Sudafed Is My Gateway Drug

I keep coming to my blog wanting to write something.  Something cute and fluffy with cute and fluffy things in it.  Like a post about my dogs and cats and how cute and fluffy they are.  Well, make that dogs and cat.  Because the other cat may be cute and fluffy but she’s dumb as a post and I’d rather she was stuffed and sitting on my fireplace mantle, but since she’s Bil’s cat, that hasn’t happened yet.  Nor have I fed her to the local coyote pack, although I’ve been sorely tempted on more than one occasion.  But then Bil would get all whiney about how I killed his stupid cat, and blah blah blah… so, she’s still alive.  For now.

Where was I?  Oh right.  Cute and fluffy.

Yeah, not feeling so cute and fluffy. Well, maybe fluffy, but I totally blame the local bakery for that.

I’m like my own version of the seven dwarfs, lately.  Bitchy, whiney, sneezy, wannabe doc, fluffy, zombie, and doped up.

And all I really want to do is whine about how hard this parenting gig is, right now.  We’re starting to rack up frequent flyer miles at our local ER.  And you know it’s bad when the doctors look at your kids chart and start discussing your opinion on possible treatment options.  I’m still waiting for my medical degree to magically appear in the mail.

Remember how, before you ever had kids, people would tell you how hard it is?  And you’d look and them and think “ZOMG…shut up and get over it.  It’s a kid.  How hard can it be?”

Yeah.  Totally eating crow now.

The universe thinks it’s funny.  Me?  Not so much.  I find it’s sense of humor rather lacking, these days.  Along with the amout of sleep I’m getting.  Which tonight I can fully blame on the Sudafed I took before bed.  That stuff makes most people drowsy.  You know the whole ‘don’t opperate heavy machinery or you might poke someone’s eye out and then you’ll be sorry, but it won’t be our fault because we told you not to do it right here on the box’ warning?  Yeah, doesn’t apply to me.  Apparently, Sudafed jacks me right up.  Like RIGHT up.  Like holy hell I haven’t slept tonight and WEEEEEE I feel fucking awesome jacked up.  So… uh…yeah, not taking it before bed EVER again.

And I probably shouldn’t be allowed to blog while under the influence of sinus cold meds either.

I don’t see a warning for THAT on the fucking box.

Know It

I own what I say.

I accept sometimes that means eating crow.  So be it.  I still own it.  I’ll apologize if I feel I was wrong.  I’ll clarify things if the situation warrants it.

But please don’t assume you know what I said when you hear it from a third, forth, or fifth party.

If you have an issue with something you *think* I said, then grow a pair and ask me.  If I said it, I’ll own it.  If you need an explanation, I’m usually more than willing to explain the why’s behind it.

And please don’t assume you know exactly how I think based on one supposed 140 characters exchange.  Sometimes words are just words.  There’s not some profound underlying meaning to them.

The fact is, I’m not that fucking deep.

I have neither the time, inclination, or energy to bother to be.

It’s not that I’m shallow.  It’s not that I’m heartless.  It’s not that I’m intentionally cruel or evil.

I say what I mean.

I mean what I say.

I’m a pretty simple person.

And if you think I’m a complete bitch online?  You should meet me in person.

“Never utter these words: ‘I do not know this, therefore it is false.’
One must study to know; know to understand; understand to judge.”
~ Apothegm of Narada

Cheaping Out

Weird things irritate me.

Tags on shirts and pants?  Are stupid in this day and age.  Get rid of them.

Asking me for a favor then bitching because I didn’t do it just right?  Get bent.  And the next time you ask for a favor?  I’m going to be busy.

Whinging about how you can hardly make your mortgage payment with an iced-quad-venti-no-whip-skinny Caramel Macchiato in one hand and smoke in the other while leaning on your new car? Forgive me if I roll my eyes and give you the finger while I suggest you sit and spin.

And the one I just encountered while on a call with my mother:  Inviting me over for dinner and then telling me what main course I can bring?  That not only irritates me, but falls into the realm of completely obtuse and extremely bad manners.

Apparently my sister-in-law has decided that she and my brother are hosting Easter dinner this year and called my mom to have her phone and ‘invite’ us (I put that in quotes, because it’s only an invitation if you can actually turn it down).

You’ll have to excuse me while I try to contain my annoyance excitement.

And of course, this dinner will be, for the sole convenience, as always, of her family, on a Sunday.

Which will mean we have to cancel V’s respite for that day in order to drag her to a house she’s never been in,  full of people she doesn’t know.

Doesn’t that sound like FUN???  icon smile Cheaping Out  <insert fake enthusiasm and some rah-rah pom-pom cheers here>

And all of that?  I could deal with.

But the fact they have gleefully announced that they are providing turkey AND a ham (wow! <more eye rolling>) but are expecting the rest of their guests to provide the remainder of the meal, irritates me.

I’m sorry.  It does.  And I know it’s stupid to get irritated about something like that.

But I we (because Bil agrees with me on this one wholeheartedly) believe that if you are going to host a dinner that means more than just providing the location.

It means providing the appetizers, apéritifs, main courses, desserts, and a few good bottles of wine. If people *offer* to bring something? Well fine…especially if it’s their ‘signature dish’ or something. But I would NEVER be so bold as to expect my guests to provide their own meal.

Yes. Hosting a dinner can be expensive. That? Is not an excuse. If you can’t afford it? Don’t insist on offer to host the meal.

Have manners really degraded so much over the years that this is now an acceptable form of entertaining?

If so, take me back to the days of genteel society and finishing schools.

 Cheaping Out

The Gift That Keeps On Giving

Just a quick warning…. If you’re easily offended, or at work, you *may* not want to click on any of the links in this post.

325351305 ce3e38b477 m The Gift That Keeps On Giving
Image by Alice Harold via Flickr

It used to be that everyone in our family would buy for everyone else and Christmas morning would be filled with hours of present opening and sipping warm apple cider.

As my brothers and I got older, and we moved out on our own, with our own bills to pay, we switched to drawing names.  Everyone’s name went into a bowl, you bought for that one person, max $100.

Now with spouses, a few kids, and a high cost of living, new rules have come into play this year.  You can buy presents for the two kids.  For the adults we’ll do a gift game.  Buy a gift, no more than $20, gender neutral, everyone ends up with something.

OK fine.  I can go along with most of that.

Except, in this day and age, what do you buy for $20 that’s not absolute crap?  And add to the fact it has to be non-gender specific?


So I’ve been searching and searching for two of these gifts (one for Bil, one for me) to bring to this exchange.

And I’ve come up empty handed.

And also a little irritated.

I’m at the point, where I’m really tempted just to be a bitch and really do something that would just fuck the whole thing up (well, from my mother’s point of view, anyways).

I mean, can you imagine my very straight laced strict Catholic father unwraping a nice big 17 inch surprise for his gift?  In the most technical terms, it is gender neutral.  And OK, so it’s a *bit* over the $20 limit, but not by much.

There’s nothing in the rules that say the gifts had to be appropriate.

But then I think… I don’t want to rock the boat too much.  So perhaps a nice T-Shirt.  You know, something my mom could wear to work on casual days.

Any other suggestions of $20 shit gifts I could bring that aren’t chocolate covered?

 The Gift That Keeps On Giving

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