Ah, Christmas

Q: How do you know the gift you picked out for your three-year-old nephew is a hit?

A: He takes it to the bathroom with him when he has to go poopy.

That says it all, folks!

Here's hoping you get stuff you like so much you have to take it to the bathroom with you. Happy Holidays, everyone!

The Job

Many of you are curious to know more about this mysterious job I've gotten. So, a few words about that.

To put my role in proper perspective, you have to know a little about mining history. Way back when technology was not what it is today and coal mines did not have decent ventilation, coal miners would take a canary down into the mine with them. Canaries can detect minute amounts of methane and carbon monoxide, both of which are deadly in large enough concentrations. As long as the canary kept singing, everyone knew the air in the mine was safe to breathe. If the canary stopped singing or, worse, keeled over dead, immediate evacuation of the mine was called for.

I am, more or less, a canary in a coal mine. Figuratively speaking.

I have been hired by an information technology firm here in town as a business analyst even though I know absolutely nothing about business processes or information technology. As luck would have it, the particular project I've been hired to work on requires an outside and very basic user perspective because we are designing a customer service website and the powers that be have deemed it necessary and useful to the success of the project to have someone working on it who can ask the obvious dumb questions and make all of the Fachidioten (a.k.a. subject matter experts) design with the users (who know nothing about code writing, web design or anything about the way our client works) in mind.

Hence: My position as coal mine canary. Or flesh-and-blood litmus test. If I can use and understand each screen on the website, then odds are, the various end users out there will be able to, as well.

I will be contributing, which at this point isn't a whole hell of a lot, but I can definitely give them feedback about ease of use and cosmetic issues, i.e., is this screen set up in an attractive and user-friendly manner? Believe it or not, that matters. At least it does for me, and I'll bet it does for lots of others, too.

The other thing I bring to the table is language skills. The majority of employees at this firm are non-native speakers of English, so much of what is written is grammatically and idiomatically incorrect, and I've already been given the green light to go in and correct any usage/language errors I come across. This, at least, is something I know a lot about. This I can do.

I will say this for working for an IT firm: I had employee I.D. within the first thirty minutes and it worked the first time (unlike other places I've worked), email was practically instantaneous, and anything else I need access to is done very quickly. There is no waiting for the surly IT guy to get around to processing me in the system and granting me access to whatever it is I need access to. My boss shoots an email to whoever needs to grant me access to any given area or set of files, copies me on it, and before I can read it, voilà! Another email pops up letting me know that access has been granted. I have a brand new computer with a 22" monitor, too, which I have to say is a first. Definitely can't complain about any of that.

However, my head is about to explode from the volume and types of information I am having to process just to be able to understand the most basic exchange between my co-workers. This is the most stupid and clueless I have ever felt.

I have nowhere to park, and though they were happy to pay for my parking on the first day, no one told me I would have to pay for my parking until they can find a permanent spot for me. I know next to nothing about the parking situation downtown where the company is. When I mentioned that I was still parking where I had parked on the first day, but that at $8.60/day, I was going to go bankrupt soon, the person I mentioned this to said 'There are a couple of lots that cost only $3/day and they aren't that far to walk. You should park there.' As if I'm too lazy to walk! That chapped my hide. Considering how security conscious this firm is and how picky they are about all kinds of things, I assumed they wanted me to continue parking where they told me to park the first day. No one said anything different. So, for a firm that deals with information and its dissemination, they do a piss-poor job of actually communicating useful information to new hires. It's all 'well, duh - don't you know that?' Uh, no, I don't. The orb of confusion is doing too good a job.

Then there is my so-called desk. My desk is, unfortunately, in a hallway, but at least it's a quiet corner of the hallway even if it's a little on the chilly side, but at the moment, they just don't have office space for me. That may change down the road, but for now, I'm the ugly step-child as far as office accommodations go. I don't even have a phone. Or a real desk. It's a table. Thankfully, someone scrounged up a file cabinet for me so I at least have a place to put my purse and a handful of office supplies.

