Friday, December 30, 2005

Me Vs. God/Fate Whatever

So I went out with my good friend C Wednesday night. We had one major thing in common for New Year's Eve, and that thing was we are both going on long distance booty calls.

His booty call was with some chick he just met while visiting with a friend and his wife, and he is going to fly to the East coast to be with her for the weekend. He informed me he was in much need of some lovin', which is hard ot believe considering the man is a really tall Italian boy who is quite easy on the eyes.

I think it has more to do with the fact of the ex on and off again girlfriend that hangs around our parts, and the safest bet is a thousand or so miles away. That, and the booty call chick seems pretty cool and has traveled a lot. I know that intrigues him.

My booty call is a bit more dangerous. My booty call is going to be with The Mystery Man.

I realize this is probably a huge mistake. Enormous mistake.

Anyway, as we lament to each other over a few Jager Bombs and a couple (or more) Miller Lites about the fact that we both gotta travel to each end of the freakin' coast of our great nation just to get laid.

How sad indeed.

Now I have a valid excuse. I have a very low sexual partner number, so having sex with him won't add to it. Almost any chick can have sex just about anytime she wants, right?

That, and I'm real fucking picky about who is allowed to touch me.

And to be quite honest, in a TMI kind of way, I just need to have sex. It's been awhile....................

So while he's driving me home he informs me that it would be his luck that she'll be on her period or something.


I knew it when he said it. I knew the fucker was going to jinx me.

All men who are squeamish about any female junk are free to jump ship now. I promise not to go into to much detail, but I'm givin' you an out.

So today I start packing to leave for the weekend. I know I felt it yesterday, that icky, I'm kind of tired and my back kind of hurts. If I just ignored it, maybe it would go away. I mean really, that is a whole seven days away, and when I start is more dependable then a Swiss fucking watch.

Fucking fate.

You see, I do believe in Destiny and Divine Intervention and all that jazz. I do think we have free will, but Fate/God/Whatever you believe in will bitch smack your ass when you go to far off your path.

So the bitch known as Fate is trying to stop me from going off my path.

I decide the fastest way to avoid this disaster is to talk to God directly.

I promise Him it'll be just this one time. Mystery Man and I have talked about this. We are not going to start anything back up. We know we are wrong for each other.

But we both need to get laid. I mean really God, you are the one that put all these damn hormones in us to begin with, right? Isn't this much better then picking up some random stranger?

Huh? Huh?

So as I sit here typing I'm thinking my pleading with God has not done a damn bit off good. It hasn't happened yet, but it's going to, and soon.

I'll be there by 8. It's almost one now. If I can just by some miracle of GOD (yeah, you, I'm talking about you) hold out until say 11 ish, I shall feel much better.

Actually if I could hold out until Sunday afternoon would be even better, but hey, beggars can't be choosers, ya know?

So if Fate decides to bitch smack my ass, I'm going to kill C when we both return. Not that it's his fault or anything, but all that pent up frustration needs to go somewhere.

That, or I'll make the jinxer have sex with me. Ha! That'll teach 'em all...

I'm sure that Fate would think this is a much bigger mistake then Mystery Man, because I adore the hell out of this man and it would suck if I wrecked it.

So I got me a little bit of a playing card. Hopefully fate doesn't know that I'm bluffing.

Pray to your Diety for me. 8 hours and counting...

Oh, and have a great New Years. I won't be back until Sunday night/Monday morning. May you all have wonderful sex this weekend, and hopefully you think the same for me.

Wednesday, December 28, 2005

Eharmony Mind Control

So yesterday I told you how I would post the five multiple questions that I can send to these people at Eharmony.

All ten people that requested communication answer my five non-descript multiple choice questions almost identical.

My Questions are:

How often do you lose your temper?

A. Practically never
B. Once in awhile
C. On occasion during a week
D. Probably once a day on average

By some wild coincidence not one of ten people lose their temper!! If I answered that it would probably D, but I work in IT now and deal with idjits on a daily basis, FFS!

