Author: The Jody

Ahhh, Sunday Morning. I keep thinking it’s Monday, and I’m guessing I’m not the only one. I am sitting here resisting the uncontrollable urge to go to the mall. I want to take advantage of the sales, but I don’t want to have to take Junior with me, as he hates shopping and the whole thing would end up being a tremendous pain in the butt. Mr. Dump knew I wanted a sweater and some pants and a pair of shoes for Christmas, but was wise enough to not buy me any of the above. I mean, you don’t just buy shoes for someone else for a gift. But you can tell that person to go pick out some shoes after Christmas.

I’m also hammed out. I love ham, don’t get me out. But I had it for three out of the past five meals. Dinner Friday night, lunch yesterday, and a few bites of ham and potato soup that my sister made last night. It was great ham, and there is still a piece or two of the leftovers in my fridge right now, but I could really use some chicken today. I did get the leftover lobster bisque from my sister’s house. Silly humans were eating the ham and potato soup because it was “home made” (as opposed to the bisque, purchased at Scupperjacks. Have you ever had it there? Heaven.) So I think I need to bring some over to my mom’s house because I do NOT want this to go to waste, and I think my dad would like some.

And you?

Yes, I’m sad it’s over. It really did sneak up this year. But in another way, I’m glad it’s over. You know, I won’t dwell on it too much. I was looking to see if we had any Kahlua around here. Is that too much to ask?

I do an evil gift exchange with a group of friends I’ve had for something like 10 years now. Many moons ago we started a tradition we like to call “Secret Satan”. It involves sending something evil instead of nice for a Christmas present. You know, every time you’re out and you think “God, you would only buy that for someone you hate” you get to buy it and send it to someone in an effort to be the person who sends the most evil gift of all.

I say the person who sent me my gift wins. It’s so evil, I made a little video of it in action for you to enjoy. Thanks Jack. You’re a pal. Junior loves it and is watching it even as I type.

(This video file is just under 500k)

View the Video

It’s December 23rd – Festivus! Feats of strength will happen later this afternoon, when I try to open the child-proof cap on my Advil.

And it is now time for the airing of grievances:

1. To Blog Spammers – I hate you. I detest you. You are the stuff on the ground in the parking lot that I avoid stepping on. The only thing lower than you is a person who would read your crap and visit your site and buy something, thus ensuring the cycle continues. They have yet to invent the proper word for those idiots.
2. To The people who ignored facts and voted for Bush anyway, because it was the American thing to do. Oh, wait, are they now admitting there’s no exit strategy? Huh, when Kerry mentioned that during the debates, they said he was full of smoke. Well, where there’s smoke, there’s fire, and boy, are your pants ablaze, W.
3. To our dental insurance carrier: You stink. You are a waste of premiums. $750 deductible? Per covered individual? So my family’s annual deductible costs could reach over 2200 bucks? What is the point of the insurance? Free cleanings? Hell, those are only 40 bucks. I’d prefer dental insurance that makes me pay for cleanings but covers 100% of a root canal with no deductible. You stink. You stink like festering gum disease.
4. To Britney Spears: Are you crazy? Your husband is the Larry Fortensky for the 21st century. Congratulations for your complete descent into irrelevance and white-trashery. That was some wedding “gown”. And p.s. your insistance thatwomen everywhere wish they were Mrs. Federline amuses me to no end. No thank you, I’d rather be with someone who bathes, dresses appropriately in public, and doesn’t come off as a grocery store bagger on a bender. No offense to grocery store baggers.
5. To me, for being so damned lazy. Sheesh! And also for continuing to add to this list instead of creating new posts.

I don’t remember if I’ve mentioned this before – so if I did, you can just skim on past or perhaps visit one of the other fine blogs I’ve listed over on the right. See you tomorrow!

Okay, for the rest of you – I just wanted to say that when I was a kid of Santa-believing age, every Christmas Eve was a hellish sleepless night for me. That’s right. Hellish. You know why? Because Santa won’t come if you’re awake. And if you do happen to wake up, you have to pretend you aren’t awake because what if that noise wasn’t really the heat registers but Santa in the living room? My house growing up was tiny – 4 rooms and a bath, and if I breathed the wrong way, Santa would know for sure and he wouldn’t leave anything. So I would lay in bed, rigid with fear, waiting for either sleep or sunrise.

Doesn’t that sound happy?

It wasn’t. I did the same thing the night before Easter. I was always the kind of kid who heard noises at night and assumed the worst. I am exactly the same as an adult. It was a blessed relief to learn the lowdown on Santa, let me tell you.

Okay, so fast forward to last night. Junior asks me what he should do if, on Christmas Eve, he needs to get a tissue in the middle of the night. Because he’s not supposed to be awake, you see. Oh God, how cruel to make our children so much like us. Junior may look like his dad, but he’s got so much of me in him. His current paranoia is tornados hitting the house, or fire burning it down. I refuse to admit to him that tornados are a big fear of mine. Even though, as I told him for the 100th time that I’m almost 40 years old and I’ve never seen a tornado, so I’m pretty sure we live in a safe place. It’s weird how you have to act like you aren’t afraid of things you are, just to keep your kids sane.

Anyway, I told him it’s okay for him to get a tissue, Santa knows that sometimes people wake up and roll over. And that Santa is in and out in an instant, so chances are, he wouldn’t be there anyway. I mean, what else do you say without blowing the whole thing. I just wish someone had told me that when I was little, but who’s to say whether or not it would have made a difference.