The Christmas Letter You've always Wanted to Write

Come on--you know you want to--My life is so effing dull, mine wouldn't be funny at all, but I'll give it a shot:

HOLIDAY GREETINGS TO ONE AND ALL:

Well, my life has been terribly hectic this year, what with all the mouse killing and surgeries. I only did about 5 racewalks because it was just too effing cold and I didn't feel like getting up out of bed on a perfectly good Sunday morning, driving 20 miles, freezing my ass off and then driving home again. (I actually only missed one of the 4 I'm used to doing)

I finally caught the little bastard mouse that was terrorizing me for about 2 months last year and thought I was done. Not so much. They have now eaten an entire box of de-con and show no signs of quitting. I damn near have to wear a level A hazmat suit every time I go into the kitchen. Not because it smells, but because they have a bad habit of darting out whenever I open the pantry door and it is the only way I don't get the heebie-jeebies and by the way, every time I hear "heebie jeebie" I think of that movie Madagascar and the lemurs. They seriously crack me up. "I love him so much that it makes your love of him look like hate" BWAHAHAHHAHAHAHA! Sorry--I digress, just be glad I don't give you the earworm from that movie.

I played some ball over the last year, but alas, age has caught up with me and I ended up with a shoulder problem. Not sure if it was volleyball or softball or a combo of both, but had to breakdown and have surgery in July and that was no fucking walk in the park. You know you are at a low point when your sister puts your underwear on for you and knows what kind of wax job you get. THEN I got to have a second surgery to break up the scar tissue from the first surgery and ended up with a bruise from the shot of demerol that I still have 2 months later.

I found out that certain people are really not as special as I thought and they are going to have a time convincing me that they are. I miss other people very much and can't wait for them to get to where I can see them again.

I'm still not married/seeing anyone blah blah blah, so quit fucking asking me about it. And I'm too old to have a baby, so shut up about that while you're at it. And as long as I'm on the subject--I don't really care about how your 2 year old is progressing with potty training. Some of y'all--I do want to hear about your kids, but you know who you are.

I'm still in love with Pudge, as if I needed to actually write that down and still can't talk about the World Series without weeping.

Work is fine. I go every day. I haven't received a promotion or anything like that, although they do like me here.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! I hope 2007 is a hell of a lot better than this year was.

Love,
Ballz

ALL ABOARD THE PMS EXPRESS!!!! First stop--mood swings!

I swear to God--yesterday, I had so many mood swings, I didn't even need to exercise. By the end of the day, I was actually laughing at how ridiculous it was. I'm sick to death of people whining about stupid shit. And when I found out that someone that I work with was screwing the company in a big way over the last year or so--that really pissed me off. And let me mention that this company I work for has bent over backwards for this particular a-hole.

I do have to say that I'm glad the PMS express only runs a couple of days a month. I generally try to hibernate during that time simply because it's not fair to subject people to this. Some people deserve my wrath, most don't. And while I'm on the bitchy wagon--I hate glitter. Despise it. I hosted a card swap and some people use glitter randomly, so my new rule is--if it ain't glued to the card--don't use it. I've got glitter all over my house. And me. And the dogs. That shit does not vacuum up or go away. Ever.

Last night, I was making my own personal Christmas cards (That's right--if you get a card from me, it is handmade and you better care for it like it's your own child) and had glitter embossing powder every where. Screw it--I'm not gonna sweat it now. It's too much right now.

IT IS UPON US.

The time of year where you're just sitting at your desk and something comes on the radio that you almost break 3 ribs trying to get to the off switch before you hear too much more of it. That's right--the time of year that they play Christmas music. Now, don't get me wrong--there is an awful lot of it that I like. HOWEVER, there is a lot of it I don't. The Christmas shoes song for example makes me want to hunt down the composer and bitch slap him. Same with the "animal" songs--dogbarking jingle bells, catmeowing jingle bells. That bastard ought to be locked in a room and made to listen to those effing songs for 30 days. Then he can kiss my ass.

Some people LOVE the songs that I hate. I don't fault them. They're half crazy, but I can't fault them.