Next Q:

If you went out to eat with a friend, which would you prefer?

A. A nice 4-star restaurant
B. A basic Steakhouse
C. An undiscovered hideaway
D. A hole in the wall with great food

Miraculously they all chose to write in the answer with sometime of to the affect that it depends on who they are with. Fuck depending on who you are with. Give me a hole in the wall with great food any day.

Next Q:

Which of the following things would you rather have lots of?

A. Respect
B. Fame
C. Money
D. Power

Another write in deal where they all said "Love". Altogether now...Awwwwwwwww!

Next Q:

Your idea of adventure is:

A. Whitewater Rafting
B. Karaoke singing
C. Trying a different route to work
D. Ordering a dish you've never tried before

We have a bunch of whitewater rafters in our midst. If ever there was a write in question, this is it folks.

Last Q:

Which of the following scenarios would make you more nervous?

A: Making a presentation to 500 people
B. A long car ride with someone you just met
C. Talking about your deepest fears with your lover
D. Meeting with the president of the company you work for

I sincerely hope none of them meet the president of their company. To me, that would be/was the easiest, as I've done all of these things and didn't find any of them particularity nerve racking.

Personality matching my ass.

So after you send these things and they send them to you there is a list of Must Haves/Can't Stands that you send each other.

There is one thing about this that really kinda of freaked my shit out.

One of the Can't stands that seems to be on all their lists is: Poor Hygiene...... I can't stand someone who is not clean.

What the fuck kind of women have they been dating? I mean, you have a billion things to chose from, and they think this is a necessity to say?

This starts to worry me, because I sure as hell did not pick that one because I thought for sure that Good Hygiene would be an unspoken Must have, alright? I mean in the can't stand category there are lots of good things like people that hold grudges or bad tempers or materialistic or mean spirited or no cheaters. All of these and they choose Poor Hygiene?

Am I doomed to date the smelly kid from seventh grade that made your eyes water, or what?

Eharmony sucks ass. If you ask me, it is a bunch of people telling a bunch of other people exactly what they think they want to hear.

It's just like I said yesterday, it's like going to a bar and meeting some loser with lines without the free drink.

At least you get free alcohol in scenario #2, and I loves me some free alcohol.

Granted, since this was a gift it wasn't something I thought of trying to begin with, and not something that I really would take all that seriously. Perhaps I'm being to hard on these guys who are "Ready to find the love of their lives", but hell I'm hard on the real life ones, why not the Internet ones?

Tuesday, December 27, 2005

Worst Birthday Present Ever

So one of my "friends" decided that a really great Birthday present for me would be a three month subscription to Eharmony.

Yes, as in on-line dating site Eharmony.

"Uhhh, thanks?" was about all my flabbergasted self could spit out.

It turns out she has met the love of her life there, and wants to spread the wealth. Kind of like those people who when they are first in love they decide everyone needs to be in love too.

But E-freakin'-harmony?

For me?

Ok, ok, I'll admit to being in the middle of what some would call a dry spell. I call it more of a self-imposed exile from meeting idjits.

I've been dating, but haven't exactly found any men of quality. In the past a lot of my boyfriends started out as friends. I just don't have that whole romantic notion that Prince Charming is going to sweep me off my feet. In fact, if they are overly romantic at first the red and blue alarm lights over my head begin to flash and wail immediately.

So I'm a tough sell. So what? Being without a second half doesn't bother me in the least bit, but it sure as hell seems to bother other people. They can't wrap their brains around the fact that I am perfectly content when I do not have a significant other.

This is not to say that I don't like have another significant other, but that I'd rather be alone then date some moron with a hand full of pick-up lines and a bottle of wine.

Needless to say, this gift didn't exactly thrill me. I know it came from a good thought, but the present went horribly awry.

"It really works," she tells me. "They match you up by your profile. You take a series of tests to determine your personality and how it matches up with others."

