Where's the gift receipt?

Dear Mother Nature,

We need to talk.  I understand you have a job to do and that your job description includes delivering a "gift" on a monthly basis but lately, you've been getting a little out of hand in the delivery department.

It's called a "MONTHLY" gift, not a "BI-WEEKLY" gift.  What, you're having a promotion?  Get Two "Gifts" for the price of one month?  That's mighty generous of you but you shouldn't have.  Seriously, you shouldn't have.  Getting a second "gift" in the span of 2 weeks is not what I call, well, a "gift."

And what's the deal with deciding to add in a little something extra, like HOT FLASHES?  Really?  Hot flashes at the same time?  What is this, one of those "But Wait!  There's More!" promotions?  It's bad enough with the cramps and bloating and headaches and boobs that suddenly weigh the equivalent of a 1959 Cadillac along with the sudden desire to eat a bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough and the ability to turn into a rabid wolverine at the drop of a hat without adding in sudden spike of body temperatures while in the midst of a cramp attack.  I mean c'mon!  It's not like you're working for UPS and get paid by the package.  And worse, this is a gift that can't really be returned and exchanged for something better because you never include a gift receipt the way Target does.


You know how in every office there is one person who annoys everyone else because she makes an ostentatious display of just how hard she's working and how efficient she is and goes around changing everything and not for the better so that nobody knows where anything is anymore and it just creates more unnecessary work for everyone else and she's only doing it to earn suck-up points with the boss and everyone wants to just shrink-wrap her to her rolling desk chair and push her out the door and into the parking lot that just happens to be on a hill?


Yeah.  You're rapidly turning into THAT person.  So unless you want to be shrink-wrapped to your chair and shoved down a hill, KNOCK IT OFF!

Sincerely,
Crabby McHotFlash

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year. Well, for the most part.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fwcYbo7pjto 

I don't know how to embed a video so you get to just click on the link to get the awesomeness of this commercial.


Anyhoo, My darling daughter, Thing 2, who FINALLY was able to get her registration handled after last week's fiasco, went back to school today as a Sophomore.  No longer the annoying Freshman yet still not able to obtain an off-campus lunch pass because those are reserved for Juniors and Seniors only unless you know someone who can make counterfeit lunch passes.  Which was another of Thing 1's nefarious enterprises along with making counterfeit parking passes, God help me.  


So we're halfway to school when Thing 2, aka "The Dawdler" for her penchant to take forEVER to get ready in the mornings, tells me that I didn't take the traditional First Day of School picture.  Ever since Thing 1 was in kindergarten, I have always, ALWAYS taken a picture of my kids on their first day of school.  Ok, not always.  When they were in elementary school, the school took First Day photos every year and sent them home with the kids along with an urgent message to please join the PTA.  So lemme rephrase that.  I always, ALWAYS had a First Day of School picture.  And because I'm so meticulous in keeping my photos cataloged in acid free containers and by that I mean I toss them into a paper sack, I can only find one picture of my two offspring from the Elementary School years:

That was Kaylyn's first day of kindergarten and doesn't her brother look so excited to a) have his photo taken and 2) stand in close proximity to his little sister?  Yeah, that's some brotherly love right there.


So the reason I didn't get a picture of Thing 2 this morning of her first day of her Sophomore year was because, wait for it, she was dawdling and we were late getting out the door and traffic is ALWAYS a nightmare so I completely forgot.  But since she looks pretty much the same as last year, I'll just use last year's picture again.  Recycle, reuse, reduce is my motto!

Just imagine that her shirt is white instead of yellow and there ya have it.


However, I DID get a photo of Thing 1 on his first day of college although he wasn't aware I took said photo and it wasn't exactly a portrait but I think it captures his true essence:

My little college boy.  Who spent the weekend familiarizing himself with the dorms and the resident coeds and has now changed his tune from, "Why would I want to live in the dorms?  That's for losers!" to "I wish I could live in the dorms" but since we live a whopping 1/4 mile from the campus and don't have the $10K in residential fees, he gets to sleep in his own bed.  He also attended his first Frat party ("It was INSANE!") and BBQ/Mixer at the dorms and has spent every evening at the brand-spanking new State-of-the-Art Student Wellness Center with the swimming pool, jacuzzi, gym, bowling alley, volleyball courts including a Beach court, basketball courts, etc.  And best of all, students have FREE use of all the amenities.  And we like the word, "Free."


