We just put up the tree today. (No ornaments yet, just the tree itself), and already Annie is climbing into it. In fact, as I type this, she’s making her way up the branches. And obviously, you can’t squirt her because of the lights.
Dammit, I just pulled her out, and now she’s back in again. Fuck. And it’s worse this year because she and Luci are now fully grown.
“Oh, we can’t have nice things!”
Goddamnit. I’m on day five of this cold/flu/whatever and I am very tired of it. A new symptom every day! Causing me to spend all day in bed on the week I intended to get a lot done because I’d be home!
Crap.
Hmm, cat climbing in the Christmas tree. That sounds familiar.
Our youngest cat is less than a year old, so she hasn’t experienced Xmas Tree Playground yet. I’m planning on omitting the tinsel/icicles this year (again) and using only the nonbreakable ornaments (again). I look forward to using breakable ornaments again. Though I’ll probably put them in very safe places.
My husband was on a road trip Tuesday, and Wednesday morning, at about 5 AM, I get a call from him. He crashed into a deer and totaled his truck. I am just now calming down about it. I’m sure that he was at least partially to blame, because he tends to speed about ten miles over the limit, and because he tends to take risks.
That. And the cinnamon. The awful, cheap, fake cinnamon. Like those pine cones in a mesh bag coated with cinnamon that you’re supposed to throw into your fireplace. (gaaagggg).
Call me a disgruntled loner, but I want my house back. I want to heat up some curry without someone throwing a fit over the smell. I want to take a mid-afternoon nap on the couch, in the sun, without someone asking me all kinds of stupid questions from the other room. My husband is home for a week and though he’s an amiable person, he just keeps getting in my way. He’s read all his books, watched all his DVDs, done his list of chores, and now wanders around, happy as a lark that he’s not at work, chit chatting endlessly, telling me all about how the last Dirk Pitt novel worked out, asking what there is to eat (open refrigerator - look!), asking if I heard the mail truck come around yet, tell me for the 100th time how great it is to be on vacation (and it’s not like he sleeps in, he’s up at the crack of dawn making noise like always). Or - he’s developing some strange pain/ailment/headache/cough, and we discuss this, the possibility of it being something serious, and possible cures or OTC medications I should run out and buy. I can’t get anything DONE with him hanging around 24/7. If this is what retirement is going to be like, I might have to get a job! Please, husband - find something to do. I’m getting weary of being agreeable and chatty all the goddam time.
Ugh, yes, one of the local supermarket chains has those, and they banned them to the entryway where you only linger long enough to grab a cart. However, having the doors open and being assailed with that odor is almost enough to scare you back out of the store.
My tree is up, with lights and ornaments but no tinsel. I think it looks great, but my mother – who is currently struggling with a new pair of glasses that we both suspect has the wrong prescription – insists the tree is leaning in several different directions. Hmm. I am familiar with leaning trees; in high school, one of our trees was placed in one of those tilting stands (later referred to as the “tilt-a-whirl” stand), and nearly fell on the floor. We had to tie it to the door frame after we got the stand secure.
On the plus side, we finally found a position for the tree that still allows viewing of the TV from the kitchen.
Here’s mine: Look, I know that the car we bought from you was used. The price was good, and we paid you cash for it As Is.
But I’m still pissed off that a supposed friend of the family would sell me a car with what was supposed to be a new transmission…that turns out was actually a worked on transmission with a warranty…except that now that the transmission is failing you suddenly can’t get me the contact information of the the guy that worked on the transmission.
Yes, I know we screwed ourselves by trusting you not to screw us over. You’re still a class A douche.
Ow ow ow ow ow ow. I did something to my neck yesterday (or just slept on it wrong); I woke up with it hurting a bit, and it’s been getting worse all day. Ow. I’m pretty sure it’s just a strain, but damn, you take moving your neck for granted until it starts hurting.
In other news, I’ve decided that the Christmas family drama is not my problem. My husband’s parents want us to come to family events Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and Boxing Day. They’re great people, but for some unknown reason, they can’t quite seem to understand that I have a family that I want to see, too - this isn’t the first Christmas like this. Oh well - my mom will be in town for Christmas, and I’ll spend Christmas Day with her; the rest can sort itself out.
