GRRRRRR

I Hate Verizon. Hate. Hate with the heat of a thousand white hot burning suns. Haaaaaaaaaate.

I have now logged over four hours of calls to their "customer service" line since April, simply in order to get all of my services on one bill & at the appropriate rate. This does not include the two additional hours I spent on the phone with Amanda at the "help desk" trying to figure out why my home phone service was mysteriously disconnected. (They assigned me a number that was already in use by someone else. Oops.) It also does not include the 30 minutes I spent with Michael at "tech support", attempting to get the FiOs back up & running. (They disabled my modem due to nonpayment . . . and weren't very apologetic when I pointed out that I hadn't paid because I never received a bill, something which I had brought to their attention weeks earlier.) In addition to Amanda & Michael, I have now spoken to Orville, Jim, Brittany, Ashley, Melissa, Cathy & Jen. And, amazingly, somehow a supervisor is NEVER available, although I have been told twice that I will receive a call back. Anyone care to guess how many return calls I have received? Yes! That would be absolutely NONE! Good guess!

In case you were wondering, even after 4+ hours of irritation and frustration, my bill is still completely screwed up, none of the "for your inconvenience" credits have actually been credited, and the only thing they have managed to change on my bill was to switch it into my husband's name, for no reason that I or anyone else can figure out. And they even spelled his name wrong. Oh, and after today's 40-minute call? Jen informed me that I would now be charged $40 more monthly because the price that was quoted to me initially (in March! how could this be so fouled up when I just started service IN MARCH, for God's sake??) was wrong. *sigh* I am starting to think I am some sort of test case to see exactly how far a customer can be pushed before she goes over the edge and threatens to bludgeon someone to death with a cell phone. Am guessing it's somewhere around the 5th hour. Stay tuned.

Must Share!

Guess what I am wearing right this very second???? (All of the perverts may keep their answers to themselves, thank you very much.)

A

size

four

dress.

FOUR! And it's zipped! All the way! Comfortably! This is Very Exciting News, people. Turns out that sitting around watching Judging Amy reruns & eating bon bons is not helpful for weight loss. Did you know this? Why didn't someone tell me? Apparently, what is helpful is spending 50 hours per week at work & having no time to eat. Do you think it would be wrong to stay at this job long enough to get back into a size two?

Edited to add: Yes, sadly, this is the most exciting thing that has happened to me since my last post. I am not kidding when I say I do nothing but work, get ready for work, travel to / from work & sleep (in order to get up & go to work). My house is a sty. Truly. Ask my mom. The poor woman drove an hour & a half to spend a day with me last week & was welcomed into an unspeakably messy house. And was nice enough to tell me how nice the house looked. Love you, Mom!

And How Was Your Evening?

A few hours ago, I was contentedly sitting in front of my computer, getting ready tell you hi! & did you miss me? & sweet merciful God, I am so over the whole 520-step interview process & blah blah talky talk talk blah. Then Chris called to tell me he was on his way home. Early! Dinner before nine o'clock! Woo hoo! And then I was further distracted by something shiny (oooh, lipgloss!) & before I had a chance to actually write anything, Chris was home. And he brought news. Of the "guess what happened on the way home" & "I'll tell you all about it after I call the insurance company" variety. Thankfully, Chris is fine, but Carmen (what, doesn't your husband name his car?) has seen better days. (Of course, she's also seen worse days. This is the third accident she & Chris have been in within the past year. The one with the turkey was much worse. But that's a story for another day.) Anyway, after that, we could hardly just stay home & eat frittata, could we? The situation clearly called for drastic mood-enhancing measures. Which, in this house, means ice cream. And we were quite happily enjoying our ice cream when a gentleman in a ginormous SUV backed into Chris' motorcycle in the DQ parking lot. Bang. Did I mention that said gentleman happens to be unlicensed? Of course he is. He also has more tattoos than teeth, but I suppose that's not strictly relevant.

So.

If you need either of us, we will be sitting quietly on the couch, trying to avoid further incident. Please send liquor & chocolate.

