Allow the Force ripples to make their way down your spine. I'll wait.
Wow. My nails are beyond bad. Maybe I need a manicure. Or maybe I just need to rip those fuc...
Oh, hai. You're back. Cool.
Yup, this joint has quite a few cobwebs. Allow me to dust a few things off and give you a brief run down of my life these past 20-ish days.
- The proposal the Ty-man is writing for his main customer was originally due back to the customer today. After totally crapping on Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, and the J-man's first day of school with this proposal request, said customer decided that wasn't enough. OH NOES! Let's change 80% of said request, one week before Christmas, and change the due date to January 19th, thereby ripping the holidays AND our trip to Mexico to shreds.
Bitter? Nah, not at all. But if you see me on the 11 o'clock news vandalizing the property of said customer, don't be surprised. Just quietly raise bail and hide me away somewhere in Disney World.
- On the upside, the Ty-man has given me an island for my birthday. Well, he didn't give me an island, but he did nod his head when the travel agent said BONAIRE?!? My favorite place on Earth is the tiny island of Bonaire and from February 6-13, I'll be there, underwater, communing with the fish, floating my troubles away while the Ty-man sips Amstel Bright on the beach. I suppose that now I can't spray paint pornographic graffiti on the Ty-man's customer's property. But I still feel totally justified in mooning them.
- Hickory Farms, people. Hickory-frakking-Farms! This is why my waistline resembles the shape of a beef stick during the holidays. Cookies-schmookies. Give me some beef parts, crackers, mustard, and questionable cheese any day. Now, THAT'S Christmas! Oy, why do I feel so bloated?
- Did I mention that after a five-year break from pounding the pavement, I'm going to start running again? Yeah. If you see a beef stick-shaped woman in her running shoes, red-faced, panting and thumbing a ride, take pity.
- J-man starts school today.* TODAY! You read me right. To-fucking-day. He's six days shy of being two years and eight months old and that means he's old enough for Montessori pre-school. As you read this, I've dressed him in his khakis and blue shirt, handed him his lunch box, and dropped him off with his siblings for a day of learning, discovery, fun, self-... aw, who the hell am I kidding? Kid has probably spent four hours screaming and crying his head off. He freaks if I go upstairs to fold laundry. This? Is not going to be pretty. I'll miss him like crazy, but I don't envy his teachers at all.
- Did you know that the Southeastern Railway Museum has train engines and cars on display outdoors and indoors? And that the indoors section is not heated? And that train-loving toddlers aren't really interested in just walking around old trains that sit there? That they want the trains to move? And that when it's 27oF out, said toddlers who are already pissed that the trains aren't moving are doubly upset because they now have snotcicles forming on their noses and mouths? And that my tolerance level for toddler whining is set to zero when I'm shivering in my cowboy boots? Yeah, me neither. Looks like we'll be taking a trip on Amtrak this spring.
- I am now obsessed with Julia Quinn's books. That is all.
- I had to call the cops on the HOA bully, one week before Christmas. I won't go into detail here because I don't want him to be able to find me via Google, but suffice it to say that he came out of it looking like an idiot and no one got hurt. Want the 411? E-mail me.
*Pictures and post to follow on the morrow.