Caterwauling

Well, loyal readers, I’ll be going on hiatus for a lil while. Not sure when I’ll be back, but I can guarantee that I’ll be bringing you more mind-numbing fun before the New Year begins! 🙂 Don’t forget — be at Bennigan’s in Alexandria on New Year’s Eve, and bring the mistletoe. 😉

Till then, I leave you with a little festive note. …

“It’s nice to be a Jew on Christmas

You don’t have to deal with the season at all

You don’t have to.be on your best behavior

Or give to charity

You don’t have to go to Grandma’s house

With your alcoholic family

And I don’t have to sit on some fake Santa’s lap

And have him breathe his stinky breath on me!

You’re a Jew

A stylin’ Jew

It’s a good time

To be Hebrew

On Christmas.”

— Primus and Kyle from “South Park” — “The Lonely Jew on Christmas” —

There are days when I am simply ashamed to be a liberal. I’ve been following Barbara White Stack’s “Juvenile Court Journal” in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette for some time now, and I’ve even expressed enough outrage at the semantics of the child welfare system to send a letter to the editor.

Today’s installment, A little lie tears a girl from her dad, reminds me why I absolutely abhor the child welfare system in the United States.

When I worked at the county office of child welfare shenanigans in the mid-1990s, I remember that spanking was just emerging as a hot point. Granted, the rule is that foster parents may never spank or otherwise physically discipline the child, and biological parents are held to the same standard during supervised visits with their children. I won’t say that I absolutely agree with this rule, but for the sake of the child, who has had enough drama in his/her life (including a string of court appearances), I can understand that a swat on the ass is probably not the best thing for the kid, especially not under the watchful eye of the judge or the caseworker.

The problem with the child welfare system (well, one of many) is that good parents are punished for occassionally smacking a kid on the behind as a form of punishment, yet parents who neglect their children or mentally abuse them run free. Why? Because corporal punishment is easier to identify, even if it’s a tap on the arm with a flyswatter, because physical contact was made at least once. Mental anguish is harder to prove in a courtroom, although in juvy court, most evidence admitted is circumstantial anyway.

I could pitch a thousand bitches about all the bad parents I’ve encountered in my day when that was my career path. One story: we used to give out Xmas gifts for all the kids every year, and oftentimes, parents would pick up the gifts and turn around and sell them DOWN THE STREET FROM OUR OFFICES for drug money or for drugs themselves. I shit you not. When I saw dealers carrying around my beautifully wrapped Barbie dolls or my teddy bears with ribbons around their necks, I nearly cried. Those children for whom we TRIED to provide a little bit of Christmas, well, they would have none because Mommy needed a fix.

And I don’t know if it’s the P-G reporter or what, but she always follows families who seem like they shouldnot be involved with The System. Yet they are. The little girl in today’s story didn’t want to go home from school one day because she’d gotten in a fight, so she told the principal that her daddy would beat her with a pipe if he found out about it. So, she was whisked off to Children’s Hospital and dropped into foster care. The reason? Daddy might have beaten her. That, and he was belligerent when he found out she was going into foster care. That must mean that he’s an abusive father, right?

Argh. If I had a child ripped away from me, you’d better damn well believe that I’d be pissed. And while I know it’s necessary to remain composed and respectful — to show the judge what a super-duper parent you are — it’s ridiculous to expect a parent to pretend that they’re thrilled to miss work and to appear in court because their child has been yanked out of their lives.

And as far as spanking, how therapists and counselors and child welfare advocates insist that talking to your child should be your course of action instead, well, :::pffftttt::::. Yes, I blew a raspberry at them. Had I not been spanked on occasion, I’d probably not be alive today. Because I was just one of those kids who was into everything. I wasn’t bad, just nosey. I had to touch the hot stove, to see if glass could bounce, to decide to take a walk outdoors by myself when I was only 3 years old. I didn’t hear it when my family told me that, gee, it’s not a good idea to do any of those things. But damn it, when I got my hand or my ass spanked, I got the message instantly that I was lucky that that was ALL I was getting. 🙂 And I stayed away from stoves and glass and other outdoor adventures, because, well, I didn’t want to get spanked again.

For a majority of the kids who are in The System, well, perhaps a quick whack on the butt wouldn’t kill them sometimes. I mean, how many have seen how Daddy got the track marks on his arm? How many saw Mommy ripping the hair out of her sister’s head, in a drunken rage? When Junior starts wreaking his own havoc, in the spirit of his birthparents, wouldn’t it be in the public’s best interest to show him that he simply cannot act like a dum-dum head just because that’s the way he was brought up?

