With Appologies to Henry Livingston

Twas the day before Christmas and all through my place,
The presents were everywhere, frantic was my pace.
The stockings had yet to be hung up with care,
(In fact there was nary a decoration anywhere!)

My husband was still nestled snug in our bed
While visions of wrapping paper danced in my head.
The tape was strewn 'round, the scissors were lost
The paper was wrinkled, I was feeling quite cross.

A movie for Charlie was loudly playing,
And in my warm bed I'd rather be laying.
My sinuses sniffled my chest was congested
and by self sticky adhesives I was constantly bested.

I searched for the ribbon and curses I muttered
As I listed off gifts that I'd give to others.
"Something for this bro, something for that one
Something for Dad and something for Mom."

"Lots of little things for my progeny,"
(Who was completely distracted by the blaring TV.)
"Something nice for my sister-in-law
and a small little something for her ma and pa."

When with a sudden and self damning oath
I realized I didn't have a thing for my beau!
I threw on my hoodie, I threw on my shoes
To go out and sing the 'Last Minute Gift' blues.

I wandered and ran to find an open store
Where I could find something for my paramour.
A new Christmas sweater? A heavy pint glass?
Maybe I'd just put a bow on my ---

Ah-hah! There it was! The perfect sweet gift
That would make him smile and made my spirits lift.
I had just enough money, I bought it right there
And ran home to wrap it all up for mon cher.

I got home just in time to get things together
So we could all spend Christmas at my big brother's.
And my young daughter shouted as we drove out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to all! SANTA'S COMING TONIGHT!!"

Fried chicken in my pants

Christmas can be a stressful time for anyone, especially in this economy. It's difficult to find that perfect gift and sometimes even more difficult to find the money to buy it.


The crowds are absurd, the parking is non-existant, and patience runs extrememly low while depression runs high.
So when I get to the point where I want to fellate a gun barrel, I try to remember what Christmas meant to me when I was young.

Kids are brilliant this way. They see all of the good in Christmas and none of the bad. The crowds are interesting and exciting, parking at the end of a lot isn't a big deal and OMG IS THAT SANTA?!?!? MOM!! MOM!!! I NEED TO TALK TO SANTA!!! I NEEEEEEED TOOOOO!!!!

Yeah, kids know how to celebrate Christmas.

So when I get completely stressed/depressed/unimpressed, I think about Christmases when I was little.


One that always stands out is the Christmas when I was about five years old. The tree was lit up in the livingroom, the stockings were all hung with care, the presents from family and friends were under the tree and I was in my new Christmas jammies that we always got on Christmas Eve.


I laid in my bed, eyes boring holes into the ceiling, jumping at every imagined noise. I knew Santa wouldn't come until I had fallen asleep, but I couldn't help it!! I couldn't sleep at all!! Santa wouldn't come and it would be all my fault!!


I climbed up the stairs and peeked into the livingroom where my parents were waiting so they could 'help Santa set up the presents'.
"Mommy?"
"What are you doing up? Go to sleep!"
"I can't sleep!"
"Santa won't come if you don't go to sleep."
I was starting to tear up at this point, "I kno-oh-oh-oh!!!"
My brother Zeke, who's six years older than I am, came out of his room and told me to come sleep in his bed so Santa would come.


YAY! Santa was going to come and I got to sleep in my brother's room with him! How cool was that?


Zeke and I stayed up for another hour or so, talking about Christmas and Santa when he suddenly shushed my and became very still.
"Do you hear that?"
"What? Hear what??"
"That! On the rooftop! It sounds like reindeer."
"REALLY?!?"
"Yeah! So you better pretend to sleep so Santa will leave us our presents!"
I immediately rolled over and did such a great job of pretending to sleep, I actually fell asleep.


I dreamt of summer and grassy lawns. I dreamt I was at a family friend's house and riding around on one of those electric Hot Wheels cars... the kind EVERYONE wanted as a kid and I always knew someone who had them, but I never got one. It was almost always an only child who had them, too. Huh.
Anyway, I ran up to the back porch in my dream because lunch was ready. Fried chicken! YUM!! Then I dreamt that the family's son put a fried chicken drumstick down the back of my pants and I was running around with fried chicken in my pants. It was lumpy, warm, and very uncomfortable.