Even though I pretty much think this is a joke, I decide to check it out, considering it is free and all. I'll probably get a good laugh out of it. The start page booms "Ready to Find the Love of Your Life? Eharmony!" It then goes on to show a bunch of Real! Live! People! who have found love, happiness, and the answer to world peace on Eharmony!

It kind of freaks me out because the couples all look like brother and sister.

So I take the personality test, hoping the love of my life isn't my brother. You can put pictures up, but I decide against it because this is supposed to be all about finding someone with your interests, right? I begin getting people in the "My Matches" portion of the site.

So what now? I can begin communication with any of these people by sending out five pre-written questions for them to answer. I read over some of the people in My Matches.

I debate with myself on if I should start communication with some of the people that seem interesting. This is all a joke, right? Hell, it couldn't hurt if I found the love of my life, as long as it's not my brother.

So I send the five pre-written questions out to a couple of people, just to see what happens next.

The next day I get a couple of emails saying "This match has decided to close communication with you. The reason? No picture in profile.

Personality matching my ass.

My friend calls me up and asks how it is going. "Umm, not real well. They keep closing me because I don't have a picture up."

"Oh you really need to put your picture up. I mean, part of any relationship is attraction, and they just want to see if they would be physically attracted to you before they put an investment into you."

Yeah, right.

So I start to think about this whole picture thing. Now I do have some old fat pictures. Wouldn't it be a hoot if I put up this picture,

but when we met I looked like this:

Jesus X, I can't believe I just put an old fat picture of myself on the Internet. Still, it sure as hell would weed out the really, really superficial people, eh?

So I tell my friend that I am thinking of putting up an old fat picture. "Noooooo don't do thaaaaat!" she says. "How would you like it if someone did that to you?"

Actually, I think it'd be really funny, but perhaps that is just my sick sense of humor.

So she talks me out of putting up my old fat picture, even if it would make for some good ass bloggin'.

At this point, it has been 5 days and no one has tried to communicate with me. My personality must suck.

Then, a Christmas miracle happens. I put my pic up before Christmas, and instantly little miracles saying "Match requests communication" appears in my email.

Now I know I'm not a supermodel or anything, but I am a fairly attractive 35 year old woman that still gets carded. I actually look more like 35 in my fat pic and that was a long, long time ago. It makes me wonder what other people look like in their pics that this crappy Christmas card pic brings up so much interest.

I plan on doing a couple of posts on the whole Eharmony junk, as it has been a rather amusing experience this week. The only problem is it is kind of like going to a bar, hearing a bunch of lines, but not getting the free drink.

So in other words is kind of sucks ass, but is funny as hell. Tomorrow I'm going to post my five random multiple choice questions and how miraculously all ten guys answered them exactly the same!

This is great holiday fun!

Monday, December 26, 2005

Me Too!!!!!!!

There are an awful lot of people that annoy the fuck out of me.

Take your "I Looked the Best I'm Ever Going To Look in High School So I Still Have Big Hair And Wear Jordache Jeans" people. They annoy the fuck out of me.

Take your "I'm Better Then You" people. They spend vast amounts of time and money to try and seem better then you, when it actuality they really feel insecure. They annoy the fuck out of me.

Take your "You Owe Me" people. Everybody owes them something, why oh why is the world so cruel to them, God forbid they try and help their situation. They annoy the fuck out of me.

This leads into the "Finger Pointer" people that sometimes cross breeds with the "You Owe Me" people. Nothing, I repeat nothing is every their fault. They never have solutions, just reasons why it is not their fault. They annoy the fuck out of me.

What am I getting at here besides the fact that a lot of people annoy the fuck out of me? I'm getting to the Mother of All People That Annoy The FUCK Out of Me. The "Me Too!!!!" people.

This weekend we had the yearly party for the Original Party People (my parents for you new readers). They had just got into town, and we were having a grand old time until I realized that someone had invited the Idiot From Hell.

