'Tis The Season (To Be Somewhere Else?)

Have you ever been swatted by the weather fairy and received an oddly placed beautiful weather day? If so, have you ever been so pleased by it that you wanted clean until the goodness of that misplaced climate was squeezed dry like a lemon into freshly made iced tea?

And if you have had both of those things happen, have you ever been struck with all of this grandeur whilst stuck at work?

Yes, I realize that this probably has happened to most (if not all) of you, and that it also has happened to anyone who was surprised by an early spring, or any woman who has been stuck with nesting lunacy. I also realize that I have an incredibly small reader base (who are all rock stars, by the way), so the chance of this having happened to those reading is pretty good.

Anyway, it’s an incredibly pleasant, balmy forty seven degrees, and it’s the dead of winter in Maryland.

And since I’ve Murphy’s Oil Soaped the bejeezus out of our offices and an unable to go home and cover my bathroom in Fabuloso while listening to the difficulties in the lives of the Real Housewives of Orange County, I figured I’d play a quick game of anywhere but here. You guys in?

Sweet. Okay.

Playing the incredibly intoxicating, fabulous Christmas present of the decade, DJ Hero. Grandmaster Flash, hang in there. I’ll be home soon, baby.

Creating some sort of pesto/parmesan concoction with lots of veggies and seafood. Because to me, seafood = summer, and 47 degrees right now may as well be midyear solstice.

Grocery shopping with unlimited funds. The cupboards are bare (thank you, week long vacation), and my super awesome MIL got me a SUSHI MAKER FOR CHRISTMAS!!!

Buying the stuff to make white peach sangria (because, hey, doesn’t that sound like it would go reaaaalllyyyy well with that sushi?).

Driving on Oahu along the North Shore listening to Adiemus. (Sounds weird, but it rocks socks.)

All right, I know that last one was a little odd, but I realized that my list of anywhere-but-here’s were kind of pitiful, and I wanted to seem more interesting and a little less mommy’sinarut.

I can’t wait to hear your anywhere but here!

Mapquest should have a GONNA SUCK icon.

570.73

That’s the distance in miles from Colora, Maryland to Gatlinburg, Tennessee. Located there is the resort containing my wonderful in laws and my beautiful step children.

9 Hours, 41 minutes.

That’s the amount of time it’s supposed to take to get there, provided there aren’t extenuating circumstances. Like rock slides covering an entire highway (therefore closing the entire highway), Mack trucks in the fast lane going forty miles an hour. Or silly goose fourteen month olds who are screaming because they’ve been in the car for…shit, what was it? Oh, eleven hours and forty five minutes, because mapquest is a BIG FAT LIAR. After driving through some very interesting Deliverance-like, phantom banjo filled, Silent Hill lookin’ twisty turny nonsense, we arrived.

We then had two of the most wonderful days, filled with all the Christmas card stuff you could ask for. Tiny quaint town with German architecture? Check. Outdoor hot tub and 11.5% alcohol by volume Christmas spiced wine? Check. Sledding down a super pretty hill without another soul out there? Check.

348.31
6 Hours, 26 Minutes

Again, mapquest, you LIE.

That’s the distance and time from Gatlinburg, Tennessee to Clayton, North Carolina. Located there are my husband’s family, the Christmas tree, dinner, and large amount of spirits to be consumed on Christmas eve. Christmas day was beautiful, calm, and quiet (particularly in comparison to the prior evening). The food rocked, there was an amazing mascarpone cheesecake with candied pecans and dulce de leche sauce, and the table was gorgeous.

371.03

The distance from Clayton, North Carolina to Colora, Maryland.

6 Hours, 21 Minutes

Perhaps mapquest should be linked to weather.com, as it rained (literally) our entire drive, and apparently would have continued with us as far as Trenton, New Joisey.
But packed to the gills, suitcases in our laps and a new school Teddy Ruxpin teetering precariously over the youngest, we made the drive in six hours.

Jesus may be the reason for the season, but this year, Exxon made it happen.

Happy Holidays!

And On The Eighth Day....

This reared it's vending head when I went grocery shopping the other day.

I think this may be a sign of some sort, but I'm on the fence between I-Love-Glowy-Things and HORRIBLY EVIL.

I Like Free Stuff, too, but Damn.