I woke up and realized I had crapped the bed.

I started balling, being mainly embarrassed, Zeke was disgusted (of course) and my parents were exhausted.
They cleaned me up and put me in my bed and Zeke got to sleep on the couch in the livingroom.

On the couch.... in the livingroom.... where Santa was going to be!!! How unfair!!

I offered Zeke my bed, and I would take the couch, but no. Zeke got to sleep in the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree mere feet from where Santa would be laying out our presents.


I wasn't so sure that Santa would even show with Zeke sleeping in the living room, but Mom assured me that as long as Zeke was asleep, Santa would come.

I went to my bed and fell into a deep, fried chicken-free slumber and woke a few hours later.


It was Christmas morning!!

I ran upstairs, woke my brother and asked the first thing that came to mind, "DID YOU SEE SANTA?!?!?!"


Merry Christmas, everyone. And always remember what's important during the season: Crapping your pants can make for a good story, but family love makes for a great life.


Love you, bro.








Oh, and Santa is real. My brother saw him.

I'm a bad blogger :(

My poor malnourished little blog. So neglected. So unloved.
So much has happened since my last post, too!
I'm pregnant with my second child. Hubby, Charlie (my daughter) and I are all very excited. Charlie wants a baby sister, but I'm thinking it'll be a boy. I find out for sure on January 4th.

My folks and little brother are coming down for Christmas which we will all spend at my older brother's place with his wife and her parents. It's bound to be good times, if somewhat crowded. I've gotten Charlie's and Mom's presents taken care of, but at am a total loss as to what to get my hubby, my dad, or my little brother. I know what I want to get my older brother and my sis-in-law, but I'm so friggin' broke. :( Stoopid money. Stoopid money that is everywhere else but in my bank account. Blarg. At least I know what to do for SIL's folks, I just hope I have enough time to do it.
God, I still need to shop for Hubby's family too!! At least we won't see them until a little after Christmas, so would it be cheap and evil of me to wait for the after-Christmas sales to get them their gifts? I hope not, because that's exactly what I intend to do. Yeah... I suck.

Pole Dancing ain't for weinies!!

Ohhh.... I hurt.. lots.

I've started a pole dancing class to lose some weight and man, do I have a new found respect for pole dancers!!
I did my first class a few weeks ago and then skipped the following weekend 'cause I was celebrating my birthday, the next weekend I was hanging out with Mom and went to see my brother's band, "Astrovan" (they rock!) and since I fell and jacked up my knee that night, I skipped the next class.
So I finally dragged my fat ass back tonight and was shocked that it wasn't quite as difficult as it was the first time, even though I skipped three weeks. Tina, my instructor, even wants me to start going twice a week. She said that she really likes me and that coming back (by myself since the two other gals from work who SAID they were gonna be there flaked out) really proved to her that I'm determined to do this and lose weight.... Then I burst into tears and said I couldn't do anymore classes because we've hit some financial hard times and I can't afford it.
So she's giving me a severely discounted rate: FREE!
She said that until we (hubby and I) get back on our feet, she won't charge me a dime. So I'm going to start going on Wednesday nights and Saturdays. I'm so stoked!
However, I did manage to possibly sprain my ankle during class today, so hopefully I'll be able to go this Wednesday! Yeah, I know, I'm talented.
Tina even put me down as being on the "Unrestricted Access Package" which means that if I decide I want to go more than twice a week, I can, and I also was given a pair of black exercise shorts and a hot pink sports bra. They don't fit right now, but Tina said that the goal is for them to fit by the end of the summer.
For the first time, I'm feeling really good about an exercise plan. I beat myself up every time I go, but the fact that I don't feel as dead as I did last time is proof of improvement.... despite the tweaked ankle. ;)
Besides, Tina has really shown that she wants me to succeed and won't let me give up on myself. I love her for that.

MY LEGS IS NOODLES!!! NOOOOOOODLLLLLLES!!!!

