If It Weren’t For Negative Energy I’d Have No Energy At All

My birthday was very nice. Hugh and the children gifted me with a most awesome picnic cooler-on-wheels-gizmo. It comes with plates, utensils, wine glasses, napkins, a pewter wine stopper, a cheese board and a fancy set of cheese knives, very cool.

Hugh also risked hypothermia (not to mention his neck) to hang my Christmas lights around the porch. They look quite lovely even if he did run out of lights a mere fifteen feet from finishing (note to self: check attic for missing box of holiday lights).

I have been quite productive today. I cleaned out two filing cabinets, all of my desk drawers and a corner of my office storage room. I hope the new person appreciates the efforts and, especially the fact that I am surrendering to him, or to her; the ancient laminating machine that my predecessor passed along to me six years ago. It’s still functionable and the smell of burning plastic will be a nice reminder of my service to the cause lo these many years.

Tonight, I have my last political function as a ward of the bureaucracy; a Town Hall meeting to present the results of a large project that I have spent the last year working on. It is my coup de grace and had damn well better be well attended and hella well appreciated.

In other crappy news; the Man-Cub lost the privilege of attending after school programs yesterday following a phone call that I received from the program coordinator. Seems the child finally caved in to the taunting of the resident bully by retaliating with some name calling and, possibly, an Indian burn to the little bastard's arm. Since Hugh and I have always counseled our kids to be the bigger person and to walk away from fights; we had no choice but to punish the Cub by taking away his program time.

On the other hand, since he has been on the receiving end of the little bully-in-question’s crap since the beginning of the school year and has done a stellar job of ignoring the little asshole up til now; I do feel badly about the punishment.

Also, I kind of hope that fucking Indian burn hurt.

You Say It’s Your Birthday?

It’s my birthday, too! Or, more accurately, it is the tenth anniversary of my twenty-ninth birthday. I think I’m holding up pretty well for having celebrated that particular milestone ten times now. Well, eleven times if you want to be specific. You all know what that means, don’t you? I’m knocking on the door to the big 4-0; I predict that, this time next year I will be prostrate on the ground crying for my lost youth and bemoaning my sad entry into middle age.

But, that’s next year, this year I’m going to party like its 1999, which, incidentally, was the second anniversary of my twenty-ninth birthday. Rock on!

Wow! I sound remarkably chipper this morning. One would think that I have completely gotten over the fact that my dog died yesterday. I haven’t but, humor is my defense mechanism and my birthday present to myself is a day without tears so, let’s think happy thoughts!

You know what I always find amusing? Dissecting my stats and, particularly, Google search terms that bring people to this blog; the most prevalent being searches for information on the Miss Congeniality movie, starring everyone’s favorite girl next door, Sandra Bullock.

Questions regarding the care and feeding of Amish Friendship Bread feature highly as well and, what can I say people; I sucked at the Friendship Bread, please for the love of the Plain People, find a more reliable source of information. That said; to the individual who Googled the phrase “Is my friendship bread doomed?” Yes, yes it is.

And, all you poor souls who got here because you were searching for Tooth Fairy letterhead (and, Christ on a cracker, there are a lot of you); I sympathize with your plight because, yeah, been there, done that, didn’t get the tee-shirt but I did create the letterhead and, if you email me I might just part with a PDF file. You’re welcome and, never fear, you are not a terrible parent. You are a sucky Tooth Fairy but it appears, we are legion.

A few misguided souls found this blog by searching for Hugh Boobies and I, um, yeah….I have no words. My Hugh doesn’t have boobies because he is a man. If he had boobies they would be Man Boobs or Moobies if you will and, um, he doesn’t so, move along you pervs.

Three people arrived via a search for Elephantigo. My advice; see a doctor, folks.

Searches for OPI nail polish landed a number of people here as well and, hello y’all! State your name and admit your addiction; it’s the first step in the recovery process.

I had one search for Debbie Feiger. If that was my Debbie, hey girlfriend! Where you been since the second grade? Call me!

Some of the search terms that have landed people here are so bizarre, I am lost for an explanation but, for the most part I find the process quite humorous and today it has proven to be quite a good distraction from my depression.