One Day Blog Silence

Question

Last night, I had no less than four different men buy me drinks. (Which totally explains the last post. I mean, I could hardly refuse a drink once it had been bought for me, could I? That would've been bad manners, & my mama raised me right.) Several of them (obviously brilliant, discerning individuals) spent the better part of the evening telling me how fabulous, charming & gorgeous I am. I should mention that one of these men is over seventy & another is of questionable sexual orientation. And I don't know what I should be more upset about - the fact that this is now the demographic that I appeal to, or that over the course of the evening my husband repeatedly asked what I did / said to these men to make them so taken with me. I may be a lush, but doesn't that sound like an insult to you?

March Madness

That whole Mercury retrograde thing is over and yet my life is still a bizarre, twisted little mess. Here are just a few of the things that have happened to me this week:

• Spent FIVE HOURS of my life with the Dish Network (oh yeah, I'm naming names) installation tech. That's after he showed up THREE hours after his latest scheduled arrival time. Did I mention that the dish itself was already in place, as was all of the wiring into the house? He just had to drill a few holes (which he did, one in the middle of my bedroom wall) & format the receivers (which he did not, at least not correctly, which led to not one but two phone calls to tech support and customer service, neither one of which was the least helpful but did serve to waste another hour of my time).
• Spent innumerable hours on the phone with Verizon. Yeah, I'm naming names there too, but only because I've had excellent customer service from them. True, my landline still isn't functioning correctly, and no one seems to know why, but at least they show up on time and at least appear to be making an effort to rectify the situation. My expectations are very, very low.
• Woke up on Saturday morning to discover that the discarded moving boxes on our front porch had been rearranged. Nothing appeared to have been taken (if only), just . . . stacked & reorganized much more neatly. Either I am so compulsively tidy that I did this in my sleep, or one of our neighbors is absurdly obsessive-compulsive. And if that's the case, I so want to make friends with him / her.
• Fell out of love with IKEA. I am now the proud owner of, among other things, two stainless steel towel bars that will safely hold the weight of a powder puff. A small one. Maybe. However, I am considering renting out my husband to IKEA-devotees. The man has a gift for putting together IKEA merchandise in 15 minutes or less. And he only spews obscenities for the first 10 minutes or so.
• Went to Benihana, where our hibachi chef's name was (I swear to God) Bob. The whitest man in the whole place. Maybe in the whole state. It was rather like watching Bob Dole grill burgers. Not what you might call entertaining. Is it reverse racism to ask for an Asian chef?
• Had a door fall on my foot.
• Cut my leg on the edge of an unframed mirror.
• Smacked my head on the stone mantle above the fireplace.
• And then, the coup de grâce. Last night, I got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom & apparently passed out or fell back asleep or just exhibited my usual lack of grace & started to fall as I was walking in the room. Luckily I caught myself. With my tooth. On the marble ledge by the bathtub. Ow. So now I have an emergency appointment with my brand-new, chosen-from-the-internet-with-no-prior-recommendation-whatsoever-but-whose-office-is-open-at-eight-in-the-morning dentist.

This is getting ridiculous. And to top it all off, the boxes seem to be multiplying whenever I leave the room. The house is no where near completely unpacked & / or organized. Unless you count the linen closet, which is IMMACULATE. Of course, I do have the rest of the day. You know, except for when I have to go to the dentist. And if I don't lose a finger in a freak picture-hanging accident or something.

Forget the Beer, It's Time for Bourbon

Inspired by Stacy (why didn't someone tell me about the wonder & joy that is Jurgen Nation?) & the utter chaos that is my life right now, I've decided to share the most wonderful thing in the world* with you: my recipe for Bourbon Slush. You're welcome.

Bourbon Slush

2 cups of freshly brewed, strong tea

1 (6 ounce) can frozen orange juice concentrate
1 (12 ounce) can frozen lemonade concentrate
1 .5 cups white sugar

7 cups water
3-ish cups bourbon whiskey (3 cups, 5 cups, who's counting?)
7-Up
grenadine or maraschino cherry juice, to taste

In a large, freezer-safe container, mix together the tea, juice & lemonade concentrates, sugar, water & whiskey. Freeze.

(This is the hard part. It will take at least 24 hours to freeze. And if you are like me, you have absolutely no patience & will not want to wait an entire day for your slush. (You lush.) I have learned two things. One: it is wise to always have slush made so you never have to wait. Two: if for some reason you find yourself sans slush because of all the things going on in your life that are requiring you to drink copious amounts of bourbon in the first place, it helps to distract yourself with chocolate or George Clooney or something equally delicious.)