"Me Too!!!!" to the max she is. I can hardly contain my blood pressure when I am around her.

It doesn't matter what the subject is. Be it politics, movies, child rearing, or philosophical questions, she will see what the majority of the people say, or what the person she is talking to will say, and interject with "Me Too!!!!"

She has no opinion but what is told to her. She's a freakin' parrot. If you God forbid ask her to back anything up, she can't.

Which of course, I always do. This may make me seem like a bitch, which of course, I am.

The conversation got heated as people started discussing President Bush and the Dems vs. Repubs. Someone said something about abortions would probably become illegal, and she was all, "Oh yes, I think that too!"

Someone else started lamenting about the whole gun control issue. Red states and blue states then became the topic of discussion. "Pretty soon women will be getting backroom abortions because of the South! Those people are just stupid!" she said.

Back the fuck up.

I think a statement like that deserves an explanation don't you all (or y'all for you Southerners)? Especially considering she was at a party being given for people from Mississippi

So I go into attack trained killer mode and go right for the jugular.

"Why would you say that?" I ask. Blank stare. You can actually hear the wind flowing through her ears.

"What do you mean?" she asks. People start to get a bit uncomfortable, as they are intelligent enough to know that I am out for the kill.

"What about partial birth? Do you think that's ok?? And why is it the South's fault, the state right next to us voted Bush and they are not in the South"

"Well I don't know how many states were from the south..."

"Then why the hell would you say something like that, at a party given for people that live in Mississippi for Christ's sake!"

At this point, my Mom gave me the "leave the poor stupid people alone" look and I backed off.

Parrot, parrot, parrot. No true thoughts of her own. God that annoys the fuck out of me.

I may be being harsh, and believe me, there are a lot of things that I couldn't form an intelligent opinion on, but I don't just parrot things I've heard about it. I shut the fuck up and listen.

These people do it to be accepted. To be included. It's the all the cool kids are doing it mentality. That annoyed the fuck out of me when I was a cool kid, and it annoys the fuck out of me now that I'm a cool adult.

Ghosts of Presents Past Part II

When I first started working in a manufacturing environment, I had quite a shock to my 19 year old self.

That can't even begin to describe the culture shock. It was like going to another planet to work.

You see, and I'm sure any big place with thousands of employees are like this, it was like it's own little city. You could get anything there, from crack to a brand new TV, freshly fallen off the truck.

They had their own set of rules, too. Even though it was 1990, the whole sexual harassment stuff really wasn't something that was talked about. It was nothing for someone to come up to you and tell you just how fucked up they thought it was that you were taking away a job that some man could have to support his family.

I signed on for part time help, something to supplement my income while I was in school. In two days time I made way more then working 40 hours at my other job, and had major medical insurance. I figured this would be great, as I could concentrate more on school.

That is, until the first day I walked down that assembly l-i-n-e.

Seniority was high at the time, and women didn't start working there until the mid to late 70's. Even then, there weren't a whole lot of them that could hold day shift. As a part time employee, I was assigned to days, as seniority didn't hold any bearing on us.

So let's recap, shall we? The few women that held dayshift were pushing 40 or older. Most of the men that worked there were also that age, and didn't exactly appreciate women that worked there.

So my naive 19 year old ass walked down that line the first day just thinking I was just going to work.

Nu-uh. It was like walking nekkid through an all male prison. Men who had been there a long time and hadn't seen a woman in decades.

Oh, no one knew all the hooting and hollering bothered me. I held my head up and walked down that line like I belonged there, dammit. Secretly I just wanted to run and hide and find my Mommy, and I have called my Mom Mommy since the appropriate age, which is about 4.

The first couple of weeks were pretty tough. The work was hard, like I didn't know that kind of work existed. It didn't help that a lot of the bigger bosses decided they liked my 19 year old ass and pretty blatantly told me that good little girls don't have to work that hard if they do certain things.