However, what's NOT Free is school supplies, including books.  And lots of them.  That's the bad part of school starting back up.  Last week, Thing 1 gave me a list of the books he needs and I ordered every single book on the list he gave me (remember that part) and they arrived on Monday.  Yesterday, he informs me that I didn't order all the books he needs and he needs them NOW and why didn't I order books that he didn't include on his list and why am I not able to read his mind and just KNOW what he needs?  What kind of a mother am I?  We went round and round arguing over his incomplete list and I was able to pull said list out of the trash and show him that, once again, I WAS RIGHT.


And Thing 2 will be coming home from her first day of school with a list of items that she HAS TO HAVE BY TOMORROW and of course we won't find everything we need at one location because by now the stores are pretty much picked clean and the cash register in my head is going Ka-ching! Ka-ching! Ka-ching! and Aunt Flo decided to show up today unexpectedly and despite all that, it's still The Most Wonderful Time of the Year!


Note to self:  Don't forget to pick up Thing 2 from school this afternoon!

Sometimes, Mother DOES know best

Ok, so today was the day Thing 2 registered for her sophomore year at Drug Central High School.  No, that's not the real name of her school but it's a school with an upper middle class demographic so there's not a gang problem or a teen pregnancy problem but there is a serious drug problem.  Seriously.  In fact, when Thing 1 got busted for making fake parking passes (I was so proud...NOT), the Principal (It's always lovely when you get a call from the principal saying, "Mrs. D?  We have your son here) told me that it was so far down on the list of Things They Have to Deal With that the only punishment was the loss of his legitimate parking pass for the remainder of the school year.

Anyway, registration was set up in a way that if your last name started with Da through Fy, your registration time was from 12:45pm to 1:30pm (it's done NOT in alphabetical order).  So what time does Thing 2 get in the shower?  11:45am.  And what time did she emerge from the bathroom?  12:30pm.  And this is a teenager who does not "do" her hair or wear makeup.  So I'm nagging her to dry her hair so that she wouldn't look like she had lank, greasy hair in her school picture, which is taken during the registration process, and she's all "I don't like to use a hair dyer because I don't want to have Big Hair like yours" and on one hand I wanted to kiss her for that compliment because in my opinion, the Bigger the Hair, the Closer to God and God do I miss my 80's Big Hair and on the other hand I wanted to smack her because she did not mean it as a compliment.  

So every 10 minutes I'm all, "Let's GO!" and she's all "My hair's not dry yet" and I keep nagging telling her that she was assigned a specific time for registration and that it's not "whenever" and she keeps telling me I don't know what I'm talking about.  Finally, at 2:00pm, she's all, "Ok, I'm ready" and we get to school and she's all, "See?  There's nobody here.  We won't have to wait in line now.  I TOLD you there wasn't any reason to get here on time, Mother (which was said in a patronizing, 'you don't know these things, Mom' manner)."  

Well, the reason there wasn't any lines was because Registration was Done and Over With.  It ended at 1:45pm and we got there at 2:15pm.  Because SOMEBODY assumed she had all freakin' day and that the school would be more than happy to sit around and wait for Her Highness to grant them the Honour of Her Presence when her hair had finally air-dried.

It was a very tense drive back home, let me tell you.  And when we got back home, the phone rang and it was the school wanting to know why Thing 2 missed Registration and I got to tell them why.  


So we get to go back on Monday to do this all over again and this time, we only have a 30 minute window and NOT the entire day.  And if you're wondering why I have to be there, it's because money is involved (cash or check only) and there's always unexpected costs and I'm not fond of giving Thing 2 $200.00 and hoping she'll bring back the change.  Because she won't.  Because she'll remind me that back in 1999 I borrowed $ from her and what with interest and all, whatever change was left from registration should just about cover what I owe.  THAT'S why I don't send her off with cash money.  I wish I was kidding about this.