Craigslist scares me.

Don’t get me wrong, there are some people who are perfectly fine with Craigslist. I just don’t happen to be one of them. It might have something to do with living next to Baltimore, but who knows?

Craigslist also irritates me.

That’s right, it irritates me. I seem to have a hard time figuring out why someone with a puked on, cigarette burned (yes, I’m speaking from experience) Graco BABY SWING can feel justified in trying to sell it for fifty dollars. It’s insanity.

In lieu of Craigslist, I’ve found Freecycle, which is a Yahoo group that only allows the giving up or receiving of goods. No trading, no selling, and no offering of or asking for any type of service. It’s a nice little group, and it seems to really have weeded out the crazies and undesirables.

Mostly.

Here are some that have been posted in my local area (as you can only join the county you reside in).

“as long as it works looking for outdoor hot tub, thanks”

No shit, eh? Me too. Especially one that makes it’s own mai tais, or one that comes with a cabana boy.

“Looking for a HE washer and or dryer my washer the pump when out for the drain the motor burned up and it is almost $400.00 for a new one might as well by a new washer but cannot afford one so hoping someone has one that is working and not using or a non working Kenmore Elite Calypso washer that is not working that is what my old one is so if you do let me know please. Thanks Matt”

Matt, I also would like an HE washer and or dryer. I also want a pink, sparkly pony, and all my bills to be paid by Jah. Live the dream.

“I'm not one of those people that has tons of sheets, I just buy one set and use it until it's worn out. But I figured I could save some money by checking on freecycle first. I ripped a huge whole in my fitted sheet this morning. I'mnot picky at all about the color would prefer no stains though of course;) thanks!”

Too bad this person didn’t hook up with this person:

“Satin? sheets from Walmart.... used 1 time for 1 night, I can'tstand how slippery they are. Fits a queen sized bed. Creme colored.”

Dude, you’re both fuckin’ gross.

Then again, maybe they can hook up with Matt, once the Home Depot fairy bonks him on his head.

Freecycle might scare me now, too. Dammit.

Back to Target.

'Cuz She's Still Preoccupied With...With...With 1955!

Yes, I’m snarky lately. I don’t know why, but I’m having a bit of fun with it. I’m a ranter and raver, people. Just roll with it.

Now, we’ve all read it…we’ve all gotten the “FwdFwdFwd: Ladies??:” in the subject line, addressing the 1955 “Good Wife’s Guide”.

Well, I’d like to give a shout out to my Granny, who thoughtfully sent it to me to make me giggle. It’s so weird…it’s like she knows I’m ready to slam my head against a wall if I fold one more shirt or make one more meatloaf, and sends things to make my day better. Odd.

It was so thoughtful of the Good Housekeeping writers to give us a guide, so I thought I’d be thoughtful back, and give them my critique (you know, as a housewife). I’m not going to comment on all of their points, just the finer of them.

Have dinner ready. Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious meal ready on time for his return. This is a way of letting him know that you have be thinking about him and are concerned about his needs. Most men are hungry when they get home and the prospect of a good meal is part of the warm welcome needed.
I love this idea. I would absolutely adore having dinner ready when my husband gets home. I know he’s hungry. I’m hungry, also, because my son thinks my breakfast and lunch are his, so I rarely actually eat. I mostly just spend my time cleaning my food off my kid’s face. Usually, around the time I’d start cooking dinner, I’m bathing Scoob, as my lunch as coated him in some sort of un-wipeable substance.

Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so you'll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your make-up, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people.
Work-weary people? WORK-WEARY PEOPLE? They play beanbags all day. Seriously, he’s told me. I don’t own any ribbons, I haven’t been fresh looking since I was sixteen, and if I could get a fifteen minute rest, it sure as shit isn’t going to be so I can look good for my husband. He’s lucky I shave my legs once a week. Work-weary people. Christ.

During the cooler months of the year you should prepare and light a fire for him to unwind by. Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order, and it will give you a lift too. After all, catering to his comfort will provide you with immense personal satisfaction.
Three problems with this equation: One: Nowhere to light a fire, unless you count the pile of clothes he left in the bathroom. Two: It’d be nice if my husband found our home to be a haven of rest and order. It’d also be nice if I had a pink, sparkly pony. Neither will be happening any time soon. Last but not least, catering to his comfort provides me with cold dinner. It rarely provides me with any sort of satisfaction, personal or not.

