Russell T. Davies......WTF???

Which is what I was thinking the entire time I watched the Doctor Who Christmas Special, The End Of Time Part One, last night.

In summary:

The Master is dead.

The Master is resurrected.

The Master is dead again. Maybe.

No, he's definitely still alive. With a flashy Skeletor head, electric jazz hands, and can leap tall buildings in a single bound.

Oh, and he's got meat cravings. Including people-meat. Like a zombie Time Lord on crack.

Then some homeless people discuss how Obama is going to save the world economic crisis. Overnight!

The Doctor is chasing The Master! The Master gets away.

Hey it's Donna's Grandpa!

Hey didya hear that Obama is going to save the world economic crisis. Overnight!

The Doctor chases The Master again!

The drums! They're real!

Some EVIL dude and his daughter have an EVIL machine that needs some fixin'.

Hey, EVIL dude wrote a book.

EVIL dude kidnapped The Master and is forcing him to fix the EVIL machine.

The Master looks awesome in that straightjacket.

The Doctor and Donna's Grandpa will save the day!

Ooops! Sorry......The Master got free and is using The EVIL machine to change every human on the planet into a copy of himself.......WTF????

Donna's brain is burning up, and, oh yeah - it looks like the Time Lords are back, and they might possibly be EVIL as well.

Part One ends......

I've been dreading this episode, afraid that it'll be too contrived, or just completely fizzle. So far, it ain't lookin' so hot.

I hope next week's episode will redeem this mess.

Let's do the time warp again?

Merry Christmas

This is NOT Leo.

The tree is still standing.

There is more Bailey's to be had.

Merry Christmas!!

Christmas 2009

The day after Thanksgiving, we put up the Christmas tree.

It's still standing.

This illustrates two things:

One - In our household, it's a Christmas Tree, not a Yuletide Evergreen, Winter Festival Spruce, or Non-Deciduous Holiday Fir.

Two - Leonidas has not destroyed it. Yet.

It's on his list of things to do, of course. He's working it, limb by limb.

Since it's a fake tree, Leo's spending his spare time (in between naps and flooding the kitchen) bending the bottom section only. I figure he's saving the final annihilation for tonight.

Which reminds me, I still have a ton of wrapping to do. It's just not Christmas without staying up til 2:00am wrapping gifts with Bailey's Irish Cream by your side.

Speaking of gifts, I thought I'd tempt death, and make one last trip to the mall this afternoon. I was nearly killed at least three times. For serious.

There was so much stupid on the road. A big, fat, giant, stupid party, filled with stupid morons, driving stupid. And I don't mean drunk – although I'm sure the guy fading into my lane on Route 33 began his Bailey's a few hours ago.

My favorite was the douche bag in the mini van. See, traffic was backed up outside the mall, and I was waiting in line, being nice and taking turns letting people into my line. Out of frickin' nowhere, this guy makes a hard right into the one foot space in front of my car.

He was completely perpendicular. To. My. Car.

He turned so far sideways into our lane of traffic, he had to back up a little before fully pulling into the lane.

F*cktard.

Well, I'm off. Those presents won't wrap themselves.

Let me tell you, I earned that Bailey's tonight.

The Crocodile Hunter On Laundry Day

I've been falling behind on my laundry lately. I planned to do some last night, then I noticed the towel hamper was filled, so I did that instead. This created  some minor trauma, since my daughter neeeeeded to wash her khakis for school. Then I realized she just did laundry on Sunday - three days ago.
 
Odd, I was positive I spent several hundred dollars on clothing when school began. Surely, she had enough to get through a five day week.
 
Apparently all the fine clothing I purchased became unacceptable, in favor of two special pairs of corduroy pants.
 
I probably should've noticed that sooner. There's a school dress policy, so the pants can only be black or khaki. This makes it difficult to discern which pair is which. To me. The Mom. Obviously, my daughter knows exactly which pair is her favorite.
 
Then the wave of bad junior high memories washed over me. The pair of Sergio Valentes that fit the bum just right. The vintage t-shirt that was worn out in all the right places. The Nikes that had the proper amount of smudgies. The favorite pair of undies that didn't wedge. Well, actually, that still applies - but I certainly don't wear the same pair daily.
 
The point is, I really do understand having that favorite pair of jeans, sweater, sneakers or undies..... and this is even more urgently felt in the teen years. I get that.

But.
 
Woe, I am old now. This means I cannot reconcile the favorite pair of pants, with the amount of money spent on the whole lot.
 
I made a strong (and possibly cranky) suggestion to wear something else. Preferably a warm ensemble, since it was going to be 20 degrees with a wind chill near zero.
 
The next morning, she came downstairs in a pair of khaki Bermuda shorts and boots.
 
Well then. After some actual long pants were procured from the bottom of the closet, she tells me "other girls are wearing shorts and boots". 

Oh yes. Those "other" girls that must look like a stiff version of The Crocodile Hunter in Uggs, once their legs succumb to hypothermia.
 

Cheesy Crisps

I had a coupon for these new Crispy Cheesy Baked Crisps - or something like that.

So I thought, "what the heck, I'll try it". I'm wild like that.