I know it's hard for teenagers to believe but sometimes, Mom DOES know what the heck she's talking about and they'd do well to listen to good ol' Mom.


And, if my mom is reading this, she is probably laughing her butt off and saying, "Karma's a bitch." 

Dream a little dream

I don't know what it is but for the last week or so I have been having some really interesting dreams.  Some good, some bad, some that made me ask "What. The. Hell" when I woke up.

Not last night but the night before (when 24 robbers came knocking at my door), I was having a really lovely dream about a certain NHL player, I think I've mentioned my predilection for hockey players, and oh, it was a lovely dream and Hockey Player and I were having such fun when all of a sudden I am jolted out of my wonderful dream because someone decided to call my house at the unGodly hour of 6:30 IN THE MORNING.  A Sunday morning.  When it should be illegal to call anyone before 9:00am.  And the thoughtless, insensitive person had the nerve to hang up before I could answer the phone. Bastard.

So I was able to fall back asleep and tried to get back to my lovely dream and just as it's starting to happen, TheManTheMyth's cellphone starts ringing and I'm all "What the hell, people!"  And that was the end of fun and games with a hot hockey player.  Even if it was only in my dreams.  I'm still pissed at whoever called and interrupted such a fine dream.

Dreams are weird things.  Years ago, when I was in my early 20's and was recovering from an emotionally devastating event, I started having nightmares and would wake up in a cold sweat at the same time every single night.  I just chalked it up to the emotional upheavals in my life.  Eventually, the nightmares and middle of the night wake ups stopped.

Several years later, I was visiting my mom up in Washington and one of her friends came by and somehow we got on the subject of dreams and nightmares and I mentioned my period of nightmares and middle of the night wake ups and she said, "You know what caused that, don't you?" and I'm all, "yeah, my fiance died" and she tells me that it was something else entirely.  She tells me that the reason I was waking from nightmares at the same time every night was because, you better sit down for this one, I had been abducted by aliens at that particular time of night.  Hand to God, that's what she said.

Yep, abduction by aliens was the cause of my nightmares, according to Crazy Frannie.  And all this time I thought it was because a) my fiance had died and 2) I had read "Pet Sematary" and dreamed that G was coming back from the dead all changed just like the dead people buried in the Pet Sematary.  Seriously, that was one of the scariest books I had ever read, mostly because of when I read it, right after G died, which probably wasn't the smartest move.

Last night I had a nightmare that I can't quite recall but I'm pretty sure that the cause of it was not because I was abducted yet again by aliens but because I had 2 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches along with a pretty strong vodka and Fresca nightcap about an hour before I went to bed.

That combo would give anyone nightmares.  Even aliens.

It's a little bit cooler in Hell these days

Didja miss me?  Didja miss me?  Waddya mean, "What, you've been gone?"  Ok, technically I didn't "go" anywhere; I just haven't enthralled you with my humor and shenanigans in a few weeks.

So, you're probably asking yourself, what has been going on in Kelly's World that she can kvetch about?  I'm so glad you asked.

As I mentioned in a previous post, we've been going through refinancing hell.  And last week I got both good news and bad news about our refinancing.  The good news:  our house appraised $40,000 HIGHER than That Bank had estimated.  And this was after the house a few doors down just sold for almost $100,000 less than our appraised value.  High five!

Now, the bad news:  we don't qualify for refinancing.  2009 was a really, really dismal year for self-employed people in the Construction Industry and That Bank is not so enthusiastic about approving loans for people with low income.  Who knew?  And to make matters worse, That Bank sent notice to our bank telling them we were closing our accounts, without my knowledge by the way, and I found that out the hard way when I tried to access my accounts and discovered they were frozen on account we were closing them.  Say whut?  So I got to spend a couple of hours on the phone with this bank and That Bank and escrow agencies and yeah, it's been swell.  Bastards.


Ok, what else is going on?  OH!  My family members who read my blog had better sit down for this one.  Guess what I did this week?  I'll give you a hint, it's something I haven't done in 18 years.  No, I did not enter a wet t-shirt (again).  And no, I'm stalking anyone (again.  Although things might change when the NHL season starts back up).  Give up?  I applied for, wait for it, a JOB.  Yes, just one.  Baby steps, people.  Baby steps.  No, I'm not telling where and based on the online application process experience I probably won't even be called to interview but I actually applied for a job.  Can you believe it?  The temperature in hell may have dropped a degree or two.