Once the mixture is frozen, use a metal spoon to break up the block o' bourbon into slush. Some people would advise you to wait 10 minutes or so to allow it to thaw a bit. These people obviously have more patience than I do because hello! I've already waited at least 24 hours, I'm not made of stone! Besides, I think of that little bit of extra effort as exercise, which I'm sure we could all use considering the massive amounts of bourbon we are about to consume. So anyway, then fill your glass about three-quarters of the way with slush, add grenadine to taste & top with 7-Up. Garnish with a cherry. Voilà! Welcome to Bourbon Heaven!

*Except for maybe Chocolate Therapy. And sleep. And food you neither have to cook or unwrap. And sitting on the couch doing absolutely nothing. And never having to paint ever, ever again. So, okay, maybe Bourbon Slush isn't THE most wonderful thing (and, to be fair, those other things may just be my own personal cravings), but it' s pretty damn good. Now, do I distract myself with truffles or The Clooney?

Is It Over Yet?

Thank you to all of the nice people (well, all two of you that I don't know IRL) who have inquired about my health & well-being. I am still alive & kicking (ask anyone who has had the misfortune to get in my way recently), but it's been one hell of a month.

Only one week into it & February is kicking. my. ass.

My office computer's hard drive decided that this was a good week to spontaneously combust (figuratively speaking), taking every little bit of information it contained along for the ride. I did have a back-up CD, although I hadn't actually updated it since just before Christmas. (Yes, I know, bad Shawn. Believe me, I've learned my lesson.) Turns out, it doesn't matter because that disk is MIA. Of course it is. Why was I even surprised? What didn't surprise me was the complete and utter lack of any kind of customer service from Dell. (Except for the charming & sympathetic William. Chris, if I ever leave you, I will be with William in the Philippines. He assures me the beaches are quite something.) I spoke to six people in four days, which is how long it took to receive a new hard drive that was "overnighted" on Monday. In the meantime, my boss decided that he would rather pay me sit at my desk and do, quite literally, nothing, rather than let me go home and work from there. And if you thought I was neurotic before, when I had things like deadlines and responsibilities to distract me? You have no idea how neurotic I can truly be when I have unlimited time to do nothing but think.

And I had plenty to think about, real estate-wise. I cannot even begin to address all of the issues that have come up with the sale of our house within the past week. But I would like to mention that every single one of them has been a result of some incompetent asshat not doing his or her job. I am so frustrated and sick of people right now, I haven't even been reading blogs. I KNOW! Can't get much worse than that, right? At one point earlier this week, I told Chris that I was considering a career change. To Unabomber. Not because of the whole letter bomb thing (although a few appraisers / Realtors / loan officers should be verrrrry careful right now. Kidding! I'm kidding! Please don't send the FBI to my house. Unless they would like to help us move, in which case we'll take any help we can get.), but because of the whole isolation-from-society-thing. Of course then I remembered that he lived in some little shack in the woods, and you know how I feel about Nature, which is where the dirt and bugs live. And besides, that would probably mean that I'd have to live more than 15 minutes from a Target, and, well, that's just completely unacceptable.

But don't worry, real estate didn't consume my every waking thought. There was my insurance company, whose claims line is apparently staffed by automatons that are only able to say, "You can find that information on the website," - which would be fine if I hadn't already looked on the website, which was woefully bereft of any kind of helpful information. Then there was my dentist, who would not release my x-rays and records on the grounds that "then the office won't have a copy", completely disregarding that new-fangled concept of photocopying. And let's not forget the utility company that attempted to hold me responsible for a delinquency from 12 years ago. In case you're wondering? The utility company supervisor could not possibly care less if you were living at the address at the time, or even in the same state, or if someone stole your identity, or if you have proof of all of the above, or even if Holy Mother of God, it was 12 years ago, are you kidding me? What he does care about is finding out that you work with two attorneys & are going to need his name in order to file a complaint. It's amazing how quickly that gets things cleared up. Oh, and did I mention that someone loosened / removed the lug nuts on my mom's tire? Luckily, the temperatures were well below zero over the past week and she wasn't been zipping around as much as usual (her last name should have been Andretti) before it was discovered. Otherwise . . . well, I'm trying not to think too much about what could have happened. Or about what kind of twisted person does something like that on purpose.