Now, with just a smidgen of Retail Therapy courtesy of the gift card bestowed upon me by my colleagues plus a bite (or ten) of the pink frosted donut that they presented to me this morning; I’ll be all good to go.

I can think of far worse ways to spend the anniversary of my twenty-ninth birthday.

Fragile Circle

"We who choose to surround ourselves with lives even more temporary than our own, live within a fragile circle, easily and often breached. Unable to accept its awful gaps, we still would live no other way. We cherish memory as the only certain immortality, never fully understanding the necessary plan."

Irving Townsend.

Sleep well, Jake.

I am Having a Grinchtastic Day!

Our time in Mayberry went by far too quickly and here I am, back in the real world. My parents, sisters, brothers-in-law, Hugh and I took full advantage of the mini-vacation of course, with two-count ‘em, two-trips to the movies (Fred Claus and Enchanted), a little shopping (ok, the brothers-in-law and Hugh didn’t so much participate in that particular activity), eating until we thought we might burst (in which Hugh and the brothers-in-law most certainly were active participants) and watching our various off-spring run about the house like maniacs hopped up on the crack.

It is one of the few occasions where we, as parents, put aside the rules and routines and actively encourage our kids to stay up late, sleep in, engage in snowball fights of epic proportions, kiss dogs on the mouth (eww, sister), and to eat foods containing absolutely nothing of nutritive value. Of course, we do it all in the name of family.

But, alas, the fun had to come to an end and here I am, back to the grind.

With Thanksgiving over, I am struggling to get in the Christmas spirit. I’m not sure why I am having such a hard time getting with the program this year but I really am. The kids and I did manage to decorate the Christmas tree yesterday. It didn’t do much to help with my mood however because, Hugh, who usually helps with the endeavor was busy tending to our nine-year old black lab, Jake, who had refused to eat for my mother-in-law while we were out of town. He has gone rapidly downhill, health wise, since and we have no idea what could be wrong. All I know is that he has lost a frightening amount of weight and his eyes are not the eyes of my usually boisterous and somewhat addle-brained loveable mutt. And I am scared.

Hugh is with him at our vet’s office as I type this. The vet is hoping to rule out poisoning and, since the dog was kenneled while we were out of town, with nothing toxic within reach; I have a hard time thinking that poison is the cause. So of course I’m worried and waiting anxiously for Hugh’s call.

Later today, I am meeting with the committee charged with the task of hiring my replacement. We are going to go over the twenty or so resumes that we have received to determine whom to interview in the coming days. I can think of better ways to spend my afternoon because I’m just not that into it.

It’s kind of like breaking up with an old boyfriend.

My job and I, we had some good times. We looked good on each other and, when the spark died; it was time to move on. Now, I have to help pick out the new girlfriend and that? Is weird. She can’t be prettier than me but, on the other hand, she can’t be ugly because, what does that say about my job’s taste in girls? I mean, really.

You can see my dilemma.

Or, maybe you can’t. Either way.

Wow. This post certainly is spiraling down the drain of despair, isn’t it?

Perhaps I should quit while I'm ahead.

Oh, yes, well... too late. Carry on, then.

Memories of Thanksgivings Past

The turkey is roasting, stuffed to the limit with my mother’s special dressing. The entire house smells like every Thanksgiving and Christmas in my memory. I can hardly wait to eat and, the beauty of it all is; I didn’t have to cook.

That right there is something to be grateful for.

The first Thanksgiving dinner that I ever cooked was for-and with-my college roommates. We were all scheduled to leave campus for our respective hometowns to spend the holiday with our families and wanted to mark the day together before we did so, we planned an elaborate celebration for the weekend before the break. It was a learning experience for all of us and, in doing it; we each gained an appreciation for our mothers or grandmothers who had cooked before us.

I was in charge of the turkey and stuffing and I must have made fifteen calls to my mother to ask questions and for clarification on answers to questions that she had already given me.

My roommates each made their own dishes and we served the meal to the boys from downstairs. The boys, I should add, were from the East Coast, Boston, I believe. They were city boys reveling in the “country life” they were finding in Colorado and we got a huge kick out of watching their experiments.

