Some Cheese With Your Whine, Madam?
First I am going to whine and then I’ll share a quick funny Thanksgiving outtake. So if you are anti-whine, skip the first part.
Here I am, still without a proper writing station. Since the move, I have only written one freelance piece. Not good. It’s hard to work with this current setup, and even something I love, blogging, has taken a backseat. My sister Angie says I am too much like Monk, the USA TV character who has obsessive compulsive disorder. Maybe there’s something to that theory.
Right now, I am in what one day will be my office. One day… throw in a deep-hearted sigh. My big beautiful desk did not fit the pitched roof upstairs, so I gave it to a friend. When I have fruit from the money tree I planted out back, I shall buy a new desk. Until then, the boxes marked “DESK” are stacked to my waist and my laptop is perched on top. Our kitchen chair that broke in the move, is where my ass is gently planted. There is no table to set my coffee cup, so that is perched on another box, which unfortunately is slightly out of reach, please hold… okay, thank you. SLURP.
After finding the house and making it through the move, cleaning the old place, (and not getting my deposit back – insert bad words here, lots of bad words) unpacking way more crap than one family needs, throw in the loss of my Uncle Giant, a homeless person staying with us for a week and a half, a birthday party with 25 guests, 15 of which slept over, a consistently out of town husband (he’s in California this week), a teenager in wrestling and a pre-teen with too many friends who like to come over every single day, throw in Thanksgiving for good measure, plus a trip to Missouri this week to help my in-laws move (I’m leaving Friday), and it seems there has been not a dull moment. All of this in one month. I’ve never been so happy to see a month go bye-bye. Of course the fat fictitious bastard from the North Pole will be coming soon, oh joy.
So that’s my bitch session for the day. I think I am just really tired. My friend is out of town and I have her kids here all week. They are 12 and 13 years old. Add in my 12 and 14 year olds and you have a mix of all night chatting and giggling. Today I really gave them a run for their money. I thought I was brilliant. Here is what happened:
“Good morning! (Lights on) Time to get up!”
“But it’s still dark outside.”
“I know! Isn’t it cool to be up before the birds?”
“No! What time is it?”
“But we don’t have to be up until 7!”
“Oh! Well, I decided since you took all of my alone time last night with all of your goofing off, I would do the same to you. You know, in my house, you are treated as well as you treat me, so get your butts up right now.”
Three beautiful little girls gave me the dirtiest looks ever. I was damn proud of myself. Lois Lane is certainly not Mary Fucking Poppins.
How was your Thanksgiving? Mine was great. Sister Anita was the ever gracious cooking, cleaning fool who did way more work than the rest of us. Sister Mary made a poisoned ham. I picked out of the pan before dinner, just to save the others. They should all be thankful for me. Sister Angie was off in Kentucky with her boyfriend and her outlaws (if Paparoach would get on bended knee, they would be in-laws, I’m just sayin’), probably eating a turducken. (That would be a chicken stuffed in a duck, which is stuffed in a turkey, for you Yankees who may not know about those animals inside of animals things. The thought of a turducken makes me think of dunking turds and the matryoshka, which is a Russian stackable doll where one doll fits inside of another doll, rinse and repeat. ) My brothers, I can only assume, since I am a terrible sister and didn’t bother to call them, were at their in-laws doing their own thing.
And Mom, hoo boy, she is something else. Mom was our hostess. But she sort of just directed traffic and told us what to do. Before we sat down to eat, she ordered my nephew Yoda to take the dog out. When he came back, the damn dog was in such a hurry to get back in the house, by the people and food, she ran straight into the screen door on the patio. My mother, dork that she is, gasped.
Wide-eyed, she said, “I think my dog is going blind. I wonder if the vet can do anything about that, like give her contacts or Lasik or something.”
Mary, Anita and I burst out laughing. Mom later claimed to be joking, but we know better. It was at that moment, we were all thankful for our mother, because without her, who could we make fun of?
I hope everyone of you had a great holiday. Thanks for sticking around during the odd time. I’ll be back soon. Keep your fingers crossed for me that the desk fairy stops by my house or that the money tree sprouts early.