I was disappointed in the online application process.  I know I have the skills, knowledge AND experience for this job but the online application didn't give me the opportunity to present myself and my skills, knowledge AND experience properly.  But I'm keeping my fingers crossed that somehow, someone says, "Oh what the hell, let's call her for an interview" and I can dazzle them with my skills, knowledge AND experience.  Or baffle them with my bullshit.  Either way, keep your fingers crossed for me. 


Oh. My. God.  Some guy just came to my door offering to paint the numbers on my curb (we get those offers on a weekly basis) and the alcohol fumes emanating from him just about bowled me over.  Good thing there weren't any open flames.  Dude.  Sober up before you start knocking on doors at noon.


I leave you with a photo I took at a Civil War reenactment I attended at our local park a few weeks ago.  This has nothing to do with anything but I thought it was a cool shot.  Get it?  "Shot?" Ah, never mind.

Party now, sleep later.

So last night, Thing 1 and a couple of his cronies were sprawled out on our couch, watching something Shark Week related and they were struggling to keep their eyes open.  Yawns were flying left and right.  They were some lives ones, let me tell you.  Life of the party, they were.  Staying up until the sun came up the night before kind of drained their energy resources.

In between yawns, they were asking each other, "So what do you wanna do?"  "I dunno, what do you wanna do?"  "I dunno, what do you think?" and on and on.  And I'm looking at these 3 burnt out slugs and I say, "Hey, why don't you just stay HOME tonight instead of going out and burning the candle at both ends?" and they all look at me like I'm some sort of crazy lady who has NO IDEA what she is talking about and that motivated them enough to go out and find some trouble somewhere instead of staying home with some old lady who has no idea what it was like to be Young.

Ah yes.  It may have been a few decades since but I remember (Vaguely.  I did a lot of drugs back in the day) going out every single night during my early 20's.  I had a job where I worked from 12:00pm to 9:00pm so I could stay out all night and still get (barely) enough sleep.  Every. Single. Night.  If I didn't go out at night, every single night, then I felt like a social failure and I might miss Something.  One time, my dad, who I was living with at the time, looked at my exhausted face and asked me why didn't I just stay home that night for a change and of course I looked at him with a dumbfounded expression, like he had just asked me why didn't I stick my finger in a light socket while standing in a pool of water.  Stay home at night?  That was just crazy talk!

And then one night, I decided to take a walk on the mild side.  I stayed home.  On a Friday night.  And watched TV with my dad.  Dukes of Hazzard.  My dad loved Dukes of Hazzard, especially Enos.  Anyway, my dad looked at me all funny and asked if I was sick or something.  Nope, says I.  I just feel like staying home for a change.  Add in the fact that I had kind of gotten sick and tired of the same bunch of losers people I'd been partying hanging out with and I'd had my fill of Taking a Walk on the Wild Side.

College starts in just a couple of weeks so let Thing 1 and his cast of cronies enjoy what's left of their summer.  There's plenty of time to sleep later.  Like, in their 40's.  Like me.

I don't get it

I am totally stealing this idea from Cupcake Murphy because my well of creativity seems to have dried up and I can make this a regular entry whenever I can't come up with anything original or when I think my loyal follower(s) want to know what else I don't "get."  Yeah, because it's what they live for.

So, without further ado, here is the first installment in Things I Don't Get and by that, I don't mean I'm unable to obtain these things, I mean I don't get the appeal, so to speak.  Get it?  All righty then.

Things I Don't Get:

1.  Anyone over the age of 8 liking Hello Kitty.
2.  What harem girls/belly dancers have to do with Elizabethan England at Renaissance Faires.
3.  All those virtual "gifts" on Facebook.
4.  Facial and body piercings. 
5.  The color "puce."


Ok, then.  So goes my first installment.  Stay tuned for the next round of Things I Don't Get, brought to you by cynicism, plagiarism and PMS.