|
|
|
|
Mod Breakdown:
|
+1395 / +1437 |
|
Karma Level:
|
+ 45
|
| Signed up: |
3 years ago (1/11/06) |
|
|
Last signed in:
|
11 months ago |
|
Total time online:
|
30d 1h 14m |
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| |
Angels I have heard are high.....
OMG. Tonight was the daughter's school Christmas shindig. It was supposed to be a typical Christmas play but of course they didn't want to offend anyone and so they tried to make it more fairy tale and less religious. Even though it took place in the Catholic Church. And she goes to a Catholic School. So why the need to make it as far from Catholic as possible is beyond me. But whatever...
They planned the production out Monday. Sang the songs in choir class. And then at 4:30 tonight they did the first rehearsal. Or should I say first, last, and only rehearsal? yeah, quality is not their middle name.
Anyway it is supposed to start at 5:30 so I head down early to get a good seat. I learned my lesson last year. I get there at 5:07 and literally take the last spot in the parking area. Not lot mind you, because the spaces are all filled, but the mud bank area that surrounds the parking lot. The next available spot was 3 blocks down the road.
I get in and am told I can't sit with my daughter- she has to sit with her class.Wow. So family Christmas play means not having the family sit together. Grrreat.
The choir starts singing this off-key song that is about 8 verses long. About verse 4 people realize they have started (late, of course). By verse 7 there are only a few people still talking. Finally it starts properly. I flip through the program. It isn't a program but song lyrics. 6 pages front and back of song lyrics. Oh. My. God. Are they really going to sing all this?
Of course they are. And in between will be a story narrated by Mr. PC, who is responsible for not offending the non-Catholic Catholic school families in the Catholic Church. And he is reading for. dramatic. effect. which.means. he. pauses. after. ever. fucking. word. Sometimes for several seconds.
Move on. Please. Mr PC talks, choir sings, Mr PC talks, choir sings. I am mentally ticking off the songs waiting for the halfway mark to come. Then he decides to stop and do a slide show. About African children living in mud huts. I think it was supposed to be like those Christian Children Fund things but he decided to run the slide show against a raw brick wall and not a white screen. He had a kid come up and read the captions. The kid sounded like everything was a question instead of a statement. This is the hospital? This is the place the children play? This is Sam the butcher's son? All I could see was blurry smudgy bricks with random colors on them. Then they got the token black kid to come up and accept a 310 euro check earned in a two day held that ended yesterday fundraiser on behalf of the African children. Ok, does anyone notice this smacks of anything BUT PC'ness?
Moving on.... I notice the slideshow is gone and it looks like the person is now pulling up files. yeah, I can see the blurry outliney thing of file folders on the brick wall. Nimrods- turn the projector off if you want to do that.
Anyway, more songs. More handing kids lines in a script and pointing to them so they can read them because obviously they haven't memorized lines from the first time they read it only an hour earlier. or is it two by now because my butt is hurting?
Now grandpa in front of me is letting them rip. And Oh. My. God. he stinks. He REALLY stinks. I move my feet in case he did more than gas and some liquid is going to come out next and stink up my shoes. He is foul.
More singing. Now it is one of those 12 days of Christmas songs. Oh God, no, those take forever. Even better- they had a mic to each kid to sing their part, and pass it down to the next in line during the counting phase. Number 1 child sings like a frog in heat. Great. Now I get to hear him croak some crap out over and over again. Couldn't they make him last and the kid who was number 7 who could actually sing number 1?
The get to the Jesus part. Here is Joseph. Here is Mary. Here is "the Kid" who I must assume is baby Jesus but they only referred to as "the kid" the entire time. And the mouse. No, wait, it is a donkey. they only had mouse ears and thought that would be good enough for the costume. the angel is a sheet with a hole cut in the head and I am thinking "wow that is a crappy ghost costume". Oh, oops. I mean angel. No wings, no halo, just a sheet.
My butt is officially asleep. I am wondering if I am going to get thrombosis and die or something. I can't shift because patchouli oil dude has to spread his legs to sit because obviously his dick is the size of France and he can't physically touch his knees together, the other side of me is miss wiggle 3 year old and in front is farting gramps who terrifies me. I am trapped.
