Hey GUESS WHAT? The Earth REVOLVES ON AN AXIS, right, so you know what? Australia, New Zealand, and Asia have ALREADY CELEBRATED THE BEGINNING OF 2008. I know, it's pretty hard for Americans to accept that THEY can't be the first.
Happy New Year's, folks, a couple of hours early. 2008 will be the Year of Awesome, I can just feel it.
When your animals have diarrhea (thanks, Mom, for INSISTING that it was Christmas for the dogs, too, which meant a plate of turkey and gravy - for each dog), inevitably the animals will gravitate towards the most difficult floor surface to clean up, like, say, CARPETING, to relieve themselves, instead of using all that nice, easily-washable linoleum. I feel like I should take my jug of Nature's Miracle out to dinner, it has saved my life so hard this December 26th.
And so it goes.
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Yeah. So. The holidays happened. They were actually quite lovely, and I got waaaay too many beautiful gifts because my family and friends are awesomely wonderful. I'm ready for non-eventful days for the next few weeks, though....oh, except we're saying goodbye to 2007 in a few days - thank Christ - and, oh yeah, I turn 27 next Wednesday.
My birthday is always pretty low-key, because for Chrissakes, who wants to party it up right after Christmas and New Years? Oh, right: NOONE. Plus something catastrophic always seems to happen on my birthday. People die (my cousin in England, and one of Steve's uncles), blizzards ravage the Midwest (the one is 1999 was so bad, it was a key factor in why that uncle I mentioned passed away), and then there was that one year when it was unseasonably warm (like 60 degrees) and I thought I'd finally gotten some luck on my birthday. The family had just finished a pretty good dinner, we were talking and enjoying ourselves....and then Smokey, our geriatric cat with diabetes, stroked out on the dining room buffet, while conveniently lying underneath my mom's beloved tree of ONLY GLASS ORNAMENTS.
This string of bad luck on my birthday has gotten so bad, that people don't want to mention to me when bad things happen on my special day anymore. Like that cousin in England? I found out about three days later about that from my mom, who was dancing around the subject when I asked her when my cousin died (distant, older cousin, FYI, who died at a ripe old age of natural causes). Mom's voice got really high, and she was all, "Oh! Yes, well, [insert cousin's name here] passed away a few days ago...." and then she trailed off, and I knew. January the Second had struck again.
Bev did it, and it was sooo funny, so I just had to do it myself. If this movie doesn't warm your heart, than your ticker is a crusty, dusty lump of coal.
Ugh. Another December day at this office, another afternoon lunch at a swanky place. Oh sigh. I get burnt out on these business lunches by this time of year. Probably because they make me have to get up extra-early to shower before work. You know, like 7:30 a.m., instead of 7:50. Torturous, I know, which is why I usually go to work with a nice layer of Yesterday's Grime on me.
So. I tried to put together a hip biz-casz outfit for this lunch, but managed to just make myself look like a rumply, pilled-sweater freak of nature. I mean, at this point I could just velcro in some shoulder pads and rock the 80's "Sistas Are Doin' For Themselves" look, and I don't think anyone would bat an eyelash. Yeah, thinking that my suede boots could bridge the gap between going-out clothes and biz-casz? Yeah. Big mistake.
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If someone could tell me why the format of this page is all jacked, that'd be cool. I have three scarves and a clapotis to make before Christmas. I'm swamped.
Man, this year can go F itself, I'm serious.
We had a scare with Mojo today. He wasn't moving all that much, and I had already been told that he has calcium deposits between his vertebrae, so if there is ANY change in how he acts I'm supposed to get him to the vet as soon as possible. With disc disease, you only have about a 24-hour window for him to get surgery to fix it so he doesn't lose his back legs.
Turns out, he's fine. The vet thinks that psychologically he's seeing Moxie up on our laps all the time, and he wants it, too. Even though Mojo hates being held. So he decides to scare the SHIT out of me, to teach me a lesson? A lesson that involved a "mom, dad, I have no money and I can't afford this and OH MY GOD" call, plus $465 for x-rays, shots, and new heartworm medication? What?
At least we have our Christmas photo done:
(Click on the photo to see it without Moj and I being cut out. Thanks for the crappy layout, Blogger!)
If I look tired/beaten down/on the verge of tears/crazed, it's because OH, I SEEM TO FEEL THAT WAY EVERY DAY LATELY.
Merry Christmas!
I got this in the mail today - click on the photo to read the inscription.
I almost got in the car to drive to their headquarters so I could give every last fucking one of them the biggest fucking hug EVER. And my vet? She's sooooo getting a Christmas card this year.
