Stream Of Consciousness

You know how it is if you blog (ahem, Mary Ann), sometimes you just can't focus on one thing to write about, and therefore you have to do something like this.  A stream of consciousness.  Random thoughts as they come into your head.  If you're like me, there are many thoughts running around in that little cranium, and they just have to come out, even if you can't find an organized way to do it.

First of all I can't ignore the fact that there is a woman at my work, Teddy I call her because she looks like a cartoon teddy bear, who has taken to hating me.  See, there was this instance a week or two ago where she pissed me off and I told her so.  Now she won't speak to me and averts her eyes whenever we meet walking toward each other in the office.  It's just so damn childish I can't even get over it.  The thing is, in our despute she got her way and I was essentially scolded by our boss.  I can't understand why she's this upset with me.  And here's the funniest part about it - she unfriended me on Facebook.  And now she can't even bring herself to talk to me face-to-face.  She e-mails every little question she has.  Is she embarrassed or actually mad at me?  Who knows.  But it's making for a very uncomfortable situation.  I'm happy to say I'm big enough to have gotten over the initial "situation" and hold no grudge.  That just proves i > her.

There's also the thing of Boyfriend and me stepping into the 21st century and getting high-speed internet.  It took us a long time to get a computer in the first place, and then we just got dial-up service.  Just this week we made the leap to high-speed, and I also have wireless for my laptop, which isn't such a good thing for Boyfriend as every time he sees me sitting on the couch I'm connected to the computer.  Like right now.  Along with our high-speed we got a cable upgrade, and we're positively whirling with all the channels from which we can choose.  Boyfriend has been digging the Country Classics station.  Good thing I'm distracted by the computer.  Too much country music makes me barf.  We'll probably become one of those couples who never talks to each other.  Oh well, we'll have our technology too keep us warm at night.

One thing that's been heavy on my mind lately is the state of the world.  It may seem like a grandiose worry for someone with such a miniscule little brain, but really, in case you haven't noticed a lot of people are just as concerned as I am.  And I'm almost embarrassed to be part of a country that values crap over virtue, profit over pride, and boobs over wit.  Everything just seems wrong.  I'm surrounded by people who have either lost jobs or are in constant fear of losing the job they have.  Corporations do stupid things like lay off hundreds of people, which makes me wonder why they hired that many people to begin with - if they don't need them now, what did they need them for in the first place?  I've decided the only way someone can be gainfully employed is if they get a job with the military, because obviously this middle eastern shit isn't going away any time soon.  And would you all just stop trying to blow up planes?!  Oh, and back to the employment situation?  WTF is with outsourcing?  The country is struggling with a huge unemployment rate in order to support Chan Yang or Isrib Ysuf?  Global economy is starting to suck for the US, and how come no one is doing anything about it?

And I don't even want you to tell me how uninformed my opinions are.  I'm perfectly aware that I speak of much I know very little about.  It is that ignorance that makes the subject matters so maddening for me.  Getting all mad and worked up isn't such a bad thing once in a while.

What about those aging parents?  GA!  They make me mental.  I chose not to have children for a reason and I'm totally unprepared to take on the regressive nature of aging parental units.  The other day my mother informed me that as long as we can pick her up she will not move to an institution of any kind.  Pick her up?  So I go, "what, I'm going to have to pick you up and put you on the potty seat and in the bathtub?"  She gave an affirmative answer.  Then I said, "ew, I don't want to give you a bath."  To that my dad responded, "why not, it's fun!" 

Lastly, tomorrow is a blue moon.  It's also New Year's Eve.  If you think I'm going to be able to stay awake until midnight you are probably having a stroke right now.

The Homecoming

Rated PG for “brief mild language.” Speculations of culprit terminology: “prissy butt” “poop” “piss ants” “bosoms”

It’s become a tradition for Boyfriend and me, thanks to our friends Mary Ann and The Professor, to watch The Homecoming every Christmas season. You remember, the movie that inspired the series The Waltons. The mom and dad were different actors in the series, but we’re mighty grateful John Boy translated from the movie to the TV, big face mole and all. (For the record, John Boy Walton makes my skin crawl.)