What’s even worse is when the cashier asks me to hold on because someone else just walks up and asks them a question. No, mother fucker I will NOT hold on, I was here first and YOU can fucking hold on!
That’s almost word-for-word what goes through my head when that happens. Then I politely say something innocuous, because we live in a society. 
That seems to vary with corporate culture: I like supermarkets where the cashier’s response to that will be along the lines of “I’m with this lady, please wait your turn sir.” This one time, someone started trying to rip one of the cashiers a new hole “I’m a customer!” and she cut him off “so’s the lady, and both her and I happen to be old enough to be your mother; speaking of which, would you like me to give her a phone call and tell her her son is acting like an ass?”
It’s a small town. She probably could have - and certainly would have.
I woke up yesterday to a very warm house. Miserably warm. Overnight I dial the thermostat back to 60F. Whe I looked at the termostat it read 74F. Turned it off - nothing. Heat still blasting out. Turned the power off to the furnace and called the gas company.
Guy comes out - first thing he says “You need a new furnace”. It’s original to the house (1946), I know it’s old, but a new heating system is not in the budget unless absolutely necessary. The furnace was too hot for him to work on, so he left.
When he came back he looked at the thermostat - “it’s crap, always problems, you need a new one”. No, the thermostat works just dandy, never had a problem. He goes back downstairs, claiming he shouldn’t have come back - I should just forget trying to fix the furnace and buy a new one. Dude, I am broke. I pay for you to fix the furnace and unless it’s broken beyond repair, shut up and do your job. No, I will not ask family members to help pay for a new furnace, nor will I stand outside and ask for money, you douche. Not amused. As he was tinkering with it, it was clear he really did not know what he was doing. He called another guy over who was experienced in “Old Crap”. The second guy obviously didn’t particularly care for the first guy - he was talking to him like one would a particularly slow 5 year old. First guy kept asking him why are they bothering trying to fix it.
Where we stand right now -
Gas company guy had to schedule an “antiquities expert” to come out. Har har. He should be here sometime today.
He left the blower fan running for air circulation. Great idea, until the sun started going down and it started blowing cold air (the idea is to keep it warm on the living area). Did he tell me how to turn the blower fan off? No. Did I ask? Yes. I was told I would thank him later. No, no I won’t. Ended up flipping the power off at the breaker.
All the dust blown out seems to have landed in my sinuses and my face wants to explode.
And, of course, we haven’t any heat. Whee.
Okay, this has ceased to be funny. Where the bloody FUCK is my warm grey bathrobe? I went through all the last of my boxed clothes this weekend, switched out the last of the summer/winter stuff … and I still can’t find the stupid thing! My summerweight light cotton bathrobe is SOOOooo not cutting it anymore.
Did you steal it? ** looks around thread suspiciously **
Sorry… I’m cold. I’ll wash it before I return it.
But if the gas company doesn’t get here soon, I may be found wearing it as a Missy-cicle.
Totally minor and stupid. But my ears are burning up! Sooo hot, my ears!!!
(I’m told this is a sign of impending fever. I’m going to take more Advil.)
OH JESUS FUCK ow ow ow ow ow. Fingers crossed that you’re loaded up with enough pain meds to get you through.
Side note: Anybody with animals that have even a remote chance of eating decorations should never, ever, ever, ever use tinsel. It can end up literally slicing their intestines apart.
It’s official: Barbara Walters has Alzheimer’s. She also jumped a shark with Alzheimer’s. That can be the only explanation for her thinking Snooki is fascinating.
We got some old-fashioned twisted metal icicles after going without for many years because of tinsel-scarfing cats. No worry about tinsel-butt with these!
Put the copy in the fax ready to send, after the top gets fed through quickly tape it to the bottom of the page so it creates a loop through the feeder thingie. Allow it to keep running. Eventually they’ll have too many copies to lose.
Bonus points if they call and beg you to stop. 