Finally, at 6:45 it comes to an end. And then my favorite part of the night. The sheer brilliance of Mr. PC's planning. He dismisses the kids first, class by class to go stand outside in the freezing weather in the middle of a dark parking lot (ok with the teacher) and wait for their parents. Of course the parent's have all the coats so the kids are outside for 15-20 minutes before the adults are finally released!
I find my kid who had the brains to duck behind the wall and therefore stay inside the warm church building until I got there. She proudly points to the crappy cardboard did it at 4 pm set they tossed together out of white paper and black markers. The only colored object is a bright yellow star over the house (too Christian to have a stable) with lots of glitter. My daughter says she made that star.
I get all teary eyed. Wow. The only bright spot- literally the whole night was hers.
|
|
|
| |
you need a reason?
So thinking of asking the Miss to be your Mrs? Want a good reason to go for it? Engagement pics. You get to do take very serious pictures to help announce the glorious moment to all your friends and family like this couple...
here is the full lot if you want to look. He is a dungeons and dragons guru. Even nerds get hot chicks.
|
|
|
| |
My history of oral stuff.
Not that kind of oral, you perv. The tooth kind.
When I was about 9 or 10 years old, my sister decided it would be great fun to hide in the bushes and wait until I rode my bike passed, then shove a stick in my front tire between the spokes. Great fun. Of course besides road rash and a severally bruised body and face, I chipped my top two front teeth and lower front tooth. Surprisingly I didn't bite off my tongue or actually loose the damn teeth. The dentist said "you got big horse teeth anyway (way to go doc with the self esteem boost) so we will just sand them down to even them out." He then whips out his craftsman grinder, dentist version, and starts to JJJjjjjjjmmmmzzzzzKKKKkkkk my teeth until they are "sort of" straight across the bottom and then sends me home.
I got braces when I was 11. I had the worst ever orthodontist. I saw him only when my mom came with me to the initial appointments. His assistants took care of me from that point on. Which, when I got older, I found out is actually illegal. Anyway I lost a band, I took it in after school (without brushing my teeth mind you) and they literally sat me in the chair, packed the ring full of that foul tasting cement, and stuck it back on. Job done. Did you notice it? Yes, that is right, I am11 and not the best at oral hygiene anyway and they stuck the brace back on without me brushing my teeth first. At 12 I had a new brace attached to my tooth, so the old one had to come off. Behind that same brace they replaced earlier was a huge gnarly cavity. Bastards. Would it have killed them to scrape it clean first or at the very least hand me a disposable brush and tell me to have at it? I didn't really feel any pain. Never even knew I had a cavity. Filling it was a breeze.
At 14 all 4 of my widom teeth grew in. I got the right side pulled. I had steak for dinner that night. Not an issue.
At 16 I got a root canal in the bottom tooth that I had previously chipped. It was dead. I had no pain killers or numbing agents. I sat in the chair, they drilled drilled drilled and I went home. No probs.
Then last month I did my check up and *shocking* I was told I had a very small, just starting cavity. My second ever. Yesterday they filled it.
We started with no painkillers because it shouldn't hurt- it wasn't like it was in the root or anything. So they drilled drilled drilled. Sanded sanded. Drilled some more. All of a sudden I saw stars and fireworks. I yelped. the doctor had already sucked in his breath and said "ooh. sorry". He apparently went too far. Hit the nerve.
I got numbed after that. But he didn't quite give it enough time to kick in. Serves me right going in right before lunchtime- they are always in a hurry.
Today, my mouth is slightly swollen on that side. My jaw, top and bottom, hurts. My tooth feels achy. And because my mouth was open for so freaking long my lips got chapped in exactly one spot and now I got two freaking cold sores (one right on top of the other) in the exact place he stuck that "suck up the moisture" thing. I hurt. I ache. This freaking sucks.
When the frack did I become a super-wuss in the mouth department??!?
|
|
|
| |
Girly Drunk.