The Homecoming was one of those recurring holiday movies back in the olden days of my childhood, like Elf and The Santa Clause are today, and was required viewing. It depicted good values, family togetherness and an accurate account of how things were in hillbilly country during the depression, which is something every city kid should know.

One of my favorite parts of the movie is how everyone is so suspicious of John Boy locking himself in his room. His mother suspects he’s smoking cigarettes. I’m sure she also suspected he was jerking off to girlie magazines when she demanded he reveal what he had hidden under his mattress. John Boy made a fool of her when he told her how he was merely writing down all of his private thoughts. He’s just so sensitive, having a diary and all.

And what about when John Boy is driving through the snowy woods to find his daddy who could very well be dead in a ditch from the bus accident? He starts having auditory hallucinations of his slave-driving daddy demanding his boy do manly things and John Boy responding to his father’s barks with “I’m trying daddy, I’m trying.” Didn’t John Man know his son was destined to be an effeminate author?

I tease, which is exactly what you’re supposed to do while watching The Homecoming. Let me just say in all my kidding about the fancy John Boy that there is definitely a hottie in the movie. Cleavon Little is just about as delicious as they come as the Reverend Hawthorne. And you know, it is true what they say about those guys. Oh it’s twue, it’s twue!

And what of the Frankenstein-headed daddy? Yikes. His head is huge! And plus he tells a dreadful story about “wrastling” with Santa after throwing a rock at him. Well, at least in the end he comes to terms with his namesake going into the business of writing instead of living out his life on Walton Mountain.

If you haven’t seen The Homecoming you really should for the reasons my parents made me watch it. If you’re one of those oldsters like me who have already watched it for the reverent reasons you should watch it again and poke fun. If nothing more you can pull quotes from the movie and use them in your everyday lives, such as Boyfriend and I, along with Mary Ann and The Professor have. Some favorites:

“You take it out yonder and pour it on the ground!”

“Old woman you’re not the boss of me.”

“I think it’s a doll!”

I’m really surprised this film hasn’t been made into a cult classic. Christmastime midnight showings at the theater would surely draw hundreds. Now what can I do to get that pesky theme song out of my head?

Christmas Cards

One thing I like to do every year is send out Christmas cards. I don’t send out too many, no more than a couple dozen. I know some who send out upwards to a hundred, but I’ve just never been popular enough to know that many people.

For some reason I'm compelled to tell you this is not a card I would send out, but merely an example of a Christmas card chosen solely for the purpose of illustrating "Christmas Card."  It's a blogger thing - having a picture in your post.  Not that I think this is a horrible card or anything, but I probably would never send it myself.  Let's say it's an example of the cards other people send me.  Okay, read on...

It doesn’t matter how many Christmas cards you send out, or if you send any at all. What matters is the motivation behind your actions.  My motivation for sending cards to anyone: an acknowledgement at the end of the year that I’m thinking about you, I’m glad to know you, I want you to have a wonderful season, whether you celebrate Christmas or not.

Then there are those people who have completely different motivations than I. I especially love Faux Ma’s approach to the card-giving practice. Every year she keeps the cards she received and only sends cards the following year to those who gave her a card the previous year. It doesn’t matter if the card sender is suffering from a major illness and is unable to send a card, or if the card got lost in the mail, or even if they just decided to not send cards to anyone they are deemed unworthy to receive one of her precious Christmas cards the following year.

Others send “the letter” under the guise of a year-end update when really they just want to brag about their fabulous vacation, their smart children, or even better write them in the voice of their pets. Personally I love getting “the letter” because when I read it I just assume everything is the complete opposite of what is written.

The best  worst  stupidest cards I receive are the ones sent merely as a reflex to receiving one from me. I’m not on their list to begin with, but because I sent them one, they frantically send one out to me, thinking they owe me one. It’s especially wonderful when I get my cards out just before Christmas and those lame people who feel they need to reciprocate send one out to me after the holiday. Geez.

I send cards because I want to. Not because I think I have to. Not because you gave one to me. If you don’t send one to me I’m not going to snub you next year. I don’t expect anything in return. To that Faux Ma says, “I guess you know the real meaning of giving.”