Sometimes you just have to go with it.

It's just been one of those days. Not a super-bad day, by any means, but still. I got almost no sleep last night, most likely because I knew I had to get up "early" today. At work people were aggravating as hell, and the receipt printer kept jamming up, and I barely even knew what day it was. But I ended up getting to go home early today, which allowed me to get some things done. So that was good. I went to drop some stuff off at our house, then went back home. After pulling into the driveway and shutting off my car I realized I'd left my purse behind. Sigh. I went back to the house to retrieve it, and on a hunch I checked and verified that yes, I had in fact purchased the wrong color caulk. Ah well, it's paintable. Plus I got to complain about my stupid caulk. (In my own head, it was hilarious. I decided not to test the sound-alike jokes with the in-laws.) I gave up and went back home, making sure I had my purse with me this time.

I stopped and chatted in the living room with the in-laws for a minute, and it ended up turning into an hour-and-a-half gab session. Which is fine, I don't chit-chat with them enough, but it means I got to hear the same stories I've heard countless times before. My feet were hurting like hell from being on them all day, and all I wanted was to sit down. But I couldn't. If I sat down instead of continuing to lean against the wall near the hallway where our room is, that meant I was accepting the conversation wasn't going to be ending any time soon. Plus they had said they were getting ready to leave! I wouldn't want them to feel obligated to stay longer to chat with me. But dear sweet cheetahs my feet hurt, and after a long day and a night of no sleep I was wore out. And starting to get hungry, which after a remarkably short while flips my grumpy switch into the "on" position. But finally, sweet relief. I got food, and got to sit when they left.

I finally realized *today* that Christmas is next weekend. I keep thinking it's a couple weeks away, I have plenty of time to mentally prepare for it, no big deal. Mind you, this year I've been totally on the fucking ball--All the gifts have been bought, and all but one yet-to-arrive gift has been wrapped or carefully placed in a gift bag artfully stuffed with tissue paper. I'm much better at gift bags than wrapping. Historically, presents I've wrapped ended up looking like they were wrapped by someone with hooves. Martha-Freakin-Stewart I am not. I'm pretty sure the cats could do a better job. The Pants is nothing if not meticulous, as long as it doesn't require her to maneuver through a room. The Hubby can most definitely do a better job, which is why I steal his glory and place the blame on him for the botched jobs that I am in fact responsible for. This is our system, and it works very well. For me.

But this year it was all me wrapping the presents, and all but one got wrapped atop a pillowtop mattress. Not a big deal for someone skilled in the art of gift wrap, but for me it was the equivalent of someone with hooves (see above) wrapping presents aboard a ship sailing in choppy waters. To all recipients of gifts from us this year, my apologies.

I've felt more "festive" this year than I have the past few years, but that's most likely due in part to the fact that I am unable to decorate my home this year even if I wanted to. Now I can be all "I TOTALLY would have put up a tree this year!" without having to back that assertion up with action. Again, it's a win/win for me. But still, this is a big Christmas for my family, because with my two brothers and The Hubby doing the military thing, who knows where we'll all be next Christmas? Christmas also signals the almost-end of the year, so I'm also a little on edge for that, too. Gots to reach my goal of being in my own home by January!

...Aaaaand I just got sucked into a half-hour-long Youtube-fest, thanks to Facebook. I started here ("Oh God, I can smell his face!") and ended up here. I love Jenna Marbles. The Hubby introduced me to her channel a few months ago, and I am so happy he did. 

What was I saying again?

Yeah, "joyful" wasn't going to happen today.