The box was a normal-sized box, but the contents were not normal-sized. Inside the box was a small, hermetically sealed baggie.

A bag-lette, really. It was so tiny, it was Barbie-sized.

The bag-lette held about six Cheesy Crisps. This is no way to induce me to purchase this snack - coupon, or no coupon. At least float me 12 Cheesy Crisps.

Also, they were more like Buttery Crisps, not Cheesy Crisps. So I was boned on the cheese too.

Nuclear

This morning, I was overtaken by a stench so rotten, so foul, it made me gag. I heard the scrape, scrape, scraping of giant, fuzzy paws in the litter box, two rooms away. I tried to put it out of my mind - and nostrils - hoping the toxic cloud would dissipate.

It did not.

Leonidas produced a bowel movement so caustic, had he (and his nuclear progeny) been at Thermopylae, the Persians would have disintegrated on the spot.

I got out the biohazard suit and performed the extraction. I survived, but I think all my nasal hair fried off.

His diet hasn't changed, so I've no idea why this happened. Maybe he got into something left in the sink. Or he ate a bug....like a stink bug.

A really big stink bug.

Dorian Gray

I've been lazy. Soooo lazy, I stopped my skincare regimen. Then my face fell off.

Slid down my shoulders, bounced off my boob, and almost smothered the cat.

Seriously. If my cheeks and eye bags get any lower, I'll need a little sling to carry them around in. Maybe something snazzy, like dual fanny-packs hooked to my ears. From Prada.

* sigh *

I scrub my face with rocks to remove dead skin. I have tubs o'crap to replace moisture, collagen, and remove wrinkles. I've had a dermatologist burn off brown spots and broken blood vessels from my face. If I get lazy, as I did the last few months, I look like the Picture of Dorian Gray.

Zits, however, never cut me a break. This teenage malady will continue to plague me until I'm 90. They pretend like they're behaving, then when you least expect it.... WHAMMO! They find a way to be even more disturbing than a standard blemish.

Like the red spot on my cheek. It lurked there for a week, angry and petulant. I learned long ago not to touch them, and they'll go away on their own. But it's been a WEEK now, and there was NO change until this morning.

It was ready to detonate, so I touched it. When I did, a small round pellet fell out. A ball of pellet.

I'm expecting a volcano, but get a white, mini-rabbit turd. Not only was that unsatisfying, but downright weird. Like a tiny alien laid an egg in my face.

Ew.

I just really resent that at 41, there's so much maintenance. Because my metabolism has slowed to that of a three-toed sloth, just getting rid of a few pounds is a monumental task.

When I was 25, I could eat salads for a week and lose ten pounds. Now, I can work out every day of the week, eat a lettuce leaf for lunch and dinner, and lose absolutely nothing.

Maybe it's heredity. My sister, the family archivist, showed me a photo of my paternal grandmother when she was in her twenties – she looked fabulous. Then, in her late thirties, she looked like a few miles of bad road.

On the other hand, the women on my mother's side tend to hold up well. Hardy Irish stock. Maybe there's hope for me yet.

Or maybe I need a potato and Guinness diet.

Guinness is good for you, right?

Commenty

I'm re-enabling comments. We'll see how this goes.

Since my work schedule is tight, and I have to approve them before they'll appear, I'll probably only be checking once or twice daily.

Thanks for your patience.

Learning To Love The Traffic Fireworm

Sorry for the lack of posting. I took some time off after Thanksgiving to recuperate. Our holiday was lovely.

I've heard that the day before Thanksgiving is the biggest travel day of the year. True to form, it took two and a half hours to get home last Wednesday afternoon.

Bumper-to-bumper, never exceeding the 20 mile per hour mark, the taillights left a trail of red as far as I could see. The stretch of I-78 around Clinton looked like the Wendol Fireworm from The 13th Warrior.

Photo Credit: The 13th Warrior

I've been thinking about being thankful. I may have, inadvertently, given the impression that I hate my job, due to my whining about the driving.

Honestly, I haven't been at this position long enough to know whether I like it or not.

However, the work and the drive are two separate things.

The drive is heinous. I've made that perfectly obvious, based on my grumbling over the past few weeks. I'm sure I'll get the hang of it, eventually.

I'm thankful I had the opportunity to work from home as long as I did. Realistically, there aren't any IT jobs in my immediate area, and the chances of finding another work-from-home deal is slim. So I'm driving.

The work itself, on the other hand, has the potential to be rewarding.

I'm honored that I was chosen to join this team, and support some of my company's premiere applications. I also have the opportunity to learn new technology.

The alternative was to take a layoff. Anyone who wasn't placed during this integration would be let go. It might have happened now, or in a year, but it would have happened.

Sometimes when I get home late and I didn't plan dinner ahead of time, I end up throwing it together. Or I'm so tired at night, that I don't do a good a job with the housework. Or spend time with my family. This makes me feel terrible, but it's just an adjustment. We'll get through it.

I have to plan dinners more effectively. I have to plan my after work schedule better, and get to bed earlier. In a way, working from home made me a little lazy, and I never had to plan ahead. I was always at home and accessible. However, this is do-able. We'll pull together as a family.

My family, who I love, and am thankful for.