And, frankly, the Rolaids aren't helping, we're almost out of truffles*, I already packed my books & the liquor (I don't know what I was thinking either) & I've taken so many bubble baths, I look like a Shar-Pei puppy. I'm out of ideas, patience & fortitude. Do you think it would be possible to sleep through the rest of the month?

* Or as I refer to them, Chocolate Therapy. Unfortunately, Mary is rudely hoarding them for herself. Even more unfortunately, she needs them at least as much as I do. February is kicking everyone's ass.

And Another Thing

This is the funniest thing I have seen all year. Even better than KFed, I swear. Thank God for my insane but entertaining co-worker, Brian, who discovered this. I am so inviting Bubb Rubb & L'il Sis over for the holidays. Woo woooooo!

The Mind Boggles

Wait. KFed is . . . amusing? Self-deprecating? Not completely & utterly useless?

Damn.

The 2007 Golden Globes

Or, How I Avoided Actual Work For the 8th Consecutive Day

I could pretend that I packed whole rooms full of crap, whipped my house into some semblance of order & generally accomplished Something of Vague Importance last night, but what would be the point? I'm sure you would guess that there's no way in Hell that happened. Instead, I watched the Golden Globes, because hello! George Clooney was a presenter! Surely you don't think I could miss that. Well, okay, he was like the first presenter, so technically I could have turned it off at that point & cleaned or something similarly unappealing, but . . . um, yeah. I didn't. How could I turn off the train wreck that the GG always promises to be? As it turned out, I thought Hugh Laurie was quite amusing, Maria Menounos was painfully awkward & Reese Witherspoon was gorgeous, although I wasn't 100% in love with her dress. At least it wasn't as horrifying as the pink nightmare that the poor misguided actress from Babel wore. Did she throw it together with bath poofs from the hotel?

However, that monstrosity pales in comparison to the terrifying spectacle I witnessed during one break in the festivities. Did anyone else see the new Orville Deadenbacher commercial? *shudder* In case you didn't, it features a digitally-recreated version of the long-deceased popcorn guru. According to this article, new technology makes it possible for "directors to create and use completely believable . . . authentic digital human with detail, personality and close-up realism." I can only assume that the director (David Fincher, of Seven & Fight Club fame, oddly enough) didn't view the finished product. It would have been far more life-like & less disturbing if they had actually dug up Mr. Redenbacher himself. I wish I could link to it, but I can't seem to find it online. (The commercial, not the dead guy. Is it possible that something exists in the world that can't be found online?) It's probably just as well. I think I'm already scarred from the initial experience. I may never eat popcorn again.

Tips

I am the only one who bothered to show up for work today. As a result, I have spent the better part of my morning answering the phone, which, as I have mentioned before, is never a good thing. However, this glimpse into the psyche of the Public At Large has induced me to share the following with you:

Tips for the Home-Buying Public

(& Others Who Have Irritated Me Today)