I didn't do certain things, so I got even harder work.

This actually was a good thing, because slowly but surely the men in my section began to have respect for me. I did the hardest job on the line, a job that made grown men leave at lunch time and never go back. A job that made grown men actually cry.



Well, I cried, quite a bit actually, but not until I was in the safety of my car and far away from any assembly people.

I also would not allow myself to be treated like a piece of meat. On day three one of my lovely co-workers decided to grab my ass. I'm not sure how many stitches he got upside his head, but that big motor that shot the steering column did some major damage. I had learned a long time ago that a whole bunch of the time a blonde can go "Oooopss!" and get away with anything, even cracking the skull of a fucking perverted ass with a huge steel tool.

No one ever tried to touch me again.

The hooting and hollering had also subsided, as when one of the guys would yell out a particularity nasty comment I would simply walk up to them and ask them why they would say that. Most of these people were actually half-way decent men, who were quite embarrassed when called on their behavior.

Another rather disturbing fact was a lot of the women that were there didn't appreciate the fact that a 19 year old was getting a lot of their attention. There was no winning their respect, and they looked at me with contempt most days.

I did win the respect of most of the men, but there was one that I just couldn't stand, and the feeling was mutual.

He was my relief person. He gave me two breaks a day, and was a grouchy son-of-a-bitch. No matter what time I came back from break he claimed I was late. He also felt the need to tell me how that work was no women's work, and I really didn't belong there.

The other guys started getting on him about it, and he did lighten up a bit. I still couldn't stand him. He was just such a miserable person. Archie Bunker had nuttin' on this man.

One day when they were predicting a heavy early morning snow I came to work early. It had to be 4 in the morning when I got to work, and we started at 6. Grouchy son-of-a-bitch was already there, drinking coffee from the nastiest cup I've ever seen and eating cereal.

"I see you were worried about being late too, eh?" I asked him. "I worry about being late everyday. I get here at 3 most days," he said, turning back to his cereal.

3?? 3am?? This man was nucking futs.

Usually I didn't try to have a conversation with this man, but the deeply stained coffee cup he was using was bugging the piss out of me. I'm a bit of a germ-a-phob, and the thought of drinking out of a cup that looked like that just grossed me out.

"Look here girlie, this here cup was a gift, one of the best gifts I've ever been given. A man who had started here back in the 20's gave it to me when he retired, because he said I was the hardest working son-of-a-bitch he had ever seen, and that with people like me this place would be here forever, and his retirement would be safe. He never washed it, so neither do I."

With that he dumped the remaining coffee on the ground, rinsed it out in the water fountain, and moved to another table that was free of 19 year old blondes that were taking away jobs from a deserving man. Never mind the fact that he had been there almost 40 years, and if he retired a deserving man could have his job.

Fucker. Oh how he pissed me off....

So that day at lunch I loudly complained about the Grouchy son-of-a-bitch. "Why doesn't he retire?? Does he not have a life? Why in the hell would he get here at 3 in the morning every fucking day?"

One of the guys sitting at the table told me of Grouchy son-of-a-bitch's situation. "Oh, he's always been a miserable asshole, but he's gotten worse since his wife passed on. About the time he was going to retire his wife got cancer and died in just a couple of month's time. She was his world, and I reckon he can't stand being at home without her. He's in bed by 7 most nights, which I guess just makes life bearable for him."

Yes, I felt like a real.fucking.bitch.

I saw him in a whole new light now. Now I could see that he walked with a limp and how bad his hands were banged up from working on that line all those years. I saw a broken man who popped tylenol like candy just to stand the pain, but that pain was nothing compared to the emotional pain he felt at home.

I made an effort to actually talk to him like a human now, and he actually responded in a positive way. Oh, he was still a Grouchy son-of-a-bitch, but he seemed to at least tolerate me now. He'd even tell me about what he did with his grandchildren that weekend and even brought me some vegetables from his garden a couple of times.