3. Open letter to Santa Claus.

Dear Mr. Claus,

I'm not even going to lie. I haven't exactly been my ideal self this year. I've been lazy, I've eaten too much junk food too often, I've flaked out on friends and loved ones, I've made seemingly whim-induced life changes that have gotten me nowhere, I've hidden from everyone, I've become a bit of a harpy at times, I've retaliated against passive-aggressive behavior by becoming more passive-aggressive than I've ever been at any other time in my life, I've wallowed in self-pity, I've raged internally and at anyone "safe" to rage at, I've started a blog to unleash myself onto a somewhat-anonymous format, I've successfully and unsuccessfully battled depression, I've made plans and set goals I didn't/couldn't stick to, I've been ashamed of myself, I've been furious at myself/everybody/everything, and I've blamed others for things that are my fault--or aren't anybody's fault.

I don't believe in God. But I do believe in random miracles, and I do believe in redemption. I do believe in love, and family, and friendship, and charity, and community, and forgiveness, and kindness, and happiness, and hope. I do believe in doing what's ultimately right, even if it hurts in the moment. I do believe in making sacrifices and in finding the silver lining in any dark cloud.

I know that your typical atheist should not give a crap about Christmas. And honestly, I go back and forth over it. But I still love the general sense of happiness and love and family that is much more freely expressed around this time of year (with an being exception in retail--you stand between an old lady and her expired coupons and the only sense of "family" you'll get is when you're crying "UNCLE!" as she glares and stabs you with her bony elbows.). I'm hoping that the universe, and you, Santa Claus, will throw me a metaphorical bone here this year. Really, all I am hoping for is peace. I'm hoping that things will miraculously align in such a way that I will be able to live peacefully in my own home by the end of this year. I know it's a lot to ask, and that there are a lot of things that need to be done. I know that my home won't be completely repaired for a while, but if you could help a girl and her hubby out a little and make it liveable I promise I'll go as much all-out as I can next year. I'll decorate a tree, I'll put up lights, bake cakes and pies and cookies from Thanksgiving to New Year's Eve, occasionally listen to (Santa-not-Jesus related) Christmas music, and I'll put a wreath on the door. Maybe I'll even host a party with fancy clothes and finger foods and apple cider or lots of booze. I don't drink, but by golly my guests will. And you know I don't like my home being invaded by large groups, Santa, so you know I'm willing to make sacrifices here. All I want for Christmas is to not still be living in someone else's home in any part of 2012.

Also, The Hubby would like a good 3D TV.

Hugs,
Beth

Productivity is for losers.

Chocolate chip cookies at 5:30 in the morning? Why yes, I think so. And they taste just as fabulous as I thought they would.

I had the most lovely 3-day holiday weekend, which included a trip to the theater to see "Bridesmaids" (a movie that was exactly what I needed at the moment and I'd love to go see again and again), a night spent ripping drywall and flooring out of the house (well, mostly I watched and played with our favorite stray kitty), house hunting, and a wonderful amount of time spent with that husband of mine.

Of course since this was such an active, busy weekend for us the temperature decided that it was time to stop fucking around already and we spent the whole time sweating balls. This led me to reiterate my rule that our next house needs to have central air. Please. I'm tired of having one liveable room, with the rest being a sauna in the summer and an icebox in the winter. I'd try and include fall and spring, but fall and spring here are a joke. I think we had some nice spring-like days in February, before the temps dropped back down to "icicles hanging from your eyebrows," then swung back up to "Don't you DARE sit next to me, it's too hot for that shit!", and then back down to frigid.

In any case, I didn't work  last night, but went to bed "early" because we have an appointment at 3:15 to see what kind of home loan we can qualify for, so we can start narrowing down our search for a house and get serious about it. Unfortunately, despite having taken a sleeping pill to hopefully help me sleep through the night, I still woke up on our rapidly-deflating air mattress, my left side actually touching the floor, and forced the hubby to instinctively cover his junk in his sleep as I stepped over him to head to the bathroom at 2:30 A.M, only about 4 hours later. After the quick pee, I tossed and turned on the floor/sad excuse for an air mattress trying to get back to sleep, but as I now look at the clock it says it's 6:25 and I'm blogging.  This is only a little bit by choice... If I could choose, I'd be drooling on my memory foam pillow right now, but if I'm cursed with insomnia like this I'll gladly share my misery with any poor fool bored enough to read about it. I think this week we'll be taking the little bit of money we have saved up and will buy an actual mattress. If THAT deflates we'll know it's time to re-think our diets, and possible contact an exorcist.