• If you call a business for information, it would seem wise to have a writing implement within arm's-reach, or at least within a quarter-mile radius. It is entirely possible that the Nice Lady who answers the phone may have another line or three ringing and may not be able to wait for FIVE FULL MINUTES for you to find a pen. Strangely, she also may not care that you are irritated about being put on hold.
• If you do not have a writing implement & decide to enter a phone number directly into your cell phone, perhaps you may want to warn the Nice Lady you are speaking with so that you do not permanently damage her middle ear with the 130-dB key strokes.
• Similarly, please turn off the television / radio / power tools before making a phone call. Not only is the background noise deafening, the Nice Lady on the other end of the phone does not particularly enjoy having you scream at the top of your lungs into her ear.
• When calling a real estate office, please try to have at least a general idea where the property you're calling about is located. Believe it or not, we have more than one property listed with our company. (Oh, yes, I have had clients actually say to me, "Oh, you have more than one listing?") It is very difficult to ascertain which property you are referring to based on "Um, yeah, it's a white house near where the Quik-E-Mart used to be."
• I understand that the Public At Large has a compulsive and pervasive need for Instant Gratification, and that you are, of course, The Most Important Person on the Face of the Earth. However. It might be prudent to make an appointment to view a property rather than calling the agency once you are already sitting in front of said property and being stunned that there isn't anyone available to show it Right This Very Second. I understand that waiting an hour for someone to clear their schedule and drive 40 miles out of their way for you is simply unthinkable. Obviously, we should have Realtors stationed at all 200+ properties, just in case an interested party should happen by. We apologize for our lack of foresight.
• If, for some reason, you do find yourself in front of a listed property and cannot wait for someone to show you the property, please do not cuss at the Nice Lady on the phone who will not give you the lockbox code so you can just let yourself in. That's what's known as a "no-no" in this business, as well as a huge insurance liability.
• Also, if you have received a notice that you are going to be evicted from your home, please do not call and cry to the Nice Lady at the real estate office that will eventually be listing the property. Neither she nor anyone else at the company has any control over the situation. And while she sympathizes with you and agrees that the timing is unfortunate, and she's sure that you fully intended to "get back on track" after the holidays, the fact remains that you have not paid your mortgage for the past 19 months, you have received innumerable notices from the bank that now owns your property and surely you could have guessed this was coming.
• "Ax" (or "axe", as you prefer) is a tool used for chopping wood, not a verb meaning "to question". Please make a note of it.
• By the same token, "I seen" is never, ever correct. The proper past tense conjugation of the verb "see" is as follows, repeat after me: I saw, you saw, he saw, we saw, they saw. Notice a pattern? Not that difficult, is it?
• If you call & ask to speak to the person in charge of, oh let's say insurance, and upon speaking to this person, do not get the response that you would have liked (i.e., thank you but we are quite happy with our coverage at this time and do not plan on switching to another provider), it will not help you to say, "Well, darlin' maybe I should speak to the man in charge." Because the Nice Lady will likely respond, "Maybe you should, but since the man 'in charge' does not, in fact, run the company, but I do, you have now guaranteed that we will never, ever use your company. Darlin'."
• And finally, Realtors, please do not think that because you have been in the real estate business 25 years that you can call another real estate office and demand information that it is inappropriate, unethical &, in some cases, downright illegal for you to have. The Nice Lady there does not care how long you have been a Realtor, although she is stunned that you still have your license.

By the way, "Nice Lady" is shorthand for "Formerly Nice Lady Who Is Now Disgusted and Weeping for the Public At Large".

In other news, I spoke to the Realtor who is (supposedly) selling our house. During the course of conversation, she remarked that she wished that this would close before the end of the year (just a few days away, in case you hadn't noticed). Since we still don't have a place to go once this does close, I was not very excited about that prospect. I wasn't too concerned about it though, since the appraisal hasn't even been scheduled yet. Good thing I didn't waste the time worrying. I just called the loan officer who is handling their mortgage to find out if we were on schedule for closing. He didn't even know what the contract closing date was since he never received a copy of the contract, which is required to schedule the appraisal and move forward with financing. AND the contract is in the wrong name, which pretty much makes it null and void anyway. So. Have I mentioned how much I love Realtors?

Unbelievable

This . . . is a joke, right? I mean, it cannot possibly be serious. Surely he cannot be suggesting that if you give your little boy soy formula, he will grow up to be a homosexual with a small penis.

Stuff like this makes my head hurt.

I Am Way Too Easily Amused

God bless the person who designed this site. It's even better than Lite Brite & penguin cams for non-blogging procrastinating-at-work holiday entertainment. Although I would advise that you giggle a bit less than I did. It is awfully hard to convince co-workers that you find real estate (or lesson plans or spreadsheets or whatever) tremendously amusing. Fortunately, my co-workers are sort of used to me and are generally happy if I am not threatening to chuck my stapler at them. Happy pimping!

Is It Over Yet?

I know I say this, well, pretty much every week, but God, this week has just kicked. my. ass. It's pretty much been downhill since the Steelers beat the Saints on Sunday. (Thank God for that. If they would have lost, Cleveland would have had a better record and I simply cannot have that.) But anyway, this week.

Monday

Remember The Accident?

The one that happened on my wedding day?

The one where the insurance company (evil State Farm) won't pay for my medical treatment, not because they deny their client's culpability, but because I foolishly attended my own wedding and reception after said accident?

Yeah, that one.

