It's Beginning To Look a Lot Like

crazy.

That's right. It's Christmas at our house. Or at least Christmas present wrapping time.

I've been buying a few presents here and there and, frankly, wrapping presents is one chore that I hate. I always leave it to the last minute and then rush through it.

I may not buy another present until Christmas Eve and I might be wrapping the rest of the presents into the wee morning hours of Christmas Day, but for just this one day, I'm ahead of the game.

Okay, that's all a lie.

I was only wrapping presents because the alternative was to climb Mt. Washmore and tackle the pile of laundry that has been building over the past couple of weeks.

We may not have clean underwear, but dammit, we have some pretty, sparkly presents to look at.

The Sale is Over

and we survived. But just barely. I swear they get harder every time we have one. And I'd like to make the same promise as last year that it is the last one we'll ever have, but since my last promise lasted less than a year, I'm just going to say that I hope not to have another one until we decide to move from this house. Which is a long, long ways off.

We did make about $2,000, and we are going to do something fun and glamorous with it. Like fix Vern's tractor. That's us - a barrel of fun.

We did get a visit from our little friend from last year and his mother. I guess someone in the house enjoyed their purchase. This year, mom bought a feather duster.

Last year, a novelty sex toy. This year a feather duster.

I really need to figure out how to get us on their party list. I bet they don't spend their fun money on tractor repairs.

My Marriage May Be In Trouble

My marriage may be in trouble, and it's my own fault.

We've been preparing for a couple of weeks for the estate sale of my dad's household goods.

Today, as Vern was moving the heavy furniture out of the trailer for what seems like the 527th time, I put my marriage at risk by telling him I wanted to set up the items in showroom-like displays.

The look he gave me could have frozen fire.

If I Find Out Who the Pig Is

Yes, that's right. Swine flu has hit our happy little home in a hard way. Vern has been sick for about 10 days. We're hoping that he's finally on the mend from it, but it has fooled us a couple of times already, so we're not counting on it yet.

And we are really hoping that with the huge sale of my dad's estate only days away, that he not only feels better, but that I manage to avoid catching it.





But if I find out who the pig is that my husband has been kissing, it's going to be one sorry swine.

Irony at its Finest

I'm sorry to make you endure one more post about the tragic situation that happened last night at Wal-Mart, but I'm not over it yet. It may take alcohol time therapy.

Irony has a way of sneaking up on you. In my case, it gave me a big old bitch slap.

What's so ironic you ask? My purchase at Wal-Mart on that fateful night that shall not be mentioned again was a People magazine. (Shush. It's my guilty pleasure.)

This advertisement was in that People magazine.




I SO need one of these t-shirts.

Reason 672 Not to Shop at Wal-Mart

It's bad for your self-esteem.

I went out for a fun dinner with a friend tonight. We had a nice meal at a little local bar we like and decided to do a little shopping afterwards. Why not. I was all dressed up - might as well go, right?

That's where my logic went south apparently. Might as well go . . . ANYWHERE BUT WAL-MART.

I'm thinking I don't look too shabby for a quick trip into town. After all, my hair was all shiny and swingy thanks to my new Chi flat iron. I was wearing some cute jeans, a boyfriend sweater, and my super cute Rocket Dog sneaks.

After a little shopping, we check out with our purchases, have some fun chatting with the cashier, and then get ready to walk out of the store. So far, so good. A trip to Wal-Mart on a Friday night and we are leaving unscathed.

Until I see her. At first, I thought she was just a nice mom who was trying to teach her little girl a few manners about being out in public. You see, the little girl was dancing and twirling and spinning around at the end of all the registers and mom was telling her to watch out and not to do that in the store. I'm sure you get the picture - you've seen it before.

And that's when IT happened.

She called me old.

That's right. She looked at my friend and I and then at her daughter and said "If you keep up like that, those old ladies are going to run you down."

Now for sure, I'm no spring chicken at 46. But I'm not exactly withered up and hunched over either. In fact, most people can hardly believe I have a grown up daughter. Okay, I admit, that "most people" includes ladies who are twice my age, people trying to sell me stuff, and waitresses hoping for a good tip. But still. . .

The bitch called me OLD.

Try to contain your laughter and at least offer a little sympathy. It's the compassionate thing to do for your elders.