For example, the previous spring, the boys had attended the annual “Chick Days “event at the local farm implement store (not quite sure they found the “chicks” they were expecting, exactly) and had become the proud owners of a baby chick, a duckling and a small turkey, pets they had grown to love in the months leading up to Thanksgiving so; our choice of the traditional Thanksgiving meal probably appeared somewhat insensitive as far as they were concerned. Of course, that didn’t stop them from eating like they hadn’t had anything but Ramen in months.

Which, in all honesty, they probably hadn’t.

That Thanksgiving remains one of my favorite memories of the holiday. I had a lot to be thankful for and, happily, I still do, I still count my roommates among my best friends and, someday, I think we all hope to reconnect with the boys from Boston.

We won’t be reconnecting with their chicks, however because, after realizing how ridiculous an idea it was to try to raise poultry in a two-bedroom apartment (the mess, good Lord); the boys served them for dinner the following Thanksgiving.

True story.

Over the River and Through the Woods

This afternoon, we are making the trip to my parent’s house for the holiday weekend. Last night The Girl told me that she is both excited to go and not excited to go and, I assumed what she meant was that she didn’t want to leave her friends. She agreed that she would miss them but assured me that what she really meant was that, while she is super-excited to see her grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins, she totally dreads the prospect of spending three hours in the car, on a trip that often makes her carsick.

I can actually relate to both scenarios; I used to hate to travel to Texas to visit my paternal grandparents during the holidays; I loved my grandparents but missed my friends (especially around high school age) and the long drive often left me nauseous (it didn’t help matters that my grandmother was, um, not much of a cook and that her turkey stuffing was not at all like my mother’s. Cornbread? In stuffing? Who had ever heard of such a thing? It wasn’t until I was an adult and had cornbread stuffing made the right way that I garnered an appreciation for the taste and, as usual, I digress).

My point is; the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

In true Colorado style, the weather, which has held steady at a lovely sixty degrees throughout the entire month, is predicted to turn completely foul for the weekend. I am hoping that, by leaving this afternoon, we will miss the worst of the storm and that I won’t have to drive in snow because, if there is anything worse than having a carsick child, it is having a carsick child during a three-hour drive in a blizzard.

Cross your fingers for us and, if all goes well; I’ll be blogging live from Mayberry this time tomorrow.

He Just Can’t Take Me Anywhere

Friday night, Hugh and I attended a charity function sponsored by my service club. We go every year and, every year until this one, I have abstained from drinking the wine.

Why would I abstain from the goodness that is the fermented juice of the crushed grape, you ask? Because, due to my job, I was considered a public figure and I just didn’t think it appropriate for a public figure to get her drunk on at a fundraiser for a children’s charity.

Of course, since I announced my intention to enter the private sector, all that has changed and I felt completely justified in having a small glass of wine at the event.

This became two small glasses…

…this became a rather large glass…

…followed by another rather large glass…

…and so on.

It was very good wine and, I’m fairly certain that I had a good time. I do remember having a delightful conversation with a young couple for whom Hugh had ordered kitchen cabinets a while back. It was a lengthy conversation, I am told. Also, if one didn’t know better, they might assume that I had a string hanging from my back and my name was Miss Chatty. But, you can call me Cathy.

I didn’t care. I was having fun and, if the cost of that fun included Hugh getting a great deal of amusement at my expense, well, it was a price I was willing to pay. Because, as I said, it was very good wine.

On the other hand, the part where I blatantly stalked a woman around the event simply because I knew that I knew her and could not for the life of me place her-a fact that irritated me to the point of insanity- may have been slightly over the top.

I'm sure you'll be relieved to know that I was eventually able to identify her as a teller at the post office where I pick up my business mail. You'll also be relived to know that I’m pretty sure she didn’t recognize me so my cover as an upstanding public figure remains intact.

Despite the very good wine.

How good? Good enough for me to not have a hangover at all the next day even though I passed out fell asleep immediately upon returning home from the event (I meant to sleep in my sweat bottoms, honestly). In fact, I felt so good on Saturday; I wrangled all five huge boxes of my Christmas village pieces down from the attic and set the village up in record time.

I also cleaned the house, shopped for groceries, entertained the Man-Cub while The Girl was away at a sleep-over and provided sparkling conversation at dinner. In short, I should drink very good wine more often.

And, um, we’ll just forget about that unfortunate stalking incident, mkay?

<---------Not drunk. Not drunk at all.