Minimize all noise. At the time of his arrival, eliminate all noise of the washer, dryer or vacuum. Encourage the children to be quiet.
How often do you think I encourage my children to be loud?

Don't complain if he's late for dinner or even if he stays out all night. Count this as minor compared to what he might have gone through at work.
If he stays out all night, he better be prepared to stay there much, much longer.

Don't ask him questions about his actions or question his judgment or integrity. Remember, he is the master of the house and as such will always exercise his will with fairness and truthfulness. You have no right to question him.
Seriously? The master? Does that come with a cape? Now, I’ll say that usually my husband is usually pretty truthful, but fairness is another story. Unless fair is equal to sighing heavily (I mean, asthma attack heavy) when I ask him to perform a menial task, like taking out the trash or bathing his spawn. You’re right, Good Housekeeping, I don’t have the right to question him. Or to question why he has no clean underwear or spoons, because he forgot to wash them.

A good wife always knows her place. You’re damned skippy.

Oh No You DIIInt.

Lately (before my meds were upped, to be honest) my friend and I have been talking about things that are…just, well, generally unacceptable behavior. I say it that way because I have a tendency to react a little harshly to obnoxious public conduct. It pisses me off a bit more than it does other people.

What does that mean, you ask?

It means I’m going to rant, of course.

Here we go.

Your car is not magic, and for all you jackasses out there, this means a myriad of things. It means that the size of your vehicle does not entitle you to drive like a moron. All it entitles you to is a larger car payment, and a bit more time at the gas pump. I have kids in the car, so knock that shit off. Seriously. It also means that your car has windows. Glass windows, which means if you are texting, beating your kid, changing the radio while slowly sliding out of your lane and into mine, or picking your nose, I can see it. Clear as day. Quit looking mad, because you brought it on yourself.

One more, just for good measure: crosswalks and speed reductions in neighborhoods and schools are not loose suggestions, people. They are there because you are texting and picking your nose, and we (the functioning public) would much rather that you did it at fifteen to twenty five miles an hour, so as not to run over a kid. Unless it’s yours, because they’re probably in the shallow, shallow end of the gene pool anyway.

Ahem.

Moving on, if you lack teeth, quit smiling big. It’s friggin’ gross. Now, I’m not directing this toward denture wearers (assuming their teeth are in at the time they smile). No, I mean those “I smoked crack and my teeth fell out and crack is ‘spensive, so I can’t buy any dentures” unpleasant individuals. And quit getting close to my kid’s face and trying to make him happy. He’s crying because you look scary. You know what would make him happier? If you QUIT TALKING TO HIM.

And, while we’re on the teeth subject, there is no methadone section in WalMart. There are also no loopy metal spoons, crack lighters, or used needles. If you look skeezy, brush your hair and put on something other than your Kermit jammie pants and wife beater with no bra. Get in the car with the guy with no teeth, he’ll probably give you a ride home (if you give him ten bucks for gas).

Next, I don’t care how friendly you’re pretending to act…if you smile and suck your teeth or sneer, the less friendly of those shines through. I don’t really know what your issue is, and I don’t particularly care. I do ask, however, that you keep it to yourself. You’re being bitchy, and it’s just uncomfortable. This especially applies to women, usually the ones that have either been nosy in my phone conversation or think my kid’s hair should be combed better.

In addition to the “fake friendly” situation: yes, I am an Army Wife. I’m aware that there is a show. No, it’s not even remotely close to anything even slightly resembling real Army life. I am not friends with a General’s wife. My husband is not in the Special Forces, yes, I am scared for him to deploy, and yes, Iraq IS scary. Thanks for the update. Please don’t even think about asking whether I’m scared if he deploys that he’ll die, because I promise you, I’ll punch you in your uninformed, Lifetime-watching face.

Thanks.

Raggae? Really?

I can't seem to write much lately, for some reason. Even the great Bea Arthur said:
"It's only writers block if you've written something. Otherwise, all of us have it."

I wish I could think of something funny and witty to say about this...but if a picture is worth a thousand words, this video should be worth (at minimum) a giggle.

At least, it was to me.