Feeling like a taste-tester was needed, I cut up some tomatoes first and fed them to my co-workers to be sure they weren't laced with poison. After the first few times, I decided he wasn't trying to bump me off.

So for the next couple of years we went on quietly tolerating each other. I learned bunches of jobs, and was one of the first women who became a utility-someone with no set job that covers for the people on vacation or who are out sick.

Eventually the physical pain became worse then the emotional pain, and he just couldn't keep up anymore. He had to be around 65, and if that work killed my now 21 year old ass I can just image how bad it hurt a 65 year old ass. Oh, he could have gotten a way easier job with his seniority, but his pride would never allow that.

His last day of work is what we call the walk around day. Usually people come to work in their Sunday best with there families and say good-bye to everyone. We had a cake for lunchtime, and passed around the hat to fill his card with money.

He came in dressed like any other day, but had his daughter, son, and grandchildren with him. He actually acted human too.

At lunch time we all ate cake and related some funny stories to his family. He slowly pulled himself up from the table. Sitting still made his aches and pains intensify, and by now he had a real hard time moving when he sat for a long time.

He walked over to his cabinet that had his reproduction, cereal, and that nasty ass cup. He grabbed the cup, and slowly walked back to the table. While standing at the front of the table he recounted that story he told me a couple of years ago, and set that germ fest of a cup in front of me.

"You are the hardest working son-of-a-bitch I have ever seen, and with people like you here my retirement will be safe forever. Get off this line kid, you are smart and could do more good in other ways here. You don't want to end up like me."

Now you must realize that in my three years of service there I had never cried in that plant. Ever. Not even the time when my fingers got stuck in a motor and I broke 22 bones in my hand.

I didn't cry then either, as I knew this would make him uncomfortable and possibly make him cry too. I must admit that my big brown eyes did fill with tears, but I held them back, out of respect for this broken old man who had worked so hard for so long.

His funeral was a few years later, and it didn't have the best turnout. I went to pay my respects to a man who showed contempt for me most of the time I had known him, but redeemed himself in the end.

"My Father really liked you," his daughter told me. "He would be really pleased that you came today. He talked about you all the time. 'You should see this new girl we got at work' he'd say. 'She works harder then 5 men'."

I thanked her and walked to the casket. As I knelt down to pray, I thought about why this man came into my life. Possibly to show me you can't judge a book by it's cover. Maybe it was to show me that sometimes people are miserable because their own lives are so incredibly painful, and you just never knew about it.

What I did know was that my life was better for having this Grumpy son-of-a-bitch in my life.

That cup still sits on my desk, and yes I drink my coffee out of it. Now mind you I didn't wash it, but I did rinse the hell out of it with boiling water.

This new generation I tell you...I can just hear him saying it.

Every once in awhile some new person will ask about it. I retell the story in more politically correct terms, as things have changed quite a bit in 16 years. When they make a face at the disgusting looking cup I'll tell them to show some respect. I am the future, after all.

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

Me Vs. The Cats From Hell

Oh, they look sweet and innocent. View exhibt A:

I hate fucking cats, and due to my kind, sweet nature I've ended up with two of them. While they may look all sweet and innocent, once the Christmas Tree goes up they turn into psychopaths. View exhibit B:

They are really vicious fucking tree killers, these cats o'mine. Last year they killed a perfectly innocent 8' tall pre-lit tree. By the time Christmas came it looked like something that was swirling around in the movie Twister. Only 1/4 of the lights worked, and I almost had to get stitches from the glass ornament I stepped on in the freakin' bathroom of all place.

I tried the whole water bottle trick. Martini, or crystal meth cat as she is known, is so fast that as soon as she saw that damn water bottle she is out of there. You would need a super soaker to even get a drop of water on her. But when the bottle wasn't around, forget it. In the tree she went until she saw the spray bottle.