I've been trying to be good. Honest! I cut back on chocolates and sugary drinks, pastries and fast food. I started walking every day at work and at home on the weekends. I was even doing three sets of squats, ten reps each, with two three pound weights. 30 sit ups, 30 push-ups, 30 back extensions and various arm lifts and stretches. May not sound like much to a fit person, but I'm a big pudger and I gotta start out small.
Well, then I started slacking off. I kept up walking, but stopped the other stuff for the past two weeks and even stopped going on my walks the past couple days.
So I started it all again today! With a vengeance!! I WILL LOSE WEIGHT!! I WILL lose another 10lbs by my birthday!! I WILL get under 200 by Christmas!!

Well... I will do all of that as soon as I can feel my thighs again. Iiieeee....

The Knackerboy

Knackerman: A person who buys worn-out or old livestock and slaughters them to sell the meat or hides.

As far as I know, this person will come out to a farm or ranch and buy the dying or dead animal and then haul the carcase away for the hide, and to use for glue.

Now, lets shelve that bit of information for now and move on.

I have horrible dreams. Not every night, in fact, many of my dreams are wonderful, sensual, beautiful things. However, when I have a nightmare... Well, let's just say I could probably freak out Stephen King. In fact, some of my nightmares have never been told to anyone, and never will, mainly for fear that I'll be locked away in a padded cell for a while.

Last night's subconscious performance was not the worst of the bunch, but it was awful in its own way.
No violence or torture of a physical kind, but I woke up near tears and have been up since.

I dreamt that I was in a small village with only one road which led down the center of town and over a bridge separating the 'good' side of town from the slums.
I was walking across the bridge (which seemed rather steep) toward the nicer part of the village when I saw a dirty young boy trying with all his strength to pedal a bike up the bridge. The bike had a large box on the front, so it was almost like a cart being pedaled from behind.
A bit like this:

Except the cart was wooden.

The boy, who only was about 7 or so, would put all his weight on one pedal and then the other, but was not making much progress and he began to cry.
I walked over to the boy and asked him if I could help.
At first he didn't want me to, I think he was embarrassed, but the after a few more futile efforts, he silently motioned to a rope at the front of the cart.
I took the rope over my shoulder and with him pedaling and me pulling, the cart began to move.
It seemed very heavy and I noticed that is was fully loaded a little over the top of the box and covered with a grey blanket so I couldn't see what the shapes were.
I asked the little boy, "Where are you taking the cart?"
The boy quietly mumbled, "I'm the knackerboy, ma'am," as if that explained it all.
I thought about it and wondered if this young boy's task was really to get the carcases from surrounding farms and take them to the slaughterhouse.
The lumps under the blanket looked too small to be livestock. Young animals, maybe? Deer? Either way, what an awful job for a young child.
"So do you need to go to the slaughterhouse?"
"No, ma'am. The church."
"Why are we taking animal carcases to the church?"
The boy stopped and stared at me, then slowly lifted a corner of the blanket.
The cart was full of the bodies of children. Some of them babies. All grey and slightly bloated in death.
I dropped the rope and stepped back, agape at what he had shown me.
The boy put the corner down, pedaled the cart to the church door (we were nearly there) and knocked. After a short greeting to the priest, the boy and another person took the cart to the back of the church.
I approached the priest and asked what was happening.
"The families of those children pay the boy's parents to have their children taken here to be buried."
"Oh wow... I'm going to give him some money."
"You can't. If his parents find out he took charity from someone, they'll beat him."

My god. It explained why he he didn't want me to help at first.

I found out that his parents were home, laying about, while their 7 year old son carted the bodies of dead children and babes to the church.

I met up with the boy and tried to give him an oatmeal cookie, but he'd only take half and only that on the condition that I eat the other half with him. So I did.

I woke up and couldn't sleep after that. My mind keeps replaying the dead faces of the children and the live face of a little boy who was nearly dead inside.

Hey! I have a follower!

Hi Nelli!!! Aww... it's like being stalked, or something. But in a nice way!!

MANWUCTUS!!