Starting the week before Christmas has been trying in its own way on top of the usual new job aches and pains because Secret Santas had already been assigned, the holiday party was already planned and money was being collected for it. I was a little annoyed about the fact that I was expected to contribute money to the party even though I just got hired on, and I'm probably going to be expected to chip in on the gifts the team have bought for our project manager, even though I had nothing to do with their selection and just started working there this week. But on the bright side, I get both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day off as paid holidays. The downside is I actually have to go back on Monday.

It ain't easy being a coal mine canary. I'm feeling lightheaded already.

Brain Dead

They say that when the gods want to punish you, they answer your prayers ...

You know that job interview I had last week? Well, I got the job. And today was my first day.

I survived.

But. I. Am. Brain. Dead.

I think I'll be in bed before Darling Daughter is tonight, I'm that tired. I may fall asleep mid-bite at dinner, I'm that tired.

My head is going to explode from information overload. And my 'office' is a desk in the hallway. But I will get paid real money for a wild change of pace. Yay.

Random: Darling Daughter drew a picture for our front door this morning. It reads: "Cherry Christmas! And to all a good bite!"

Thank ya. Thank ya verra much. The Dame has left the building.

My Favorite Christmas

Ten years ago, Darling Husband and I were living in Regensburg, Germany. I had a teaching job at the university, and DH was along for the ride as a househusband. Regensburg is a lovely city in Bavaria, approximately an hour and fifteen minutes northeast of Munich.

When discussing our Christmas plans, we decided to go to Oberammergau, since flying home to the States was not going to be affordable for us. Oberammergau is a village of around 5,000 nestled in the Bavarian Alps. It is storybook beautiful, and people come from all over the world to Oberammergau for two things: the Passion Play and wood carvings.

The story behind the Passion Play is an interesting one. Back in the 1600s when the plague was running rampant throughout Europe, the inhabitants of Oberammergau (devoutly Roman Catholic) promised God that they would perform a Passion Play every ten years if He would spare them. He did, and they have kept that promise ever since. Only residents of Oberammergau are allowed to perform in the play, and the men all begin growing beards a couple years out from the next play year - all in the name of authenticity. For more information, go to this article on the 2010 Passion Play in Britain's Daily Mail.

(A brief word about the photos in this post: At the time Darling Husband and I were in Germany, we used 35mm film cameras, so all of the pictures we took of that trip are in scrapbooks which are, thanks to our aborted move, still packed away in boxes. One of these days I will have to scan all of my favorite pictures so that I have digital copies, but for the purposes of this post, none of the photos seen here were taken by me or DH. They are pilfered from the net and should be understood as representative of our trip without actually being of our trip.) 

In addition to the Passion Play, Oberammergau is famous for its skilled woodcarvers. They are true artisans. Take a look at this giant carving of an owl:

If Christmas in Germany is wonderful, Christmas in the Bavarian Alps is absolutely magical. We chose Oberammergau because we had stayed there previously on a short trip with my mother-in-law. We had taken her to Füssen to see Neuschwanstein. We decided Christmas in Oberammergau would be an amazing experience.

We were not disappointed.

Traditionally, Christmas Eve is the main event of the Christmas season in Germany. German families put up and decorate their Christmas trees on Christmas Eve, presents are opened on Christmas Eve and the big holiday meal (with traditional Christmas goose) is served on Christmas Eve. Then it is off to church for midnight mass. Silent Night (Stille Nacht) isn't sung until Christmas Eve at midnight mass, and the service is conducted by dim candlelight until Jesus is born, illustrating the light He brought to the world.

We made reservations for our Christmas Eve dinner and dressed up for it. We ate goose and delicious gourmet food and drank wine. Then we walked from our hotel to the parish church, the church of Sts. Peter and Paul.

(The Church of Sts. Peter and Paul, Oberammergau, Germany.)

The church was already crowded when we arrived, but we found seats in the loft. The church boasts two lofts - one for overflow seating, the other is the organ and choir loft. Tourists and locals sat cheek by jowl at the service. I remember staring at the hands of the man sitting next to me. They were the largest, strongest hands I had ever seen, working hands that were rough and calloused. And yet, when we shook hands at the giving of peace, his handshake was unexpectedly gentle.

(View of the two lofts inside the Church of Sts. Peter and Paul.)