In the days of paddles and switches, there were fewer discipline problems, and the reason for that, well, see above where I said I didn’t want to get spanked again. All of my teachers had paddles displayed in their classrooms when I was a young lass in the late 1970s/early 1980s. And they had holes in the paddles, too, which, as legend had it, made the hit hurt that much worse. So, of course, we were less inclined to act out-of-line, as we didn’t want to have, um, rosy cheeks. 🙂 That, and like we used to say, “My parents would kill me!” if we got spanked at school.

It’s just a shame how today, if you exclaim, “My parents would kill me!”, that they would immediately get carted off to jail and your ass would be swooped up by Social Services faster than a crackhead snorts a line. Back when I was growing up, and certainly before that, such a statement meant that your parents cared about you and that you were a little bit afraid of them. This, my friends, was a good thing. It kept me — and millions of others — from fucking up a lot more than we did. And we all turned out pretty damn OK, as far as I’m concerned. So, you see, fearing your parents a bit — even when they were as sweet and mild as my mom — wasn’t a bad thing. They taught us to think before we did something bad, because we would have to face consequences. Before the age of computers, we were altogether TOO familiar with “if-then” loops. IF you fuck up, THEN Mom will smack your ass and throw you for a LOOP next time you want to do something stupid. 🙂

The world may be advancing by leaps and bounds, but sometimes, you’ve got to look to your past in order to lay a foundation for the future. But that’s just my humble opinion.

And for what it’s worth, I still love a lil swat on the ass. 🙂 Although not coming from Mom. ROFL!!!

I attempted to Xmas shop today, with some success. Got a gift for my grandfather, who’s always the hardest to shop for. He spends most of his days in bed, so I got him a comforter. 🙂 My mom had mentioned wanting to buy him one, but as he’s always with her when she’s shopping, she saw one she liked but couldn’t buy it without him noticing. I happened to be at the INS tonight (oops, I mean Wal-Mart) and saw the comforter. There was one left, in the right size, so I confirmed with Mom that she didn’t buy it, so I got it. Whew.

Christmas is going to be lean this year (unlike my ass, which is fuller and more festive than ever. argh), but at least I have one more person to buy for, and I’m done! Yay!

I also did a little bit of shopping for me. I have this ever-growing list of cleaning products that I’ve been needing, and today, I crossed most of those items off that little list-from-hell. Woo hoo! I see a lot of scrubbing and scouring in my future, but what else is new? 🙂 I resolve, for the new year, to get back to the level of cleanliness that I usually kept up at my old apartment (I’m no pig, I’ve just been slacking a bit). I think that might also mean packing away a lot of stuff, but that’s okay — less to fuss over. 🙂

I had just arrived at Springfield Mall today to pick up a table I saw yesterday that I wanted for my office (and I had found a coupon for 20 percent off, which made me absolutely want that table instead of just sorta-wanting it). I was walking the four-mile trek (it seemed) to a mall entrance when my cell phone rang. IKEA Boy was at work, asking where I was. He sounded distraught and wanted to meet me. Of course, another major disappointment at work occurred (no surprises there) and this time, he was the one standing in front of the fan when the shit hit.

OK, let me preface this for those just tuning in: The Veggie Patch — a.k.a. Club Med(icated) — is a 14K fuckup of a company. I don’t know where their money goes (it certainly isn’t into salaries and benefits), but they never seem to have any cash (although I know what’s in reserves, and believe me, it’s not a bad number). Last month, we were told that we weren’t getting raises till June, particularly those of us (i.e., Shan and me) who are due for raises in January as a condition of six months of new employment. That was clearly aimed at us, and while we’ve been angry and hurt and frustrated over knowing that we’re staying at our current shitty salary levels, well, we’ve accepted that we work for assholes.

Well, IKEA Boy has been OK with his salary, particularly because he just started grad school and was getting tuition reimbursement. Unfortunately, today, he went to Frosty in H.R. and turned in his grades (an A and a B+ — woo hoo!!! Yay IKEA Boy!!!). He also submitted his paperwork for next semester’s tuition reimbursement.

Oh, but wait. Or, more appropriately, “Oh, but no.”

Frosty informed IKEA Boy (in her usual flippant way) that the money ran out for tuition reimbursement, so he was SOL for next semester. Funny, but he’s the ONLY person in that loving atmosphere who’s in school, just like Shan and I are the only ones scheduled for six-month salary adjustments. Hmm. I can’t see how she “ran out of money,” as she claims, when we all know that it makes employers look damn good when their staffs are well educated.

He was furious, of course, used the word fuck a number of times, and had a meltdown with P. Demure (his boss) as well as with Frosty. It reminded me of the time when Frosty told us in the manager’s meeting about the no-raises till July bullshit — how she said, “Well, you just tell your staff that they’ll get a nice retro check when the new fiscal year rolls around.” I wanted to pound her face in at that moment, and IKEA Boy was furious on my behalf but was also calm because, well, he wasn’t surprised.

So now that it was his turn to get fucked up the ass without a reach around, well, that did it. He went over the edge. What Shan and I have said since the no-raise fiasco occurred was that our associate executive attention deficit disorder esquire directors are living comfortably on their salaries (and they all have two-income households, too), while the rest of us are single and struggling every day to make ends come close to meeting (or at least, prevent those ends from fraying too much).

And grad school isn’t cheap. And as far as Frosty indicated, she’d had no plans on informing IKEA Boy that his check for the past semester was his last. Nor did she believe that she even had to tell him at all. She said that flat out, to his face, that she shouldn’t have to inform him of anything, if she doesn’t want to.

He’s pissed, obviously because that’s a lot of money he was counting on, but secondly, the “leadership” (gag) reinforces how we all need to communicate better, to all “sing from the same sheet music” to the staff, to disseminate information fairly.

There are days when it’s difficult to keep inside everything that I really know about the inner workings of the savage beast (work, silly, not IKEA Boy!). But all I can actually say tonight is that those assholes need to watch their steps, because a lot of people are steaming, for different reasons, and shit’s gonna blow — sooner rather than later.

If I may pitch my own bitch about the raises/tuition no-gos, let me just say that we have people who have worked at that place longer than it existed (it went by another name before that), and nobody’s messing with those people. I see so many ways to improve efficiencies there (which would save tons of cash), but nobody wants to hear from me. I’m just the writer who hides in my office and does my thing, which is write stuff. 🙂 I have a great resume that is NOT bullshit, I have contacts and skills that I am NOT allowed to use, and I suffer with pay that IS NOT and WILL NEVER BE commesurate with what I have to offer. And likewise, so do IKEA Boy and Shan. That’s about it, as far as I can see, for the talent pool there. I think some of the better leaders there are burned out, and the other top performers (the rest of them are in Finance, and they keep that place afloat) are continually shat upon. I never dreamed I’d work for an employer that was more messed up than Two Strikes, but at least they paid me for a great deal of my agony. 🙂

I also set up a blog for IKEA Boy this evening as well. It’s nothing much yet, but he needs to blog. Trust me. 🙂 And I’ll be working on the template a lot more and eventually, I’ll most likely move it over to the Caterwauling server. But that’s a New Year’s project. Right now, I just have to get through the rest of this damn season without shoving a Christmas tree up Frosty’s ass.

And as for me, my day wasn’t all stressful and chaotic, though. I got an oil change and a 10,000-mile checkup for Samantha, and she’s purring like a kitten as usual, but feeling a little sassier than she usually does. I love my new auto place, CXL, because they vacuumed my car, washed my windows and told me the next type of work I’ll need done. The guy who waited on me was friendly and knowledgeable, although I had to laugh when he said, “Everything in your car looks almost brand-new.” And when I told him the car is a 2002, he quipped, “And that would be why.” lol. They gave me a cherry Blo-Pop and a candy cane, both wrapped with ribbons, and I thought that was a sweet little gesture. Yes, I’ll be a customer there for life. 🙂 And it didn’t hurt that the guy was just a total cutie, too!!!

Despite the fact that I’m broke, I decided to go Xmas shopping today. Figured I’d float some checks, if need be, but let me tell you how EASY it is to not spend money during this season. How, you ask, when bargains are plentiful and the ultimate deadline approacheth? Well, it’s simple, really.

There’s something about this season that makes me NOT want to spend money, at least, not in the stores. But just to get myself out of the house, I got up early today and hit Springfield Mall, where I spent several hours and only ended up with wrapping paper (how helpful, as I have, um, ZERO gifts to wrap!) and dishwashing liquid. Because it’s a nice thing when dishes are soaked and cleaned and put away for another use.

But I got off subject. In the stores, let me put it this way, even when I saw the perfect items, they were either too expensive or too heavy to drag across Creation. Or, supposing I saw something fairly well priced that wouldn’t snap my spine in half, well, try finding an available sales associate. Argh. That, and customers are just assholes. Mom said it best, that who the fuck wants to be out during this ridiculously festive season when everyone is ridiculously more grumpy and inconsiderate than usual? And down here, a new annoyance I have learned is hearing everyone’s voices, speaking different languages. Not usually a problem for me, but some of these people have very high, sharp accents. and when one has a toothache (as I did), those voices are just even more grating than normal. And, I’m sorry, but why the hell do some people who DO speak English think it’s OK to omit VERBS from their sentences?!?! Gaaah. :::breaks into song::: “Ain’t that America, for you and me. Ain’t that America, something to see, baby. …” (a John Mellencamp moment. …)

And, one last bitch to pitch (in writing — just wait till I pick up a phone and really let everything out, no holds barred) — can people just leave their little monsters AT HOME?!?! Good grief, I felt like I was in Munchkinland, but no clicking these heels together could get me home fast enough (as I then went to Landmark Mall to waste even more time). The little bastards drop toys in the aisles or break things or rip shit out of their parents’ hands or wander off, on a mission to trip innocent shoppers with their toys and their bodies. I had this one little lunatic in the ladies’ room, dipping her long dark curls under the faucet where I attempted to wash my hands. She thought she was adorable. I just wanted to shove her whole head under the faucet.

This leads me back to a MUCH earlier rant, one in which I decided I should donate my eggs and/or give up babies for adoption to loving gay couples or whatever. After eight hours, two purchases, two malls and six thousand children later, I am through with the thought that babies are cute. They’re not. They are evil little minions of Satan, the hellspawn of the public assistance program, the reason I want to buy stock in the manufacturers of contraceptives.

I’m also sick of people who are happily shopping with their partners, molesting each other unmercifully as they wait in the agonizingly long lines at cashiers’ desks. Argh. These guys are carrying the heavy packages that we delicate flowers simply cannot lift; they look good, lounging against racks of goods while the women flutter about, selecting the gifts; and they help their women play tongue twister while they wait for a cashier to figure out how to work his or her register.

I hate couples. And homely kids. I couldn’t deal with having a homely child. They don’t even realize how homely they are, as they smile and try to play with you. They don’t realize that they look like Killjoy the Clown or Bling-Bling the Crack Expert. Their parents tell them they are adorable because, well, they look just like them. 🙂

At any rate, even though I don’t feel like I looked my best today, I noticed many a married man-with-child checking me out. I realized that it’s not necessarily that men have roving eyes, but they just want someone, anyone to find them attractive, when they are pushing a toddler in a stroller with one hand and carrying a carseat with another munchkin in it in the other hand. Their wives/girlfriends can be stunning or dumpy, but they still look around. And I have a hard time meeting their eyes, for the simple fact that they are married and well, I can’t have them anyway, no matter how hot they might be.

One saving grace to the whole shopping ordeal is that, now that I am hundreds of miles from my home, I don’t run into people I know. In Pgh, I couldn’t smoke on a streetcorner without recognizing five or 10 faces. And in the malls, I was always ducking, trying to avoid the people from school whom I saw with their jelly-faced, lice-haired, homely little rugrats. Small talk is not my forte, and likewise, it’s very hard for me to walk away without at least grabbing a phone number, even though I never intend to call it. I don’t even call the people whom I like — why would I want to supposedly “continue” a friendship that, let’s face it, never really existed or wasn’t all that good enough to prolong in the first place?

Ugh. Maddie just took a steaming poop. Gotta go spray some disinfectant, light some candles and incense, and try to not breathe through my nose for awhile!

So, I wanted to actually celebrate Christmas for what it’s worth, as a spiritual holiday, by attending services at the Washington National Cathedral on Christmas Eve. Shit, it’s sold out! General Admission passes have run out, and now it’s a stand-by thing. Cripes. I try to do a religious thing, for perhaps the first time in my life, and this is what happens. 🙂

I’ll just go get drunk and high, then, with the other heathens in the District. Anybody up for joining us?