OH MY GOD. There is not one thing on me that doesn't hurt and today is better than yesterday was. Will someone PLEASE remind me that I am not 35 anymore? That's kind of rhetorical--please don't remind me--it just pisses me off that I can hurt like this. I'm talking about the I can hardly walk kind of hurt, where it takes you 5 minutes after you stand up to actually start moving in a forward motion.

What would possibly cause this type of agonizing pain? The first race of the season--that's what. I take full responsibility for it. After my surgery this summer, I quit doing anything that remotely resembled exercise. Oh sure, I walked the dogs every day, but that was more of a stroll and my right arm was not involved at all in the process. So, I'm thinking to myself that I should be able to do 3 miles with no problem. And I did. The problems started about 3 hours after the race--I was exhausted--could hardly hold my head up. Then the stiffness set in. I actually went to sleep at 7 pm on Saturday night. Then on Sunday when I tried to get up--it took me like 20 minutes to stand up and every time I got up during the day, I would have to wait about 5 minutes before I could actually move. I almost cried every time I had to go upstairs for something. And of course, my damn dogs had to go on their walk. Twice.

Today is a lot better, but I have to watch how long I sit. Otherwise, I have to wait 5 minutes before I decide I'm not going to pass out from the pain. I don't remember it being like this ever before.

THE HAINT IS BACK

And frankly, I'm kind of spooked, no pun intended. The haint hadn't been around for awhile and when I got home from work the other day, it was back. The light that you have to turn on with a remote was on. I wish that it would find something that didn't cost me money to let me know it's there. I don't think it means harm. I think the haint is there just telling me that I am okay or some shit like that. If it REALLY wanted me to like it--it would make like St. Patrick and lead the mice out of my house.

I'M ON A DAMN ROLL.

I love it when everything that comes out of my mouth is funny. At least to me. The score of the last 3 days was a photo op with the Asst. Secretary of Labor. They put one of my co-professionals behind me and I told him not to grab my ass. Did I mention I was standing next to the Asst. Secretary? The AS turned to me and said "Excuse me?" I said, I wasn't talking to you.

That DC jaunt is a long assed trip for 3 days. My shoulder is good and flared up and I am tired. And pissed. I won't go into why I am pissed, but I am.

This morning when I was feeding the dogs, I got a nasty surprise. A fucking mouse. A live one. In the pantry. I hate those g.d. things and I guess I'm going to have to call an exterminator because there's more than I can kill. That's not why I'm pissed either.

I need this weekend. I need some down time and I need some time to reassess. It's bad when you get to this point, but I am.

And oh by the way--I don't want to be in your little exclusive club anyway. Since you don't want new ideas--I don't feel much compelled to share mine any more. And no--that's not why I'm pissed either. The ass kissing afterwards really turned my stomach.

I FOUND A DEAD MOUSE.

Finally. Of course, the rest of them had the good sense to crawl off and die out of my sight and no they haven't stunk yet. But I know they are dead. The upstairs mouse bit the dust some time over the weekend. I found him last night. Of course, I had to do the icky mouse dance when I saw him and then the sad realization set in that because I am the only human in the house, I would have to dispose of him. I should have taken a hit off the whiskey that I keep in the house for medicinal purposes for courage. But to be honest, I forgot about it until just now.

Anyway--I go downstairs and put on rubber gloves and get the dustpan and broom out of the garage. Go back upstairs, grumbling obscenities under my breath the entire way, sweep the cretin up into the pan and hold it as far away from me as I can. Go back downstairs and throw it away in the big trashcan in the garage. ick. Then I emptied the kitchen trash can on top of him so I wouldn't have to look at it everytime I threw something out.

So today, my friends were giving me a bad time about how domestic I was becoming--not about the mouse, but other things. See--I baked a cake yesterday for someone's birthday. It was really good. I think I'm channeling my grandpa. He was a chef and the way he showed someone that he loved them was to feed them until they couldn't move. My grandma was like that and my dad is like that. I blame my dad being a southerner for that need to feed thing. The grandma and grandpa I'm talking about were strictly Yankees. But we ate well. And I'm not that domestic, or at least I don't want people to know I am. I used to work with a group of about 8 men. I would fix lunch every month or so, but would tell them I couldn't cook. One of them used to tell me--you need more practice. I knew he was teasing, but we had lunch every month for about 2 years. I'm a pretty good cook, but don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain.