Stuff.

I’m finding it hard to post these days.  Just too much going through my brain.  Too many worries.  Stresses.  Annoyances.   I’m devoid of Christmas spirit.  Gotta work on that.

Report cards came out today.  Jackson is doing well, being bang-on expectations (they give a score from 1-4, 4 being the best - he’s all 3s).   Austin has some Bs and some C+s.  Again, on expectations, although I think he’s capable of more.  MUCH more.  Little rotter needs to stop equating speed with brains.

In an attempt to make up for my complete (& utterly embarrassing) meltdown this morning, I left work early to pick up the boys.  We hit the toy store, where Austin finally got to spend his b-day gift certificate.  He chose a set of poke-eh-mon cards and bought his brother a toy (which saved me a lot of whining from said brother).

I may be a tad overwhelmed right now.  Just trying to decide if it’s going to magically disappear or not.  Sigh.

Romantic in the most unexpected of ways.

Either that, or he really wanted to get some. Perhaps both.

Last night was my office party - we do a big buffet dinner at a local golf course/resort. There’s lot of alcocohol, and we normally get hotel rooms for the night (paid for by the company). My plan was as follows:

1. Deliver children to friends’ house for the night.
2. Pick up alcocohol.
3. Try to find new top to wear.
4. Meet up with D at hotel.
5. Party!

Numbers 1 & 2 went off as planned. Number 3 proved a problem, but I didn’t care. Number 4 was the kicker. D needs to replace the thermostat in his truck, because he currently has no heat. It’s been a wee bit chilly here lately - we hit -18C or so last night.

Unfortunately, my husband is no mechanic. It was so cold that he broke a bolt, and couldn’t replace the thermo as planned. The broken bolt also meant he couldn’t drive the truck, as it holds on some thingamajig housing that keeps fluid (antifreeze?) from spewing out everywhere. He called, he apologized, and I realized I’d just have to go without him - he’s 2 hours away, so it’s not like I was up to driving to get him.

My alcocohol and I checked in to the hotel alone. I fixed myself a drink, and finished off my latest book. Then I put on my fancy clothes (ha) and tottered down to D2’s room to continue drinking. We (her hubby was with us) headed to dinner in the cold and snow, my mood only slightly improved by the drinks.

Dinner was good, and I ate too damn much.

I was sitting there, contemplating dessert, when I looked toward the buffet and saw someone walking towards me.

My husband. With frozen ears and hands, wearing 2 shirts, a sweater and 3 coats.

I think my mouth hit the floor. And then I poked him, just to make sure he was real. (I’d had 3 cosmos and 2 bellinis by that point. One never knows.)

It’s funny, because I’d said to him earlier in the week that if the weather was bad and the roads were terrible, he shouldn’t feel bad if he couldn’t make it. He gave me the gears, saying that it sounded like I didn’t want him there. It was more that I was trying to prepare myself for the possibility of him not making it down. Of course I wanted him there!

And if you were wondering, we left first, amidst many lewd comments about the smile on my face.

The. End.

Ah, NaBloPoMo.  As expected, you’ve been enjoyable, in an OMGwhatapaininmyass kind of way.  I’ll be back next year.

This is going to be a busy weekend - I need groceries, the kids need haircuts, I have to help out with an SPCA fundraiser, and my office party is tomorrow night.  I feel the need for alcocohol, so the party is excellently timed.  Whee!

So, that’s all I’ve got.  I may keep up the daily posting, I may not.  It’s kind of a habit now.

Thank you, come again!

My girls’ weekend is over. To recap:

Liver abuse? check.
Friday night was (girlie) wine until 3 am. Saturday night was the Buckets O’Booze edition: mango/strawberry daiquiris, pineapple pina coladas, and sangria.
Laughter? check.
The one item that provided a never-ending source of humour? Bug zappers. T bought one at a store called “The Big Crazy” (which I have got to see some day). The bag described the zapper as a “Mosquito Bad” and went on to describe how it was a good mosquito “kacker.” Huh. Gotta love those translations. Things devolved into sheer hilarity when it was discovered the mosquito bads were actually labeled as moisquito bads. Moisquitos? Wha? Perhaps it was only funny to us. Either way, my stomach still fucking hurts from laughing so much.
Hanging Balls? check.
Not as much action this year, yet still fun.
Great food? check.
Pub food Friday night (thank god that place still has a great menu!) and souvlaki, pita bread and greek salad on Saturday night. Mmmmmm.

Ron, this one’s for you.

Special K and her whole fam damily (well, most of them) landed here on Saturday night, on their way to parts north. Once they’d all recovered from a lovely combination of Karen’s navigating and Ken’s dependence upon a GPS in the backwoods of BC (ha! I laugh at your fancy technologies!) and the resultant late arrival, we had a lovely evening. I ate too much, and drank less than expected.

(FYI: the pina colada-in-a-bucket? Perfection with a 26′er of pineapple Malibu rum tossed in there. It tasted like a tropical slurpee. Mmmmm.)

My kids know who Ken is, but for some reason they decided his name was Ron. So…Ron it was. Ken/Ron is a total instigator with little kids, encouraging mine to steal my keys, siphon gas from my van, and be hooligans in general. Nice guy you married, Karen. He’s lucky he’s amusing.

There were several blog-worthy moments, most of which involved snide remarks about the directions I gave them. What. Ever. Obviously, I should have dumbed it down and put every possible landmark in there. The GPS was useless, characterizing every single road they were on as “unnamed gravel road” - the roads were neither unpaved or unnamed, Mr. POS Directional Guru.

Yesterday was spent reading. All day long. I blew through two books, and made a dent in a third, all from the same series:

Dead Until Dark
Living Dead in Dallas
Club Dead

I’m enjoying them very much, which means a trip to the library tomorrow, to dig up the other 3 (4?) that continue the series.

Work is still kicking my ass. I wish I could vent my spleen completely, but it’s not possible. Sigh.

J graduates from preschool tomorrow night. My baby isn’t so much a baby anymore. Double sigh.

TFGTF

My coworker - the one who causes no end of stress for the rest of us - coined this phrase today: Thank Fucking God Tomorrow’s Friday.

Hear, hear!

This has been a fucker of a week. Last week was bad, and the week before crazy, but damn. This week has kicked my ass. The high point was getting in one (1!! we suck) walk with D2. Woo.

Lucky for me, Special K will be here on Saturday. She’s bringing almost her whole fam damily, but that’s cool. We’re going to spend a night at the cabin with them, doing the marshmallow roasting thing and the drinking heavily thing (whee!). The pre-mixed pina coladas are in the freezer as I type. They might be ready by Saturday.

My liver & I can hardly wait.

Sock puppetry and more.

Oh yes, my office Christmas party is quite the event. The night included such highlights as:

• D telling a speech impediment joke to another party. He escorted one of our staff (V) to the ballroom that held the local newspaper’s party (her husband is the editor), and stayed to tell a joke.
• Me pointing at D2’s boobs while our boss took a photo.
• D2 licking my face while our boss took a photo.
• D trying to rip a hole in L’s (coworker) panty hose because she kept saying she needed to rip them off. I gather she hates panty hose.
• Lots of innuendo-laden talk about Beaver Lumber and wood in general.
• D dancing like a madman with D2. His favourite moves included the worm and trying to stand on his head.
• V trading her miniature boozy chocolate for a pair of wool socks (at the newspaper party) and D2 & I harassing her mercilessly about it. Hence the sock puppetry.
• D crashing the real estate party (in yet another ballroom) and scamming at least 1 free beer.
• Me telling everyone to come on back to our hotel room to continue partying……followed by me waking up at 5 am and wondering if anyone had ever knocked on the door.
• D swearing that he’s been poisoned, his back is fucked, and he’s got the worst heartburn ever. Hm….could any of that have to do with a) the amount of horseradish consumed with his roast beef; b) the number of beers he drank; or c) the acrobatics he insisted upon attempting, even though he’s (as he put it) too damn old for that crap?
• D2 crashing the real estate party, thinking I was right behind her. I bailed. She didn’t like that.
• D2 attacking me when I dared to hold her drink tickets hostage. Girl can’t take damn joke. I think it’s on film, too. Gah.
• D taking tips on how to make your own leftover bunwiches from S’s (coworker) husband J, an aficionado of food scamming.

All in all, it was a fine evening of revelry. I drank too much (apologies to my poor liver), ate almost too much (thank christ I didn’t go back for seconds and stuck to dessert instead), and slept relatively well. We didn’t leave the hotel until checkout time at 11, and the kids only just arrived home a few minutes ago. I love Sundays.

Order me up a vodka IV stat.

My baby - the larger of the two yard monkeys that reside with us - will be 8 next Monday. True to my giving lazy nature, I have agreed to a sleepover party. The alternative is no longer attractive: 8+ kids at bowling alley/local fast food place, with high costs attached. I like this option because it’s easy. And I’m all about the easy. He’s only having 3 kids, one of whom is in a snit about another child who is invited (guess who? Yes, it’s the Child I Do Not Like But Strive To Tolerat that she’s objecting to. Shocker.) and may not stay over. We’ll see. They’ll have a movie or two, some Xbox games, and pizza/pop/junk food.

In exchange, I will give up a night of sleep, and I will probably end up with the smaller yard monkey in my bed all night.

I can’t wait.

Year 2.

My little blog celebrated it’s 1st birthday yesterday. And I couldn’t even be bothered to post. Har.

The weekend? Fabulous! My liver & I survived quite nicely.

Today is J’s 4th birthday. I really don’t see how he can possibly be four years old, but here we are. Gack.

Today is also exam day. I’m beginning to see a pattern with the 10th day of each month. Wonder what August 10th will bring????

Back later!

30 mins, give or take.

Not that I’m counting or anything.

Not much.

Two of the Drunken Women Weekend girls will be her Any. Moment. WHEE!

I so need this weekend. Stress, thy name is Refinnej.

Between SPCA bullshit - from local volunteers and head office - the newly named Neverending Daycare Drama, and all the shit I have to try & jam into every fucking day, I’m a little stretched.

So, I’m off to abuse my poor, defenseless liver.

Wish me no hangovers!