Well, the deposition was scheduled for Monday morning. What a fiasco. I actually made it to the building early, which in & of itself is a minor miracle. However, the doors were locked. All of the doors. I can say this with complete certainty because we walked around the entire building (the length of a city block, in the rain) & through the attached parking garage. We finally made it into the building through the stockroom of the bar next door. I am still curious about why it was open at 9am, but who am I to judge? It's Happy Hour somewhere, right? At least we finally figured out a way into the building. Unfortunately, our excitement was short lived when we discovered that it was vacant. Say it with me, people. Vacant. No people. No elevators. No heat. Just us, a mint green propane tank & what may have been the world's largest rat trap. Oh, yes, I said rat trap. It should also be mentioned that I was with my mom (hi, Mom!), who has a pathological fear of rodents. She wouldn't even watch Stuart Little. (Okay, I know, no great loss, but still.) My attorney, who was driving in from Cleveland, eventually showed up & we figured out where we were supposed to be. (The court reporter's office was moved to a new location across the street, something that you think they would have mentioned to at least one of us when this was set up.) Then we waited for another hour for opposing counsel to show up, which was fun, but, you know, at least this building had heat and plumbing and no apparent rodent infestation. And the defendent was cranky, clueless and defensive, which would seem to be in my favor if we have to go to trial. Also, there's no way you can win if a jinglebell necklace and a sweatshirt with an enormous cardinal on it are your going-to-court clothes. Especially if the plaintiff is wearing Tiffany jewelry and heels and actually did her hair. Those are the rules.

Tuesday

My boss informed me that everyone is getting a raise. Oh, wait, did I say "everyone"? I meant, "everyone but me". But I was the lucky person that got to inform everyone about their raises, so . . . that's almost as good, right? And since I haven't had a raise since July 2005 (and that one was miniscule), the shock might have killed me anyway.

Wednesday

My boss attempted to convince me that the company is going to lose money now that everyone (else) will be making more. (And therefore cannot afford to give me a raise too. He does not attempt to explain to me why I should care.) When I point out that his budget information is flawed, that our commission income is more than double the amount shown & that I make $10,000 less (gross!) than is indicated, & that in fact the company is making a considerable profit, he refuses to discuss it further. He engages a colleague in an extremely non-PC conversation (sometimes I swear I'm working for Archie Bunker), then leaves to set up his brand-new plasma television. Probably responding to the negative energy in the office, my fax / printer refuses to work.

Thursday

A homicidal maniac is on the loose. He is obviously enraged by my lingering Halloween decorations.

This is what greeted me when I came home from work today. Pumpkin seeds are strewn across my entire front porch. Stupid squirrels. But my mom was nice enough to bring me freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies, and I think we may have a solution to the Christmas Conundrum, so today wasn't entirely bad. Maybe there's hope for tomorrow. Or maybe I'll eat enough cookies that I won't care.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

If you've been in any kind of retail establishment in the past few weeks, you're aware that the holidays are right around the corner. I used to look forward to the holidays, especially Christmas. Hanging out with the people I love most in the world; eating my weight in chocolate, cookies & pie; giving & getting presents . . . what's not to like?

I'm sorry to say that those days are gone. Last year, we ate our first Thanksgiving dinner (lunch) at noon, our second at 5 & didn't get home until midnight. In between, we spent 4 hours driving back & forth. I'm not a math whiz, but by my calculations, that makes a third of the holiday spent in the car. Between the traveling & the tryptophan, we were so exhausted, Chris nearly drove off the road. That will wake you up pretty damn quick. For Christmas, we're basically trying to be at four different places in two different states in the space of 24 hours. Oh, & also find time to, you know, sleep & bathe & stuff. And, not to point out the obvious, but we don't have kids yet. Can you imagine the horror of spending a third of the holiday in the car with cranky kids? *shudder*

For the past few years, we've struggled to come up with a solution. Given our close relationships with both of our families, we wouldn't really be happy alternating holidays between them or celebrating alone. It's not practical or reasonable to expect Chris' entire family to drive two hours to come to us (especially when you factor in seven kids, two with strict nap- & bedtimes), or to expect both of our families (roughly 40 people) to be willing to gather in a "central" location, like a restaurant. And, it should be said, no one else is really motivated to deviate from the status quo anyway. They all have the luxury of sleeping in their own beds & traveling within a 20-mile-or-less radius, if at all.