Damn you, St. Patrick's Day. Damn you.

Apparently today is a holiday of sorts. A holiday of green beer, green baked goods, leprechauns or otherwise small jaunty Irishmen, shamrocks, bad accents, parades, limericks and other bad poetry, and an assortment of other stereotypes insulting to the proud Irish people. Well, I assume they would be insulted if they weren't too drunk to notice. *BA DUMP-BUMP*

It's also a day that I declare dedicated to whores and assholes, be they Irish or be they... not Irish. Bear with me on this one: What happens on St. Patrick's day through all the drinking and the green cake crumbs pasted all over the faces of office-workers desperate to believe they're having fun?  You get pinched if you're not wearing green. This is where the whores and assholes come in.

These assholes are most likely easy to spot based on their totally original "Kiss Me, I'm Irish!" tee-shirts, pins, trucker hats, belt buckles, and beer helmets, as well as the bloodshot eyes, leering grin and the stench of their mother's disappointment. (Odds are you would already recognize this particular breed from their tendency to otherwise be sporting gel-spiked hair while wearing Ed Hardy tees or message shirts saying things like "I'm not as drunk as you think I am". They probably also frequently quote Dane Cook.)

But you must also be on the lookout from the whores, who, let's face it, act like they're just wanting to get a pinch from one of the assholes. They're the ones who will wear no obvious green, only to giggle and fake outrage when pinched, as they beg you to look into their eyes--because their EYES are green, silly! *giggle giggle* (*facepalm* Everyone knows that doesn't count!) Or they'll slyly attempt to peel down the waistband of their too-tight skinny jeans to show their potential suitor their bright green panties. "See? I'm wearing green!" *eyelash-bat giggle giggle*  You might think they're just looking for an ass-pinch, fellas. But then they'll be furious when you do it, as well they should be. Never pinch a stranger's ass, even if that stranger appears to be a whore.

Keep in mind the poor fellow who mistakenly thinks St. Patrick's Day is a trumped up holiday and therefore forgets that some random day in March dictates the color tie he should wear. Or the person who vehemently despises the color green due to the inability to find anything that doesn't look like strained peas or baby shit when they're wearing it. Or someone who is colorblind and therefore buys everything in colors that they can easily distinguish, green being a typical blind spot. None of this matters to me.

I despise holidays which *force* you to participate with an immediate, physically violent punishment for neglecting this duty. This is the only one I can think of right now. Therefore it gets all of my loathing. Even New Year's Eve is somewhat forced because you are *forced* to accept that you didn't even come close to sticking to the previous year's resolution, and you might as well donate that size six "goal dress" to your more attractive sister. She had picked it out anyway, knowing damn well your fat ass wasn't gonna be laying off those pints of Ben & Jerry's anytime soon. But nobody pinches you for not "participating."  This is where the "assholes" come in, and trust me, they're out in full force and drunk to boot on this particular holiday. No matter what your excuse, if you're not sporting at least a green sticker you're getting pinched. True assholes will pinch even if you've got some green, claiming they didn't see it anyway. These are the bastards that'll be sneaking up behind everyone to pinch them, because most people will be able to at least find something to pin to the front of their shirt, but might not think of the vulnerable back of their shirt.

In any case, I don't like being forced to participate in a holiday of any sort through the threat of violence. And to me, a pinch is violent. (I bruise easily.) However, I must admit that it's a highly persuasive threat, due to the bruising factor, so I'm wearing greenish cargo pants and green knee socks. My shirt is black and gray, though. *Boosh*  You pinch me, I'm calling the motherfucking cops. Asshole.