Just spent my now-routine Saturday midafternoon with my favorite furry-faced nephews, Kirby and Jynx. Those two are a riot, and I really enjoyed them today. They are probably the only men on earth who worship me as their goddess. 🙂 Then again, they love anybody who feeds them “cookies” (read: treats). 🙂

Kirby, at 65 pounds, longs to be a lap dog, and he gets so disappointed when we have to make him get off the couch or to remove himself from someone’s lap (he tries valiantly, but he can’t get his 22-pound ass up high enough to truly be a lap dog). So, when I play with the boys, I sit on the floor with them, and Kirby loves it because he can lie on my legs and feel all svelte and lap-dog-like. Unfortunately, I can liken the sensation in my legs to how a paraplegic must feel, because after awhile, I have no feeling whatsoever, and he obviously has no intentions of moving his doggie ass elsewhere.

Today Jynx was all aflutter. He spends his days in a cage (being crate-trained, as he is just a baby), so when he gets out, it’s like the gates of hell swinging open and unleashing the beast. He is the quintessential lap dog, at fewer than 10 pounds, but he’s used to getting attention, so today he was all about one of the bones that was lying on their shared doggie bed. It was cute as all hell, watching him pick up this dinosaur-sized bone, which was almost as big as he was. He picked it up in his teeth to carry it, and he promptly fell over from its weight and size. Kirby tried to pick it up and hand it to him, but that instituted a doggie brawl, right on my legs, which were luckily devoid of sensation by that point. Jynxie was gnawing at Kirby, so I separated them, leaving Jynxie to chew on my shoelaces and Kirby to nestle a little closer to me in appreciation.

Kirby can do some dumb stuff (okay, so he makes a living out of it), but he is such a character. He’s always been the elder statesman of the house, before MU moved out and took TT, short for Topsi or her full name, Topsi Turvy, with him. He’s really cool, especially when the littler dogs beat up on him. He’s very gentle with them and protects them, although you can tell that he enjoys it when he’s NOT the one being reprimanded. I thought it was so fucking adorable when he tried to give Jynx the bone, which Jynx settled about eating until he saw that I gave Kirby the other bone that was lying on the pet bed. Of course, Jynx abandoned his own bone so that he could knock the other one out of Kirby’s mouth and claim it for himself. Kirby kinda looked at me like, “Do you see the shit I have to put up with? Gaaaah!”

Then the two played nice for a minute and both chewed on the same bone, from opposite ends. They worked that like horny housewives tear up a double dong. It was the funniest thing I had seen all day. 🙂 They finally dropped it when I attempted to move my legs around, to see if blood were still circulating. The reason, though, that I keep my legs together and straight out in front of me is because Kirby immediately sticks his nose in my crotch, looking for gold or something. Argh. But the second I had them open, sure as shit, he had his head under my sweater. Freak. 🙂 I had to shove him away.

By that point, I had stayed so long that Jynxie wanted to go into the backyard again, so I let the boys go out to relieve themselves one last time. I saw Kirby starting to sniff around the yard (ostensibly for some poop to eat), and I yelled, “Come get COOKIES!” and they both almost knocked me over, trying to get to the food station. Then I had to take my usual ‘ho bath (due to gallons of doggie drool all over me), and I took off.

Silly little creatures. I love them so.

Maddie has been exceptionally affectionate as of late, and last night, I was lying on my bed, watching “South Park,” when she curled up next to me. This is nothing new, but I put my arm around her, and she didn’t jump for the ceiling (she likes to get really close, but she hates being enclosed). In fact, she rested her head and one of her paws in the crook of my arm, and she fell asleep for the longest time. I was wishing I could’ve taken a photo of it.

I’m just a pet magnet, I guess. That, and Maddie probably sees all the fine doggie hairs on my clothes, and I imagine she becomes very jealous. I think she even knows when I’ve been with a man, too, because she always comes to me (when I’ve crawled home via the Walk of Shame) and consoles me, reminding me that men are dogs and that she will always love me unconditionally. Although, if I would bring another pussy home (of any variety), I imagine that wouldn’t make her overly happy, as she is and will always be Queen Puss.

Speaking of DVDs (see entry below), I bought the Melissa Etheridge “Live and Alone” DVD from Amazon.com, and I also bought her book, “My Life in Love and Music.” I am breathlessly awaiting their arrival, and I hope it happens before Xmas, ’cause they’re getting delivered to the office, which is closing down till Jan. 2.