Sitting in the loft for this service was an incredible experience. We had the perfect view of the altar and then, when the choir sang Silent Night, their heavenly voices drifting down to us from the loft above, it was like a chorus of angels singing. I've never heard or experienced anything so beautiful and moving in my life. I was so overwhelmed with unspeakable joy at the sheer beauty of it, I cried. Just the memory of it brings tears to my eyes even now. I am not a particularly religious person, having suffered at the hands of self-professed 'good Christians' too much growing up to be a fan of organized religion, but I have always loved churches - the stone and mortar buildings themselves. Whatever your beliefs, being in a church in Europe is an experience unlike any that can be had in this country.

To top the evening off, as Darling Husband and I walked back to our hotel after the service, it began to snow. There was already snow on the ground, but it had not been actively snowing until that moment. Like I said: magical.

On Christmas day, we went for an hour-long sleigh ride. The sleigh driver, as luck would have it, turned out to be the same man I sat next to the night before at midnight mass. It was bitterly cold, but the sun was shining brightly and everything sparkled. We bundled up under heavy blankets and off we went. The sleigh was pulled by two horses and halfway through the sleigh ride, our driver stopped the sleigh and offered us some homemade Schnaps and cookies. (Schnaps, for those of you unfamiliar with the authentic, German kind, is often a clear distilled alcohol used as a digestif after meals. It is never sweet like its American counterpart, and is quite good and very potent.)

(Horse-drawn sleigh in a winter wonderland somewhere in Germany.)

We stayed in Oberammergau through the 26th of December and drove home the 27th. It was, without a doubt, my favorite Christmas as an adult. One of these days, I hope we can go back to Oberammergau for Christmas and bring Darling Daughter with us.

What is your favorite Christmas memory?

Snappy Answers to Stupid Job Interview Questions

Let me preface this post by saying that the only thing worse than job hunting is job interviewing. They more or less go hand-in-hand, but it is possible to hunt endlessly without actually interviewing. Trust me on this. Been there, done that, have the T-shirt to prove it. However, Wednesday afternoon I actually had a job interview. While I am grateful to even get an interview at this point, I detest the stupid questions I am continually asked. I'm betting I'm not alone in that, either. So without further ado, here are some of the stupid interview questions I've been asked, along with the snappy answers I would love to give but don't have the balls to actually say. Unfortunately, I need the fucking job and giving the answers these questions deserve will guarantee I don't get it.  It's a crying shame.

Interviewer: Would you say you're a quick study?
Me: *shakes head vigorously* Oh, no, definitely not. It takes me at least two days to read and understand the Sunday funny pages, and even then, Doonesbury is still a headscratcher.

Interviewer: How do you handle workplace stress?
Me: *frowns, puzzled* How do you think I handle it? I contact my local friendly mailman, buy an AK47 off of him and get to work on alphabetizing and prioritizing the ol' hit list. Doesn't everyone?

Interviewer: How are you at multi-tasking?
Me: *beams* Awesome. I can surf the net, cruise Facebook, blog, email and text on my cell all at the same time. Easy peasy.
Interviewer: *stunned* I meant multi-tasking on the job.
Me: *matter-of-factly* So did I.

Interviewer: Describe a situation you were in where you didn't get along with a supervisor or project coordinator. How did you cope with him or her?
Me: *laughs, slaps knee* Oh, you're going to love this! I once substituted her usual half-caf skinny mocha latte for a mocha vodka marijuana latte with half-and-half and an extra shot of methamphetamine-laced espresso, then made an anonymous call to HR an hour later, prompting a surprise piss test. Then I sold tickets for window space in my office so that everyone could enjoy seeing her 'escorted' out of the building by security. *laughs, wipes tears from eyes* Ah, good times, good times.

Interviewer: When you were in a new job, and no one could take a lot of time to hold your hand and walk you through things, what did you do?
Me: *deadpan* I would alternately break down crying and fall out all over the floor or follow my immediate supervisor around, tugging on his suit coat and saying "Tom? Tom? Tom? Tom!" over and over until he finally answered me. I felt just like a five-year-old again. I even took naps in the afternoon. It was great.

