STUFF AND OTHER THINGS

It all started with Stuff White People Like. Which cracks me right up. Particularly the ones on New Balance Shoes (my husband, who is not white, per se) and White Problems: Poorly Read Partners (Also my husband! I'm the poorly read one!).

Then I started reading other Stuff People Like.

Like Stuff Christians Like. Such as porn and crock pots. Yum.

And that led to Stuff Nobody Likes. And particularly the post on Grammar Nazis.

As it turns out, I am a poorly-read wannabe mini grammar Nazi. If that is even possible. I like learning about common grammar mistakes and shaming people for making them. For example, the phrase "for all intents and purposes" would be correct. If you are talking about "intensive purposes" you ought to be working in an ICU ward, with great purpose. Also, if you feel sick to your stomach, you are feeling nauseated. Not nauseous. Things that are nauseous cause nausea. It's a bit tricky. You'll get it after a while. I'll harp on you about it. Fun for everyone!

I have learned A LOT from the Grammar Girl podcast. Fun and smart and super short. You can listen from the site, or you can subscribe to the podcast on iTunes.

Feel free to shame your friends and family with all the nuggets of delicious hyper-correctness you will find here.

My gift to you!

I DON'T KNOW MUCH, BUT I KNOW CRACK-HEADS WERE NOT ON THE INVITE LIST

If your family is big enough you’re gonna get some kooks. Happens to the best of us. All those unique (read: weird) people. But you love them. You know, like the Jesus freak. And the alcoholic with the 4 ex-wives (but you can only remember 3 of them, who the hell is this Irma that you all keep mentioning?). The Amway sales reps (doing their best to keep an Amway home!). And then there’s the grouchy drama-queen uncle. Who is not happy unless he has made someone cry.

The usual.

This weekend we had a big family gathering for my aunt and cousin, who flew in from neighboring states for a quick visit. My cousin was bringing her new husband, and I was thrilled to meet him. I opted not to go on my weekend retreat so I wouldn’t miss out.

And it was lovely. Really nice.

Right up until my crack-head cousin showed up with her crazy mother and gigantic children.

See, I have this very sweet uncle who really thought that if he invited said crack-head and her unusually large children that maybe, just maybe, she’d feel the love and decide to give up her evil ways want to get better and come back into the fold of regular human beings.

But here’s the rub. She was never in the realm of regular human beings. Doesn’t even know what that looks like. The secrets in her childhood home were big secrets. No really, BIG SECRETS. Big ones. And then there were all the lies required to cover them up. Really fucked up shit. No joke.

So, fast forward a couple of dozen years. And a failed intervention or two. Picture a lovely BBQ. Visiting and chatting. Noshing and drinking. A brisk but sunny California day. Celebrating with my lovely(ish) family. And then she walked in.

Fuck.

It’s not that I hate her. I don’t. It’s not that I don’t want her life to be better. I do. But coming to this party is not going to make it better. Not for us, and not for her. How could she help but feel different? How could she help but feel less than? Her breath stank of booze. Her clothes were visibly soiled. Her teeth (the remaining ones – formerly her proudest feature) were chipped and stained. She didn’t talk the way she used to, because she wouldn’t lift her upper lip to show her gnarled teeth. Also, her voice sounded at least an octave lower and was all scratchy. Like a 75 year old bar fly. With throat cancer.

But what really pissed me off was that suddenly everything was all about crack-girl. And it wasn’t supposed to be about her. It was supposed to be a lovely celebration and visit for the out-of-towners.

And isn’t it just like a crack-head to steal the measly family limelight.

So I’m just being a whiner. If I were a good Christian woman wouldn’t I invite her in with open arms? “Come right this way! We’ve more than enough food/clothes/money/booze to share! Please grace us with your delightful presence!”

But I don’t feel like that at all. I feel like telling my sweet and well intentioned uncle that the next time he wants to invite crack-heads to the family gathering I’m gonna punch him in the face.

And God bless us, every one…

(BTW - my mom and my brother LEFT THE PARTY just after the arrival of Cracky the Cousin of Delight. Left me and my dad there. Cause that is how they roll. Ass holes.)

UGLY MOMMY SAYS "WTF??!!"

Interesting article about the new book, My Beautiful Mommy.

The book in question, My Beautiful Mommy, is a children's book. About when mommy goes in for "a little work." ON HER NOSE AND HER BOOBIES.

Kill me now.

HOW DO I SUCK? LET ME COUNT THE WAYS

OK.

So I've been away. Here is what I have been doing:

Looking for a new job. Which means endless phone interviews, shopping for "live" interview clothes, maintaining my current workload, telling my husband that he has to be positive ('cause I can't handle ANY negativity or doubt), live interviewing, considering offer letters, accepting offer, submitting my resignation, receiving numerous totally sweet messages from my soon-to-be-ex co-workers, receiving numerous totally sweet messages from my soon-to-be-ex clients, mourning the end of an era of my life, looking forward to a totally new and exciting era of my life, and stressing out beyond belief.

I've been waking in the middle of the night with busy brain. Staying awake for 2 to 3 hours.

I'm exhausted. I'm at the end of my tether. I'm a "bit" of a fucking wreck.

So...

The other night my husband woke me when he came to bed. He was feeling "friendly." He hugged me. He kissed me.

"Hey," he whispered. "How are you? Looking for a good time?"

"Oh god. Please no." I said. "This is my own personal hell."

Yes. I said that. I don't actually recall saying that. I had to ask Rube in the morning what (completely rude thing) I said to him the night before. I knew I said something. I just couldn't remember what, exactly, it was.

He was happy to share. Which is great.

I was, of course, referring to being awakened from a (somewhat) restful sleep. Not to my loving husband's amorous advances.

I'm a total bitch.

What do you want from me?