At any rate, those of you who have ordered from Amazon know that you are entitled to special “Gold Box” offers, that are discounted for an hour, just for you. 🙂 Anyway, the other day, I was surfing for other shit that I can’t afford, and I opened my Gold Box, only to find an offer for a “Concrete Vibrator.” HUH?!?!! That was one bad-ass powertool, priced at $300 (well, for me, it was $80 cheaper). Anyway, I mused to my Instant Messenger friends about why the fuck I’d get THAT as a special offer. Then I realized that, perhaps, the geniuses at Amazon saw that I am a Melissa fan and automatically assumed that I could use an industrial-strength power tool. … 😉 It’s a wonder they didn’t advertise hiking boots and flannel shirts, although those could be in TODAY’S Gold Box!!!

‘Cause hell is about to freeze over. I am going to pay a compliment to my former employer. (::breaking into song:: — “I felt the earth, move, under my feet. …”)

Our employer sent out an e-mail yesterday, inviting us to our “holiday party,” which will take place in mid-January (perhaps they did not want to pay the premium room rental rates that one would normally pay when hosting a holiday party, well, before the damn holiday). IKEA Boy and I will be in Manhattan, so shucks, darn, we won’t be there. Shan will also be in NYC, but she’ll be arriving near the time we’re leaving, so we won’t cross paths. (And IKEA Boy and I can’t afford to stay another night in the Big Apple.)

The purpose of today’s rant is to compliment HRP and the Two Strikes (dis)organization for putting together an absolutely lovely celebration last year. We received embossed invitations, complete with reply cards, at least three weeks in advance of the event (which was held before the holidays). We were able to invite a guest for free — the only thing we had to pay for was $1 for parking, a tip for the valet and the cash bar. That’s it. It took place at Pittsburgh’s Grand Hall at The Priory, the latter of which is a bed-and-breakfast. The Grand Hall is a converted church, complete with a dais, and is home to many a wedding reception. It was darkened and beautifully decorated with greenery and white lights, for our purposes. It was romantic and ambient — truly a memorable evening for all.

Our Veggie Patch mixer (ha!) will take place at one of the local hotels here in Alexandria. Given the location of it, parking will NOT be free (because our free street parking ends after New Year’s), and it would be wiser to just put your car in a garage, anyway. Our meals are free (they seem decent — we got the menu yesterday — they’re actually not cheaping-out on us). It’s a buffet dinner, which seems kinda tacky, when Two Strikes gave us each an individual, four-course meal. But I digress. 🙂

However, here, we have to pay $35 if we want to bring a guest, which I find to be a bit tasteless, considering that we have approximately 50 employees. Plus, given that the median salary here is about $35K — not factoring in the associate executive attention hyperactive deficit disorder esquires — that’s a lot to ask us to pay. And on top of it, I’m there’s a coat check, cash bar, etc. And they say there are great door prizes, but one must be there in order to be eligible.

HRP had class when it came to gift-giving, I’ll tell ya. She gave each of her 130 employees (not just those who showed up) a fabulous jewelry box with gender-appropriate jewelry inside. She did, granted, leave the “Retail value: $265” sticker on every last one of them, but shit, if I’d spent that on each employee, god damn it if I didn’t want them to know that I didn’t buy them cheap stuff. I got her after the event and told her that next time she was going to buy jewelry in bulk, she should ask me to weasel at least a discount for us. (Yes, I am the eternal fundraiser/penny-pincher.)

However, like most employers, I know they expect us to be grateful for this, but I’m having a hard time when they’re being so stingy with raises and what not. In fact, I am slightly bitter because we’re hiring a new staff person for MIS in January (when raises were supposed to take effect for Shan and me), who will be earning more than our raises combined and times two. Granted, this kid has some sense and might just help the department to become more efficient, but I’m still allowed to be bitter. In fact, I can’t think of any other way that I could otherwise feel about the situation. 🙂

P. Demure left boxes of chocolates for IKEA Boy and me, which was nice ’cause they’re gourmet chocolates. However, when I opened mine up, every single one is smashed. Humph. An eerily accurate commentary on the way things are around here — you’d rather get nothin’ than get your hopes smashed in.