Interviewer: The position you're interviewing for is full-time, Monday through Friday, 8 to 5 with some overtime expected. Will that be a problem for you?
Me: *disappointed* Well, shoot. I was really hoping I wouldn't have to come in to work before 10 and I can't stay past 2, plus I have to have a four-day weekend starting Friday. Any way we can work around all that?

Interviewer: If we were to offer you the position, how soon could you start?
Me: *consults calendar* Oh, man. Let's see. Christmas is just around the corner, followed by New Year's, so that's out. January is a fucking nightmare weatherwise, February is the shortest month, and March is too windy - I simply cannot work on a bad hair day and I have a bad hair day the entire month of March, thanks to the wind ... hmmm ... How's April first look?

Interviewer: Do you have any questions for us?
Me: *eager* Yeah, how soon can I take vacation?

A Holiday Conversation Between Father & Daughter

Since it is the season for holiday-themed posts, I thought I'd share this one with you. It is a conversation that Darling Husband had with Darling Daughter last December as they drove to his office. Darling Husband took a sip of coffee from his travel mug just as Darling Daughter spotted a billboard telling people that drinking and driving is against the law. What follows is the conversation as best as Darling Husband could reconstruct it in an email that he sent to me and other family and friends.

First, a little background: At our house, Santa doesn't get cookies and milk. We put out a piece of cheese for Santa Mouse, and Santa gets something sweet along with a wee dram of whiskey. For medicinal purposes, you understand. To fend off the winter chill while riding in that sleigh. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink.

DD: You can't drink that.
DH: Why not?
DD: Because it's against the law.
DH: *confused* Huh? What?
DD: You can't drive and drink that.
DH: Are you talking about drinking and driving?
DD: Yes.
DH: Well, it's okay to drink coffee and drive. They're talking about grown-up drinks.
DD: Coffee's a grown-up drink.
DH: Well, okay, but they don't mean coffee.
DD: What do they mean?
DH: They mean drinks that have alcohol in them.
DD: Oh.
DH: Do you know what that means?
DD: No.
DH: Okay, well, some grown-up drinks have alcohol in them. Beer, wine, whiskey ... those have alcohol in them.
DD: Oh ... What about Santa?
DH: *confused again* Huh? What? What about Santa?
DD: He could get arrested.
DH: *now thoroughly confused* Huh? Why? Why would Santa get arrested?
DD: He drinks whiskey at our house.
DH: *light goes on* Oh, umm ...
DD: And then he drives his sleigh.
DH: Okay, okay. Um ...
DD: What if Santa gets arrested?
DH: *thinking fast* Okay, um, well, you see, honey, don't worry about Santa.
DD: But he could get in trouble.
DH: *thinking faster* Well, Santa doesn't drink much whiskey. *suddenly realizes that this is a bad line to take, long-term, because he doesn't want to tell Darling Daughter that it's okay to drink and drive if you only drink a little* *backpedaling furiously* But that's not really the issue here. You see, honey, Santa doesn't really do the driving. The reindeer know the way and they're really doing the driving. (Let's hear it for Rudolph the Red-nosed Designated Driver!)
DD: But Santa holds the, umm ... handles.
DH: Oh, the reins. Yeah, Santa holds the reins, but he's not really in control. You see, he's got to hold on to something, and that's what's available. But the reindeer really do the driving, not Santa. They're well-trained, and they know the way.
DD: Oh. Okay.

Moral of the story: You never know what kind of discussion you'll have with a child, but it is never, ever dull.

Merry SITSmas!

Today, I am dedicating this post to my SITStas. You have made all the difference in my blog since I became a member of the SITStahood back in August. SITS, for those of you who don't know, is the acronym for The Secret is in the Sauce - a blog dedicated to creating a community of bloggers who support one another. To become a SITSta, all you do is put their button on your blog (usually in the sidebar), show up for roll call daily, and visit the blogs of others. Whenever you come across the SITS logo/button, leave a comment letting the blogger know you're a SITSta, and they'll return the favor by visiting your blog and leaving comment love, too. The majority of members are women, hence the concept of the SITStahood, but male bloggers can join, too.