The first Christmas Chris & I spent together, I consoled myself with the thought that we were lucky to have so many places to be when countless people are alone for the holidays. (Which, although true, doesn't make it any less exhausting.) And I would definitely rather have to deal with this little issue than not be with Chris at all, of course. But I also assumed that we would find a way to celebrate with both of our families without making ourselves crazy. In fact, I thought I had a fabulous solution: celebrating the holiday the week before or after. That way, anyone who has other places to be on the holiday can really enjoy that time & not have to rush off to the next place. Plus the added benefit of making the holiday last longer instead of for just one or two days. It's the holiday equivalent of the Birthday Week! Isn't that a spectacular idea? Yes, well, since Chris & I are the only ones who seem to think so, I don't think that's going to happen.

Fortunately, holidays also mean bourbon slush, wine & even-more-than-usual opportunities to drink champagne. Maybe that & the pie will get me through.

Missing

Remember how, a month or so ago, I was complaining about losing a diamond earring, a brush, dental floss & a pair of pants, all in the space of a week? And then I lost my favorite pair of boots? Well, now, I've lost my favorite pair of sunglasses. In my own house. I know I had them on when I came home Monday night. I know this because I went shopping after work & my hair was in my face & driving me crazy (crazier, more like), but I was too lazy to actually pull a clip or hair band out of my purse, so I just pushed my hair back with my sunglasses. My sunglasses spend the majority of their time on top of my head (see below) or lost, obviously. Anyway, I distinctly remember taking them off because I was going to wash my face & put on my pajamas. What I don't remember (again, obviously) is where the hell I put them. I have completely torn the entire house apart.

What is the matter with me?

Am I really this scatterbrained?

Are the cats stealing random objects & hiding them from me to get back at me for withholding the cat nip?

I'm not sure which thought is more disturbing.

I Should've Ordered Pizza

Two fortune cookies came with my General Tso's today. They read:

Keep your plans secret for now.

and

Someone can read your mind.

Wait, what? Don't they seem to . . . cancel each other out somehow? And I didn't even know I had plans. Does that mean that someone knows about my plans before I do? Or that I should keep my plans secret even from myself? I'm so confused.

It was also quite possibly the worst Chinese food I have ever had.

Yes, I Know I Need Therapy

One of my blog friends (if by "friend" you mean someone that you don't actually know & have never met but for some strange reason know intimate details about their personal lives) mentioned that when she's feeling anxious, she calms herself by playing the worst case scenario game. You know, think "what's the worst thing that could happen?" in any given situation & then figure out how you would handle it. I suppose the rationalization is that if you have a plan, it makes you feel more in control of an uncontrollable situation. Or maybe that the "worst thing" isn't all that bad after all. Or something.

It's entirely possible that this helps some people.

Note: some people = not me.

My imagination & capacity for worry are utterly limitless and my worst case scenarios often involve death, dismemberment & financial ruin. My imaginary plans for dealing with these scenarios often involve curling up in the fetal position & hoping it all goes away. (I am a big fan of the Scarlett O'Hara "tomorrow is another day" school of thought.) So, not all that helpful as a planning tool / coping mechanism. That doesn't keep me from playing this game religiously, normally right before I go to sleep at night. Thus ensuring that not only do I have an ulcer, I also have chronic insomnia.

When we put our house on the market (dear God, 305 days ago. three. hundred. and. five. *whimper*), I played the game endlessly. My major concerns were:

• we won't be able to find a house within 30 days of receiving a contract on our house and therefore will be homeless once our house is sold.
• we won't be able to find a house we can afford in a neighborhood that doesn't make me want to weep or buy a bulletproof vest.
• we will find a house that we love in a nice area but it will cost more than the GNP of Belgium.
• we will buy said house anyway because otherwise we will be homeless or living in the ghetto. (Cue Elvis: ". . . in the ghetto . . .")
• we will have to eat ramen and sell plasma in order to pay our mortgage.
• we will have to work 24 hours a day, 7 days a week to pay our mortgage.
• I won't be able to find a job before we move and will have to sell extraneous body parts (are both kidneys really necessary?) to pay our mortgage.
• I will find a job that's just as bad as the one I have now & I won't be able to quit (see: GNP of Belgium).
• we will never be able to have children because I won't be able to take any time off to actually give birth or afford child care afterwards (see: GNP of Belgium).
• we won't be able to find people to help us move.
• we will hire a moving company that will either lose all of our belongings or hold everything we own hostage unless we pay some exorbitant sum that was never mentioned in the contract (it happens, I saw it on Dateline).
• we will find a house that we can afford in a good neighborhood, everything will be perfect & then the buyers won't be able to close but we'll have already closed on the new house & we'll end up with two mortgages that we can't pay . . . (start GNP of Belgium cycle again).
• and on & on & on, until I finally put myself to sleep by naming everything in the room in French. What, you don't do that too?

Notice anything missing from that neurotic yet seemingly comprehensive list? Oh, yeah, that we wouldn't be able to sell the house. At all. Ever. No matter how low we dropped the price (already below the appraised & assessed values, at a significant loss to us) or what we offered (home warranty, inspection, chocolate chip cookies baked fresh for you every week for a year just please please please buy our house!) to make it more attractive to buyers.

So here we are, probably about a month or two away from being hauled back to court by The World's Stupidest Ex-Husband. (Scintillating backstory here.) The worst case scenarios (weeding out the ones that involve death & dismemberment) include being told that a.) we have to relist the house with another agency, which means that we will end up owing even more money if it ever actually sells or b.) the house will be listed for sheriff's auction, whereupon we could end up owing as much as $60,000 and yet having nowhere to live. The best case scenario is that the magistrate will take pity on us (& believe me, I am not above crying in court) and allow us to continue to try to sell the house with my company. Considering the condition of the market, this could continue indefinitely. This would also mean that I would have to continue working at this job, Chris would spend at least 3 hours a day commuting and one of us will eventually spontaneously explode. You can see how there are a few flaws with this option.

I really, really, REALLY try to keep this all in perspective. Chris and I are together; other than this mess, we are happy; we love each other; we're healthy; our families are healthy. I know that if this is the worst thing that ever happens to us, we are amazingly lucky. It's even possible that someday we will look back at this time and laugh. Well, maybe not laugh, but at least it will be in the past & we will have gotten through it. All of which is true but doesn't make the situation any less difficult or frustrating right now. Especially when I have to go home tonight & unpack several boxes of winter clothes that I packed last April in preparation for our impending move. *sigh*

Showtime

I came home from work on Monday & completely passed out for an hour. When I woke up, I turned on the television & discovered that we were the lucky recipients of a Showtime FREE PREVIEW WEEKEND!! Obviously, I was starting to get sick & must have been a bit delirious because normally, this would not be exciting news. In fact, normally, Showtime's commercials alone irritate the hell out of me because, seriously, blockbusters? Excuse me, powers-that-be at Showtime, the last time I checked, Chopping Mall & Saw II were not blockbusters in any sense of the word and the few movies in rotation that could reasonably be considered blockbusters (As Good As It Gets, Single White Female) were not even released in this decade.

ANYway, like I was saying, I was obviously getting sick because I was inordinately pleased about this FREE PREVIEW WEEKEND!! & inordinately upset about the fact that we had missed the first 3.5 days. Want further proof that I wasn't thinking clearly? I started watching Alfie. You might think that there are worse ways to spend an evening than gazing at Jude Law, but you'd be wrong. (At least, in this particular movie. I quite liked him in Midnight in the Garden of Good & Evil.) I kept thinking that it would get better. It didn't. But I was optimistic (or delirious, take your pick), so we watched the whole damn thing. (Oh, yeah, I made Chris watch too. It wasn't that difficult since he'll watch anything, & I do mean anything. I have four words for you: Classic Bowling on ESPN. Didn't you always wonder who watched that stuff? Wonder no more.)

You would think that we would have learned our lesson after that & perhaps turned to something a bit more stimulating like WE or Cartoon Network or even (gasp!) turned off the television, but again, you would be wrong. Because as soon as Alfie was over, the remake of The Amityville Horror came on, and we watched that too. (Showtime also seems to have cornered the market on remakes.) I even remarked to Chris as it was starting that there was absolutely no way it could be good since Ryan Reynolds was the lead actor. And yet we watched it anyway. And it, too, was spectacularly bad. What a surprise!

Now you must be thinking, well, it can't get any worse than that. You're probably also thinking that we would be smart enough to turn off the TV, go to bed & vow to never, ever watch Showtime again . And, again, you. are. so. wrong. So wrong! Because guess what came on next? Dark Water. The Japanese original, with subtitles. And not only did we watch this cinematic monstrosity, we stayed up until after midnight to see the end.

I hope I feel better soon because I think there's another FREE PREVIEW WEEKEND!! coming up & I don't think I can handle this much excitement in one week.