I got drunk last night on pink port. Yeah, port now comes in pink. And the label has sparkles on it. Pretty pink princess sparkly port.
I got so drunk I watched "enchanted' for the second time. The first was with my daughter when I decided to do some girl-girl bonding with her. That is acceptable. Last night, the second time, was Pink Port talking. Damn that movie was so brilliant- Pink Port said so. I mean, I only watched it that one time before and now I could sing along with every song. Very loudly. O_o
Pink Port told me it tastes really really good with peanut m&m's and popcorn. After doughnuts. After a big dinner.
Pink port also told me I was sexy, so doing a striptease would be cool. And it was ok if I tripped over my pants when I was trying to get my legs out and fell on my ass because Pink Port told me that I fell down all sexy like. Pink Port makes me sexy no matter what I do.
Pink Port also reminded me that maybe it was a good idea to make sure the curtains were fully closed before I start ripping off my clothes. But Pink Port didn't remind me to fully close the curtains until after I was nakedz.
Pink Port also decided that at 4:30 in the morning I wanted some ice water. And that it was totally cool taking the stair case in the dark because it isn't like I was going to slip and fall or anything. And spill ice water down my front. And have to go back for more ice water but hit the wrong button and get "shredded ice with ice cubes" because I pushed first the shredded ice button and then the ice cube button on the fridge instead of the shredded ice button and then the water button. Pink Port has a weird sense of humor.
Pink Port was gone in the morning, though. No headache, no tummy ache, no nothing. Pink Port is my friend.
|
|
|
| |
It's on.
Our neighbor has more Christmas lights than we do. Bastard. Doesn't he know that I, being the token American in our neighborhood, reserve any and all rights to excessive Xmas lighting?!!??!?
He even decorated part of the collectively owned greenbelt that he doesn't even own. I am seriously considering re-arranging his lights to read "santa = satan* but it doesn't translate well.
|
|
|
| |
world's collide.
Alpha has this super huge fan thing going on for Queen. And I am of course a bridezilla. Then I found out what happens if you put the two together...
vimeo.com/1531870
|
|
|
| |
evil box.
I have this disorder. I have a thing for packaging.
I don't like not knowing what is inside any given package. I must know. I must know now. And I must see it, touch it. I am that kid at birthdays who drools over the presents and says "are you gonna open that? are you gonna open that?" over and over again. I am the one who can be literally driven crazy with a gift in a box in a box in a box in a box. I can hear the gentle swoosh of the mail sliding in the mail slot up 2 flights of stairs, through a closed door, and over my off key singing. I suddenly stop singing. Was that the mail? Run down two flights of stairs- yes there it is. I rip it open to see what it is. I have even been known to type in full sections of letters into babelfish in order to halfway figure out what the hell it says in English.
But packages are a whole other thing. Packages are like manna from heaven. They make me happy. And I must open them. Every single one of them. My ideal job would be letter opener in a mail room. I could not work for UPS. I would be found on my first day alone, not even out of the parking lot yet, basking in the after glow and still holding my box cutter- and around me the ripped open remains of every package that was on my truck. I am getting euphoric just thinking about that.
I make a mental note each and every time a delivery driver comes into the neighborhood. I can recognize them even in plain vans or when they take their own cars. I know their routes. I know their habits. I know what they did last summer.
Today a package came. I know what it is. I bought it 3 months ago and it was released and subsequently delivered today. It is my daughter's Christmas present. She is dying to know what it is. I lied, sort of, and said all packages coming in were off limits because they were probably unwrapped prezzies for her and so hands off. I didn't tell her it was from us to her. Just the fact it was "probably" for her. And I don't want to open it while she is awake and I have nothing to wrap it in as I want it to be a surprise on Xmas.
But it is still a package.
I know WHAT IS INSIDE. And yet, the little box is taunting me. It is telling me to open it. Open me, open me. I have carried the damn box up and down the stairs as I move around the house. And now it is sitting right in front of me, next to the mouse. I see it. The tape holding it shut is straining. It is almost willing itself to open in front of me.
Oh God. This is my own personal of hell.
Help.
|
|
|
| | | |
|
|
|
|
|