So, for SITSmas, I am going to post a recipe for my favorite holiday beverage: Glühwein (prounounced "glue vine"). Glühwein is the German word for mulled wine. Literally translated, it means "glow wine." It is served hot and sold at Christmas markets throughout Germany to help keep holiday shoppers warm. If you don't know what a Christmas market is, it is an outdoor arts and crafts fair set up every year during Advent where locals and tourists alike can purchase beautifully handmade items ranging from Christmas ornaments to toys to seasonal baked goods like Christstollen and Lebkuchen. Perhaps the most famous of the Christmas markets is the Nuremberg Christkindlsmarkt.

Ingredients:

Red wine, 1.5 liters

Sugar, 1-2 cups or to taste

Stick cinnamon, 4-6 sticks

Whole cloves, ~ 1 tbsp.

Orange slices, 4-6

Orange juice (optional), 1 cup or to taste

Rum (optional), 1 cup or to taste

It really doesn't matter what kind of red wine you use for this - Merlot, Burgundy or Cabernet Sauvignon - but I would not recommend using a very expensive red wine. Just don't go too far in the other direction, because the cheaper the wine, the more sugar you'll have to use. I usually pick a red from Almaden, Beringer, Gallo, or one of the other inexpensive brands that sell wines in 1.5 liter bottles or boxes. I generally use a Burgundy, but again, the type of red really isn't that important.  Pick what you like and go with that.

Pour the wine into a large pot and begin heating it on medium low. Add the stick cinnamon. Slice an orange and remove any seeds. Place 4-6 whole cloves in each slice and add the slices (again 4-6) to the pot; toss in remaining cloves. If you want, you can also add about a cup, perhaps less, of orange juice to the wine. Adding the orange juice will give your Glühwein a more opaque look and adds another layer of flavor, but you can make it without the OJ if you prefer. Add in your sugar. Start with one cup and add from there. Glühwein should be sweet but not cloying. Finally, add in the rum for an added kick. Use a white rum as opposed to a dark rum. Add 1/2 to one cup, depending on your preferences. Again, start small and sample as you go to see how each addition changes the flavor. If you decide you've added too much OJ, rum or sugar, you can always add more red wine to balance it back out again.

 

Heat until hot but do not bring to a boil. Heat it anywhere from 30-60 minutes so that all the flavors mature together. Serve in mugs and enjoy! The longer the orange slices, cloves and cinnamon sticks sit in the wine, the spicier it will taste. Once the Glühwein has matured, you can remove the orange slices, cloves and cinnamon sticks, but I generally don't until the pot has gotten low, then I remove them to keep it from getting bitter. If you don't drink all of the Glühwein, let it cool, remove orange slices, cloves, stick cinnamon and refrigerate. Reheat as desired. Makes enough for a jolly good time for 2-10 people.

 

Now that you can get your "glow" on with Glühwein, I want to wish you the happiest of holiday seasons. May your feet and hearts be warm, your bellies full, and your souls at peace. May the new year bring you prosperity, happiness and good health. May you renew old friendships and make room for new ones. May you know how much each and every one of you has enriched my life since I joined SITS.

For myself and my family, I hope the new year brings us firmer financial ground. We are hanging on by a thread that continually threatens to unravel no matter how many hours Darling Husband puts in at the office or how frugal I try to be at home. I would rather be a stay-at-home wife and mother, but that is unfortunately no longer feasible. We need a regular income we can count on, and we need health insurance - neither of which are provided by Darling Husband's business. Our life completely blew up on us this year, and we've had some bitter pills to swallow. I hope that 2010 looks very different for us, that we will make our way out of the hole we are in and finally find our footing.

 Merry SITSmas and Happy New SITS-Year!

Misanthropic Monday: All I Want For Christmas ...

... Is a Pap smear. NOT! But for some bizarre reason, CBS Cares has launched a campaign urging men to give the women in their lives a gift even Santa can't give: the gift of a Pap smear. Men are encouraged to call up their wives' and girlfriends' gynecologists and schedule a Pap smear for them. For Christmas.

Is it me or has someone at CBS been having twee many martoonis at lunch? Or sampling something a little more hardcore, p'rhaps? Step away from the psychotropics, boys and girls, and nobody'll get hurt.