In bright news, my Alanis Morrissette “Feast on Scraps” CD and DVD arrived while I was out of the office yesterday. Now, one of these days, I’ve got to buy myself a DVD player. … 🙂

Can you differentiate a gash from a tash? The Craig David-inspired beat is probably the best part. 🙂

Thanks to Milk and Cookies for sharing this shameful fun. 🙂 (Oh, and I got 13 out of 16 right. lol)

A festive Friday Five.

1. What holiday or holidays do you celebrate this time of year?

The Christian holidays, although, admittedly, Xmas is for giving gifts and spending time with family and friends, instead of having the religious connotation that it *should.* I guess it would be fair to say that the holiday I celebrate is New Year’s Eve. lol. ‘Tis the season to be drinking! (oh, hell, that’s any season for me!)

2. What was the best gift you have ever received?

One of my cousins gave me my computer for Xmas ’98. Love it. Would probably have never owned a computer without her, and I’m still draining the life out of this fabulous machine, actually. She not only gave me a blueberry iMac, but the blueberry printer and even a scanner (the latter two were both a piece of shit, but I’ll digress). The printer is in its box and the scanner is somewhere at my mom’s place, but still, it was quite a generous thought. 🙂

3. What was the worst gift you’ve ever given?

I don’t give bad gifts. One of my trivial talents is not only buying the most awesome gifts for the people in my life (totally suited to their tastes and personalities), but I spend almost as much money on the wrapping paper. I love to doll up the perfect gifts with the perfect wrapping ensemble.

4. Where will you be celebrating the holidays? Are you hosting? Going away?

I will be spending Xmas eve with IKEA Boy and whoever else we can dredge up, probably attending mass at the Nat’l Cathedral and seeing the Nat’l tree. I hope, anyway. If not, I’ll spend Xmas eve alone, in front of my tree, pulling Maddie out from beneath it.

Then I begin my jaunt to Pittsburgh for Xmas dinner (shit, I need to make my hotel reservations ASAP!). I am dying to see Leslie, who will be home from Ireland for the holidays, as well as the usual suspects. And frankly, I can’t wait to see my mom. I miss her greatly. And my grandfather, too. His health always leaves us wondering if this will be the last time we celebrate a holiday together, so I will savor each moment that we have.

5. If you could spend the holidays with someone who isn’t around, who would it be with? Why?

My grandmother. We always lose a loved one on a holiday, and accordingly, we lost her on the Fourth of July in 1999. She was a riot — a very matriarchal Italian grandma type, not to be confused with the “grandmotherly” type. She could always be counted on to initiate the family brawls or to continue them when a dull moment rolled around, but even though she was stuck in her hospital bed in the living room, you never forgot for a second that she was there.

She had her feisty spirit up till the end, and well, I inherited it, so I actually enjoyed our holiday fireworks. 🙂 That, and she loved everything about Christmas — she always decorated like a madwoman. She always had the newest and most unique trees, with hundreds of matching ornaments. And she loved topiaries. So today, I have a tall spiral tree and a small fiber optic tree of my own, and the reason I even own them is because, when I saw them in the stores, I knew she would have bought them for herself. She never went half-assed — everything she bought was expensive and classy. She hated dumpy decorations and dumpy people, calling them “Polish churches,” which was her way of saying they looked like shit. And in her spirit, while I am not rich by any standards, I have always bought the best of the best for myself — expensive crystal ornaments, coordinating house decorations for the whole year, etc. And when I see something in a store that has a cardinal, a nest, a birdhouse (all of which had to be sparkly and unique), I admit to shedding a tear, because I just know that she would’ve loved it. This is the time of year that I feel saddest to not have her around — I just wish I could buy her some of those pretty things I see. But Mom has totally picked up her spirit as well, and we always put a Christmas tree on her grave, among other treasures she finds that we know Gram would’ve loved.

If I can venture a second answer to the final question, I’d spend Xmas eve again with MV. Every Xmas eve, I sit in front of my tree, like I did so many years before, and remember the one we spent in mass and driving around Mt. Lebanon and Dormont (in Pgh), admiring the lavishly decorated homes. I remember that giddiness, that excitement, that trepidation that I felt, not knowing what was going to happen with us and where this could possibly have gone. (Unfortunately, it really didn’t go anywhere, but I remember having visions of sugar plums that entire evening. lol). We were young and naive and unsure, and life was very sweet then. Each moment counted — we didn’t wish time away like I seem to do now. I don’t know if it’s that I want MV back, or if I want those moments back, but anyway, what I wouldn’t give to be 22 again. …