Oliver was a different story. He is shall we say a little overweight. View exhibit C:

He decided that getting wet wasn't nearly as bad as running, so he just learned to like it. He'd even turn his head so that I'd get both sides.

I hate fucking cats.

So being the computer savvy person that I am I turned to the Internet this year on how to make my cats not think the Christmas tree is a jungle gym.

Most searches came up with the same results.


Some people with cats offered up advice. "Put a fence around your tree." These are cats, FFS! It would have to be a damn cage around the tree to keep them out. Another helpful soul told me to spray it with lemon juice, as the cats hate the smell.

Oliver just decided that the tree must be food and began eating it.

I hate fucking cats.

Every day I would come home to a new catastrophy. One day there wasn't a single ornament on the tree. Another day Martini seemed to be committing Kitty Cat suicide and was half way strung up, meowing her head off. Then the really fun days were when the whole entire tree was just laying in the floor.

This year I swore I wasn't going to even have a tree. No fucking way was I going though that shiiat again.

Then my Mom, who sold Christmas trees from our garden center for years offered up some advice. "Get a real tree. A Balsam. Those are pretty tough, and would probably prick the hell out of them if they tried to climb it."

This actually made sense, in a if they love climbing a fake tree they'll really hate a real tree kind of way.


Ok, so it didn't make sense, but it still kind of did. Considering how much I love decorating, I just had to have a tree, so off I went to find an environmental tree store that replaces every tree sold with two.

This was fucking war God Dammit. I wanted my Christmas Tree.

So I went out and bought all new ornaments. Plastic like ornaments that wouldn't leave gapping wounds on my feet when stepped on. I bought twinkle lights that maybe wouldn't cause as much attention as the chasers that were on my dearly departed Pre-lit Christmas Tree.

Guess what?

It fucking worked.

Oh, Martini tried her ass off at first. The needles must have been really scratchy, because everytime she tried to enter the bottom of the tree she shoot out of there like a bat out of hell. Oliver tried maybe once, then decided Fuck This and just pretened to be in the tree by laying on the tree skirt.

Ha! I had won.

Then, much to my dismay, another problem arose. I think they thought if that bitch is bringing in shit we can't climb, we'll make her replace the water every freakin' hour.

Yes, they drink almost every drop of water the second I fill it up.

It is hell on a litter box I tell ya.

It also really pisses me off, because usually unless I give them bottled water they go on like a kitty water strike and walk around with little signs talking about cruelty to animals.

I hate fucking cats.

So they may have won one of the battles, but it seems as if I'm going to win the war. Yes, I do have to put every ornament that is two feet from the bottom of the tree back on, and yes I have to put water in the damn tree stand a million times a day, and yes I have to scoop the damn litter box on the hour, but I have my Tree FFS!

Up on deck for tomorrow: Ghost of Presents Past II: Electric Boogalo.

Monday, December 19, 2005

The Ghost of Presents Past Part I

So last year at this time I wrote about my The Ghost of Boyfriends Past, and this year I decided to do The Ghost of Presents Past.

Not any ordinary presents, mind you, but the ones that stick out in my mind. The ones that were more then just a trip to the mall, the ones that blew me away.

The very first blew me away present, and probably still the most exciting present I ever received was a Honda Kick-n-Go. It looked like this:

Isn't it beautiful?? You just have no idea how much I wanted this scooter. It had a pedal on the back, which you used in a kicking action to propel you faster and faster. Yes, it was a death trap waiting to happen, which is why they stopped making them I think, but kids don't worry about death traps. All I knew was it was the coolest thing my five year old eyes had ever witnessed.

This was my Red Rider BB Gun.

You see, it was made by Honda, and I grew up in a very American Made friendly household. It was 1976, and the imports were just starting to effect the American car industry. My Father saw anything by the foreign industry a threat to our way of life.

Anytime it was mentioned my Father would mumble on about cheap labor and non-union workforces. My brother and I just had to have one! As Christmas grew closer, my Father's diatribes on the Evil that was Honda grew. We had all but given up on having one of these Satan's spawn scooters.