Head full of concrete and slush in my veins

I hate sinus infections sooooo much. It's an exponential hate. Every time I hate them, I hate them 2-3 times as much as the last time I hated them.
I have some kind of awful yellow sludge that has built a wall in my nasal passages so that no matter how much gunk is in there, it ain't comin' out.
Then, when I finally can blow the sickly putrid ick out, my nose obliges me by sending the rest down the back of my throat, giving my coughing fits and the sensation that I have a stomach full of mucous.

Ok, kids, say it with me, "EEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!"


Now I'm gonna take my water and my kettle corn and go lay on the couch in misery and watch "The Stepfather".

*grabs a kleenex*
*SNNOOORRRHOOOONK!!! snrrkoong *
*drip*
*COUGHHACKWHEEZEDIE*

Gah... I'm like yellow mucous wrapped in a skin. Kill me.



EDIT: "The Stepfather" is a pretty good movie, but makes the all too common thriller/horror movie mistake: NEVER stop hitting/stabbing/shooting the bad guy just because you think he's dead. Seriously. Decapitate the mother effer. And never turn your back on the 'body'.
Honestly, haven't any of these folks seen "Halloween"?

I can't abide rudeness!

I think rude behavior is one of my biggest pet peeves. I can't stand it so much that I start to have Hannibal Lecter-esque fantasies. What seems worse, to me, is when an authority figure or higher-up is rude to someone in a lower position. Yeah, I may not bring home as much money as you, but you should damn well know better!!

What brings on today's tirade was an incident that occurred in my workplace this morning. I work at an orthopedic clinic as a scheduler and phone receptionist. Glamorous, I know.
One of the doctors (let's call him 'Dr. Bob' for fun, other names are changed as well) was showing our new offices off to two other doctors from another hospital.
My co-scheduler, Eva, was in the break room which is right across the hall from where the phones and medical records area are.
Dr. Bob showed the visiting docs the break room and came out and said, "This is the scheduling area."
I chirp out, "Good morning!"
And am duly ignored.
Then they go to medical records where Dr. Bob not only introduces them to Misha the gal who works there, but also goes on about what a great job she does.
Then he introduces them to Gigi, one of the surgery schedulers, and goes on about what a great job she does.
Eva comes out of the break room, "Did Dr. Bob introduce you?"
"No. You?"
"No."

So.... apparently phone receptionist=chopped liver.

I wouldn't be bothered if he hadn't introduced EVERYONE else around except Eva and me. Talk about cold shoulder. Did I miss-schedule someone or something? ...Maybe I will tomorrow. MWAHAHAHAHAH!!

Seriously though, way to treat an employee!

Girls Fight Back!!

Dallas Jessup rocks. You're probably thinking, "Who the heck is that?" I'll be more than happy to tell you! Aren't you lucky? :P
Dallas Jessup is a remarkable young woman who leads a fairly normal life in the state of Washington. She is a Tae Kwon Do black belt and master of Filipino street fighting which was described in one news story as "no rules fighting".
Jessup goes around the country teaching middle and high school aged girls how to defend themselves against assailants often 100lbs heavier than they are. Her efforts to show girls how to protect themselves have been noticed internationally by law enforcement agencies, governments, and the media.

Oh, and she's 17 years old.

She can't buy a can of pepper spray in Washington state, but she can kick an assailant's butt. Right on, Dallas. You are awesome.

Check out her site at http://www.justyellfire.com/. Read her blog, watch the video, maybe even print off the brochure which talks about setting up Just Yell Fire defense classes or seminars. As a mom to a little girl who will one day be a young woman, I think Dallas is doing a wonderful thing and is helping protect the next generation of women.

So I've finally done it...

I'm finally Blog de-virginized. Blog de-frocked. Blog ... I got nothing.
Technically, this is my second blog as I helped a friend on another one, but only posted once and kinda forgot about it. Would that make me a blog-tease?

*cough* So yeah! This will be my little world to rant, rave, wonder and wander and you are more than free to join me. Or at least observe and hopefully get a snicker out of my more amusing musings.

At the moment, I really don't have anything to write about, so I guess I'll type atcha all later!