Jen. I totally don't get this because, dang, there have only been eight episodes! How can you just give up and assume they won't find a way? This show is all about innovation and quirkiness and un-reality. Hell, we don't even know WHY Ned has the powers that he has, so we don't know that there's no way around it. Plus, last night a cheese ball turned into a little crab.

I think that needs repeating: A CHEESE BALL TURNED INTO A LITTLE CRAB.

Sheesh. In other news, Project Runway is just so great this season! I will be the first to admit that Christian is my favorite because he's such a bitchy monkey. A monkey I can keep in my pocket for when I need to snark about someone's bad outfit. I'm sure he's getting a lot of hate but I like him. His outfit was great this week too. So there.

Custom Made for Me.

Grits insanity aside, I had a pretty fantastic weekend. It was busy and exhausting but ultimately successful. I took Friday off work to get ready for the 3rd annual Richmond Craft Mafia Handmade Holiday sale, at which we kicked ass. I think it was our best holiday gig yet. As part of the who thing, I got interviewed by a local PBS television show and might end up on TV. I can hardly bear the thought of what my weird face is going to look like on TELEVISION, but I'll keep you posted.

On Saturday we did a local street fair/show and did well there too, but that's not important. What's important is that there was a group of kilted bagpipe players AND a bunch of folks dressed up as Star Wars characters. And, before I could even voice the hopeful thought in my head, the two groups merged! The Star Wars theme was played on bagpipe and a bounty hunter did a little jig. I was breathless and yes, I took pictures. Pictures you will just have to wait for because I forgot to upload them. SORRY. There was also a very rotund fellow who walked by our table wearing a pair of insane holiday-themed pants. I turned to Kate and said,

"Where would you even go to buy pants like that?"

She thought about it for a second and replied,

"Maybe a Big & Tall Clown store?"

True Grits.

It was one of those incidents that you replay in your mind over and over again. How could it have been avoided? What could I have done differently? Why the hell does Rachael Ray have it in for me? Here's what happened:

I decided that for dinner Thursday night we needed good southern Shrimp and Grits. Comfort food! I found the perfect recipe but it required ONE HOUR at least in grits cooking time. I don't have that kind of time for a weeknight dinner and anyway, I only have instant grits in the cabinet. I checked the Food TV site and found a RR recipe that was Shrimp and "Grits". Oh, Rachael, why do you have to be like that? Why do you want me to use Polenta for the grits when all I have is GRITS? Fuck her, I substituted grits for the "grits" and got to cooking. That's when the bitch got her revenge. My grits were boiling madly and as I took the lid off to stir them a wad of molten hot grit insanity flew out of the pot and landed a millimeter from my eye. I was like that dude at the end of Indiana Jones when he looked at the Arc and his face melted off. You want to know what came out of the Lost Arc? GRITS. Those little fuckers fly and they stick and they burn your face off. I remember clutching my face and screaming like a girl. Hell, I'm lucky I didn't lose an eye! Do you know how embarassing it would be every time someone asked, "Hey, why are you wearing that eye patch" and you had to answer, "grits"? That would SUCK.

Anyway, I have a gross little blistery burn right under my right eye and it's all Rachael Ray's fault.

"It was the grits that done it."

Hey, at least I'm not telling you about the dream I had.

I am full of ire because I did not sleep last night. Or, rather, I did not sleep enough. I went to bed too late after watching Project Runway and working feverishly on the jewelry inventory. I am super ridiculously stressed out about the weekend which I'm guessing didn't help, but when I finished reading my bedtime chapter, Chapsticked up and turned off the light, my brain kept on keeping on. And on. And on. I just lay there buzzing. I tried everything but I was just THERE. I think I did doze off for a minute because when I finally got up to seek out the Benedryl (bless it's cold, pharmaceutical heart) I was, for some reason, under the impression that I'd just walked through the web of a gigantic spider and shrieked out loud while beating it away. Nice! I enjoyed that extra little insomnia mind-fuck.

Then I didn't find any of the Sweet B so I went back to bed and Kenny, who is up half the time anyway, came and brought me some homeopathic hippie sleep pills which, I'm happy to tell you, didn't do shit for me. Finally around 3am, I dug some dusty Benedryl out of my purse and happily slept for the next three and a half hours. THATS IT. I've spent the entire day feeling like i was swimming in a sea of Jello. Slow and blurry is where it's at today. Sllooooow and bluurrrry.

Because you needed more proof that I'm a bad person.

From Yahoo:

Tiny horse has big heart

Thumbelina, the smallest horse ever, goes on a 40,000-mile tour to cheer sick kids.
Video clip


When I read this I rolled my eyes a lot. When I watched it, I rolled them even more. Not because I'm made of stone (lord knows I love a super cute teeny-tiny horse) but because if you watch the video, Thumbelina looks like she'd like to be anywhere else other than where she is and I think she is actually trying to bite that guy. I sincerely doubt that one morning she lovingly caressed his face with her tiny hooves and said, "let's go cheer up sick kids!" Mostly I'm guessing she would like a nice field full of clover. Alone. And to not be on TV.

In other unrelated news, last night I set the glass dome lid to my wok on the kitchen counter top and watched as if in slow motion as it slid off, hit the floor and broke into a thousand pointy shards on the kitchen floor. Damn cheap ass IKEA untempered glass. Stella, who was in the kitchen when it happened, immediately proceeded to prance through the shards before I could stop her. She was unscathed, thankfully, because she's a cat and that's what cats do. They prance through the havoc, whether they wreaked it or not.