When it was time to go to Santa I didn't ask for a Honda Kick-n-Go. I probably asked for something lame like an Eazy Bake Oven. Visiting Santa had become a traumatic enough experience due to the fact that it always got me in BIG trouble, and you can read about that here and here.

My parental units asked why I didn't ask for the Kick-n-Go that was my heart's desire. I explain that I didn't want to hurt my Dad's way of life, or something like that.

So my fifth Christmas on this Earth just didn't have the joy it once had like when I was four. I probably still get some cool stuff, because even if my parents were the non-spoiling kind Christmas was a special occasion that looked like a toy store blew up in our living room.

This was one of the years when my Dad pulled a double shift, so he was to tired to wake us up. He could never, ever wait until morning, so after "Santa" had visited he would put on his work boots, run through the house with jingle bells, ditch them, and come wake us up shouting "Santa was here, Santa was here!" Very few Christmas present were ever opened after 3 in the morning in our household, much to the dismay of my poor, tired Mother.

So this particular year my brother and I woke at the crack of dawn and my parents were still asleep. We decided to take a peak downstairs to see the Christmas presents in all their glory. Shaking a few before the parents woke up wouldn't hurt, right?

We crept downstairs, and low and behold their were two Kick-n-Go's in the middle of all the presents. Mine was yellow with a big green bow, and my brother's was Red with a big white bow.

I nearly pissed myself I was so excited. Now taking into account that today is my birthday and I'm 35 years old, not since has anything in this life ever given me such a rush, such a charge of excitment as that moment.

We couldn't move for a few minutes, couldn't breathe. It was just unbelievable. We had the crown jewel of Christmas presents that any kid would ever, ever want standing in our living room FFS!

Now we could have went and woke our parents up. We could have waited patiently for them to wake up.

But we didn't.

We threw on boots, maybe a glove, and a couple of scarves and took those puppy's outside to give them a test ride. In the Chicagoland area. In the mountain sized piles of snow that had already stacked up that year.

Our parents were not please when they finally rolled out of bed and realized they were missing two kids and two death trap from hell scooters.

By the time they had found them my brother had already crashed on his and had a decent sized scrape on his arm. I had flipped on mine and put a sizable gash in the side of my head near my eye, the scar barely visible now after 35 years.

Maybe it was the cold, maybe it was the excitment of getting the scooters, but neither of us felt any pain. My Mom rambled on about how dangerous they were, and my Dad just said they weren't exactly made for winter, that we'd be fine once the snow and ice melted.

We were also grounded from them that day for taking them out before our parents were awake. You gotta just love tough love, eh? My parents had the biggest hearts for being such heartless bastards.

I would have slept standing up on that thing that night if I wasn't grounded from it for a week.

As an adult I realize how hard it was for my Dad to purchase that product. He's really huge on principles and morals and all that junk, so for him to go against everything he believed in to make his kid's Christmas is just an amazing act of love. You really wish that you could realize things like that when you were a kid, because all I knew was Santa must have wild mind-reading powers, and my Dad was mean because he grounded me from it.

But I know it now.

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

It's that time of year again. Time for the holiday cards to go out to the masses. Here's the pic going on it.

I don't get the deal with people having a fit over "Happy Holidays" or "Merry Christmas". The Christians are all in an uproar about taking the Christ out of Christmas, blah, blah, fuckin' blah.

I got into a debate with a fellow co-worker over this very subject the other day. He was complaining about clerks being told to say "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas".

He said that people are there Christmas shopping, and so the stores should not make the clerks say Happy Holidays.

I'm guessing Jewish or Atheist or Buddist or anyone else of a different religion do not shop from the day after Thanksgiving until December 26th.

I was about to really get into it with him, but decided against it. It is no fun fighting a battle with an unarmed man.

On an unrelated note, aren't my kitties cute?