Yep, yep. Still alive, despite the lack of blogging here (though I imagine you know where to find me to determine that I’m still alive, so that shouldn’t come as a shock to you.)
Thanksgiving and Christmas have come and gone, and the older I get, the more I just want the damn holidays to get done and over with and life to return to normal. I didn’t decorate the house for Christmas at all this year, which is either the second or third year in a row that that’s happened. I’m determined to put up a Christmas tree next year, though. I’ve got a tiny one that I can hang on the wall. I just like seeing the Christmas lights, you know? I did drag Fred out for a drive through a nearby neighborhood so I could see the lights.
ANYway. So, what else?
Oh, right. When I last posted, Fred had been working from home for about two weeks. It’s been, uh… another three-ish months, and it’s going pretty well. My favorite part of him working from home is that he’s home to deal with shit. We had internet issues (I swear to you, it feels like we are fucking FOREVER HAVING INTERNET ISSUES, though in reality it’s probably more like every couple of months) and the guy had to come and look at whatever the hell he had to look at, and since Fred was home, he got to deal with it.
I may never have to deal with another workman again. If Fred dies before me, I’m going to throw myself on the funeral pyre to ensure that I never have to smile like I have any idea what the cable guy/internet guy/delivery guy/dishwasher repairman/whoEVER is telling me.
Since Fred isn’t driving back and forth to work every day (and let me tell you, the down side to having him work from home is that I am 95% sure that I will NEVER EVER EVER have this house to myself again. Most of the time that doesn’t bother me, but every now and then I’d like to be able to swear at my computer at the top of my lungs without hearing his far-off irritated “What?!” because he thinks I’m yelling for him. I fucking swear to god, I’m going to put a shock collar on him and zap him every time I’m minding my OWN GODDAMN BUSINESS talking to a cat and he’s all “Whaaaaat?!” GET SOME FUCKING HEARING, MOTHERFUCKER.), I suggested to him that we trade in his old, piece of shit truck and one of the cars for a decent truck.
That old truck worked both our nerves every time we had to use it hauling pigs to the processor. We were 83% sure that it was going to break down on the side of the highway with two unruly pigs moving around in the trailer, and we’d be stuck there for hours waiting for help. It never did break down, mind you, but it certainly would have eventually. Plus, it smelled like a mixture of wet, moldy attic and ASS. I hated that goddamn truck. So we traded in that piece of shit truck and my car, because my car was starting to have transmission issues that no one seemed to be able to fix – when I’d come to a stop at a red light or stop sign or parking lot or you get the idea, the car would stop, and then LURCH forward about half a foot. We took it to a transmission place and they did something (fuck if I know) to it, and it was fixed briefly and then started doing it again. So I thought it made sense to trade in my car – the red Suzuki – and keep Fred’s car, which is a Hyundai something. The IDEA was that if we needed the truck to haul something, we’d have it. Otherwise, we’d use the car.
Every time we go somewhere together, we take the truck. And let me tell you, it is a Chevy Silverado, with only the most basic shit, but to us it’s like SHEER LUXURY. It’s big, it’s roomy, it has XM Radio, it’s like A BED ON WHEELS, I love the shit out of it. I should say, I love riding in it. One day I had an errand to run and since the radio in the truck has Bluetooth capabilities, I thought I’d use it to catch up on podcasts. I got approximately 1/8 mile down the road, and turned around and came home. It is like driving a fucking HOUSE down the road. I was terrified. I was sure I was going to drive someone’s ass right off the road, and it didn’t help that the few cars I passed in that amount of time appeared to be giving me wide-eyed looks of terror and hugging the right side of the road.
I ain’t driving that thing. (On the up side, although it’s a gas guzzler, we only have to fill the tank up MAYBE once a month, because we really don’t go far when we DO go somewhere. Which means that the “It might be the last truck you ever need to buy!” I said to Fred could very well turn out to be true.)
Of course, now I’m wishing that I’d just learned to live with the shitty lurching Suzuki, because I hate the fucking shit out of this goddamn Hyundai. It’s a fucking MANUAL, and yes I can drive a manual just fine, but I HATE IT. Have you ever tried to drive through stop-and-go traffic in a manual transmission car whilst eating (attempting to eat) an Egg McMuffin? It can be done, but IT AIN’T EASY, and I dropped my goddamn Egg McMuffin on the floor and just about had a coronary, I was so pissed.
Me and my bright fucking ideas. (On the up side, it costs $25 to fill up the gas tank, which I have to do MAYBE every three weeks, depending on how many errands I’ve been running.)
Every time I drive the goddamn thing, I’m like “I just have to make it to next December,” because I’ve determined that I am getting a new car next year come Hell or high water. AND IT’S GOING TO BE YELLOW, GODDAMNIT. I have made one bad car decision after another, let me tell you – first I gave my wonderful yellow Suzuki Aerio to the spud, who drove it off to Rhode Island, and then I gave up my (less wonderful, but better than this goddamn Hyundai) Suzuki to drive this fucking Hyundai, and I’d say that next I’ll probably end up on a scooter EXCEPT THAT A SCOOTER WOULD PROBABLY SUCK LESS.
The Hyundai (I think it’s an Accent, but I don’t really CARE, because I hate the fucking thing so much) is a two-door hatchback. So imagine if I try to make a run to Sam’s before picking up two carriers of kittens to take home. CAN’T BE DONE.
I’ve spent a lot of time looking at cars online, and WHY is it so fucking hard to find a yellow car that doesn’t cost a million dollars? JESUS.
Okay. I’m going to just go ahead and post this, because it’s after 10pm and I want to crawl in bed and read for an hour before I turn off the light BECAUSE THAT’S HOW I PARTY.
If I ever get my shit together, I’ll tell y’all how we have just given the fuck up and pretty much accepted that the house belongs to the cats (not sure why it took so long to figure that out.)
I’m not even proofreading this. Let me know if I’ve made any egregious errors.
2013: He uses their love (of food) against them.
2012: No entry.
2011: “Well, because I have abnormally small hands.”
2010: So, random pictures. For you. Try not to be too excited.
2009: George and Gracie are home from the spaying and the neutering.
2008: Negative. Good news or sad news, I wonder?
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: Y’all rock.
2004: So many books, so little time.
2003: Ah, good times.
2002: So, you know what I hate?
2001: No entry.
2000: I was a tad peeved.