Seriously? That has got to be the worst Christmas gift idea. EVER.

Listen to the Dame, men, and do not schedule a Pap smear for the woman in your life as a Christmas gift. She will not thank you for it. And you will likely find yourself sleeping on the couch. Or in the dog house. Literally.

... Is chocolate diamonds. Not. *snort* This has got to be the most ingenious marketing campaign ever. Let's pretend to be a fly on the wall and listen to that conversation:

Le Vian Exec: Man, we have a ton of these ugly brown diamonds, but there are only so many drill tips out there that we can put them in. What are we going to do with them?

Ad Man: Brown, you say? How brown? On a scale of tan to poop, how would you describe the color of these diamonds?

Le Vian Exec: I don't know. Kinda chocolate-y, I guess.

Ad Man: Chocolate? *thinks a minute* What woman doesn't like chocolate? We can market them as chocolate diamonds, not brown diamonds. What woman wouldn't want chocolate that will last forever but not make her fat?

Le Vian Exec: *rubs hands greedily* That is fucking brilliant!

Ad Man: I know. It is, isn't it? *grins evilly*

Not that I needed more proof that people are bovine stupid and will buy anything, no matter how ridiculous, if it's been marketed effectively. Which, apparently, chocolate diamonds have been. The other dead giveaway that these are not very high quality diamonds (besides the fact that they are brown like mud and poop) is their size. I have yet to see a single piece of jewelry made with chocolate diamonds that had a stone larger than about an eighth of a carat. It's all pavé. Too many inclusions to do otherwise. That's also why I don't like any kind of pavé jewelry no matter the color of the diamonds. Pavé = fancy French word for pavement = industrial grade gravel.

... Is not to feel like a pervert every time I look at a picture of Taylor Lautner from New Moon. If you have been living under a rock and don't know what I'm talking about, take a look at this pic of Taylor. This is a 17-year-old boy.

Holy. Shit. I'm a dirty old lady.

I'm An Idiot ... And Other Random Things

 

I just had a 'Doh!' moment. An I-should've-had-a-V8 epiphany. A why-didn't-I-think-of-that kind of realization. I should have invited some of my bloggy buddies to write guest posts for me while I was killing challenging myself with NaNoWriMo. Instead, I let you all languish for thirty days. Just call me the Moses of the blogging world.

I'm an idiot.

For the life of me, I cannot figure out why I didn't think of that. Crappity crap crap crap. Well, chalk it up to experience and move on. Shall we?

Darling Husband and I are done with the dancing lessons that he bought me for my birthday. I enjoyed them immensely, but I nearly died when I found out how much he spent on them. Arthur Murray ain't cheap, kids. And, of course, they want us to keep going. I would love to, but without a second income, namely one I earn, I'm not sure we'll have the cabbage for that soup. But we do have a dance CD, and we can waltz, rumba and foxtrot in the kitchen whenever the mood strikes us. That's something.

I nearly passed out at the first group lesson from anxiety. It's rather daunting to dance with a complete stranger, especially considering I hadn't danced with anyone other than Darling Husband for the last seventeen years. But I managed to get through it, and most of my dance partners went home with their toes more or less intact. I will say this, though. If you know you're going to be dancing with a complete stranger, have mercy on them and DO NOT eat anything with garlic or onions beforehand. Try oatmeal instead. For the love of God, I'm begging you. Most of my partners were so garlicky, they weren't going to have to worry about being bitten by a vampire any time soon. And FYI, breath mints won't hide the garlic. They just add mint to the garlic reek. Trust me, you don't want to scratch and sniff that.

I was a little annoyed with the Arthur Murray folks after our first lesson, too, because they gave us information about where to buy proper dance shoes. It seems all the cool kids wear shoes with suede on the bottoms of the soles to keep them from slipping and sliding unnecessarily. I thought it a bit presumptuous on their part. It was the first lesson, who's to say I'd be back for more? But it became a moot point anyway when I researched the dance shoes. Apparently, the people who make dance shoes don't think women with feet bigger than a size 10 should be dancing because they don't make dance shoes any bigger. I complained to a good friend about it not long ago. His advice? Go to sites for drag queens. I may wear size extra Sasquatch, but I'll be damned if I'm going to buy shoes made for drag queens. Sorry. I gotta draw the line somewhere. And that's my where.

Drag queens indeed!

Didja know you can rumba to "Don't Stop Believin'"? Didja know Nora Jones's song "Come Away With Me" is a waltz? Didja know that "Fever" (Ray Charles or Michael Buble) is a foxtrot? Yup. They are.

I wanna put on my, my, my, my, my boogie shoes ...

I got to substitute in Darling Daughter's classroom for about ninety minutes today while her teacher attended a luncheon. It was fun but a lot like herding cats. Darling Daughter has been looking forward to my subbing for two weeks now. It's flattering. I know when she's sixteen she won't want me anywhere near one of her classes, so I'm trying to enjoy it while I can.

Some of you may have noticed that I'm playing around with things on my blog again. New picture for December, plus I've added LinkWithin and gotten rid of my list of links to my favorite posts in the sidebar. And all my lovely awards are currently on vacay until I can figure out how to get them back to the sidebar in a nice, neat little crawl/slide show. Hope it's not too disorienting. I hope to have things back in order soon ...

Misanthropic Monday: The Bitch Is Ba-ack!

Oh, how I have missed the joys of a good Misanthropic Monday rant. Chaining myself to my computer over the last thirty (or so) days to bang out 50,000 words for National Novel Writing Month was rewarding on many levels, but creatively draining. I didn't have the energy to blog and so I neglected you. Forgive me? Love me anyway? I hope so. But now that I've succeeded in writing (give or take) 200 pages of schlock the next Great American Novel, I am back in the blogging saddle again. So without further ado ....

To the Schmuck in the FJ Cruiser with the vanity plate "H8IT4U": Get the fuck over yourself. You're driving a Toyota, not a Rolls Royce or a Maybach. Just sayin'.

To Retailers: Back the fuck off and give Thanksgiving its due. You've heard of Thanksgiving, haven't you? It's the holiday between Halloween and Christmas. This year at 12:01 a.m. on November 1, you decked your halls with Christmas-themed crap, loaded the holiday music into the store CD player and prepared to bombard us with ad campaigns whipping us into a shopping frenzy and enticing us into your establishments to buy, buy, buy. Frankly, I'm sick of it. I categorically refuse to buy or put up any Christmas decorations before I have come out of my turkey-dressing-pumpkin-pie-induced coma on Thanksgiving day. And Black Friday? I do not set foot out of the house on that day, not even for grocery shopping. To do anything else is fucking nuts. Just sayin'.

I resent all of the made-for-Christmas crap you peddle to me and everyone else. It is overpriced, of the cheapest quality and so completely devoid of personality as to be utterly meaningless. Why would I spend my hard-won dollars on any of that? I know people who give their children 3 gifts for Christmas, based on the number of gifts given to the baby Jesus by the Magi. This is a little extreme for my tastes, but I'm beginning to think it's not a bad idea to radically limit the number of gifts I give to friends and family on principle. Darling Husband and I have been forced to do this for a number of years now for economic reasons. But here's the paradox: There may be fewer gifts under our tree, but I make every gift count. I really think about the person I'm giving to and find gifts that will be more meaningful to the recipient, rather than just buying crap because it's been packaged prettily. Just sayin'.

To Movie Theaters: $7 dollars for a large popcorn? Really? What's the mark-up on that? About 10,000%? If I could figure out a way to smuggle my own popcorn into your theater, I would. That is highway robbery, and they used to hang highway robbers. Keep jacking prices up on everything from tickets to popcorn, and people will stay home with microwave popcorn and a RedBox movie. Just sayin'.

That's it for today. I gotta pace myself, you know ... can't put everything I've been saving up over the past thirty days into one post. A quick note about the fabulous sign at the top of this post: If you didn't catch it when I noted it before, it was done for me by the multi-talented and uber-patient Tamara over at Cheapskate Designs. Do check her out if you're thinking of sprucing up your own little space on the web, and tell her I sent you. There's nothing but good will in it for me, but 'tis the season, right?