May a rabid possum chew on your genitals

Am feeling considerably more snarky today, a good sign that my mojo be returnin'. It's when I don't care enough to express sentiments like the one above that I worry. Today? Today I'm unleashing the possums.

To the self-important assholes who need constant validation for simply doing their job? A possum for you.

To the cardigan-wearing soccer mom who sneered at me this morning because I'm wearing these:

And not these:

...a possum for you, lady.

To the makers of the bootleg viagra (that will probably result in you growing a wang on your forehead) who are spamming me about my apparently flaccid penis?

Two possums for you, sirs.

I have spare possums. You've been warned.

(Btw: Covety covety covet I want them....)

My sentiments exactly

2008 = Sucktastic

So. It's been a trying year. If reincarnation exists (we're made of energy - energy has to go somewhere, right?) I have chosen this lifetime to do what seems to be an inordinate amount of "personal growth." Learned many things the hard way, swimming upstream all the way. Making a "rock for my own back", to quote someone stupendously stupid I once had the displeasure of working with.
I better be coming back as a friggen kazillionaire playboy, cruising on my yacht in Monaco and snorting coke off hookers' asses in my next life.
Looking back on the previous year, 2008, particularly the second half thereof, has been a rather "challenging" experience on all fronts. (You like my gratuitous use of super-duper-I'm-OK-you're-OK self-help book jargon? Got a bookshelf stuffed with the sanctimonious bastards and I'm none the wiser, trust me. The Secret? The secret is: Save your money and take the happy drugs, people. Anybody got some they're willing to part with?)

Aware that I lean too far into emo territory as it is, and am far too introspective and intense to be any kind of good company, I'm just gonna whack it out there and be done with it. No drama. Just to get it all in perspective and hopefully move the fuck on and up. Gotta do something to purge the urge to stay in my little cave, maybe. Am actually becoming resentful of the fact that the world expects me to get up every morning and function - can't they see how tired I am? How heartbroken? How ill-equipped I am to be dealing with their demands? Those kinds of thoughts can't be good, no? Can't lose even one day to the emo. Got a very perceptive Mini-Me (also an intense little buglet) and he picks up on that stuff. Not fair.
So, catharsis is my little Shitlist, where it's going to come out and stay out. The nominees for Fucked Up Events of 2008, (the last 5 months, to be exact) in no particular order are:

• A kitchen fire that necessitated some serious and seriously expensive renovations and dealing with insurance mouth-breathers, red-tape spackled paperwork, sworn affidavits that I'm not a (diagnosed) pyromaniac, and contractors that sucked, sucked my last bit of faith in humanity right into the abyss.
• Two separate burst pipe bathroom floods that decimated all the pack-ratting, bulk buying I'd been doing.
• Absolute despair over finances (or lack thereof) and no raise or Christmas bonus this year.
• A marriage that is teetering on the brink of ridiculous - commuter husband means I may as well be a single parent most weeks. When he is home, I'm tired, moody and generally gatvol of his being able to come home and sit down. And stay there. All evening.
• A cute but impractical car that is showing signs of needing a lung transplant and blood transfusion after doing a minimum of 100kms of mileage a day. The most awful "skrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeee" greets me on startup every morning and alerts the whole neighbourhood to my whereabouts. Yes, it's the fanbelt. No, my mechanic categorically states, it cannot be fixed simply by replacing it. What? Dude. I know I have boobs - they are in addition to, not in place of actual brains. You're lucky I can't afford a fan belt right now. Douche.
• A surprisingly long and painful recovery from a spine operation to remove something that revealed itself to be a tumour. S'fine, benign, pass the wine. Bit of a hairy week waiting for those results, though. Yeesh.
• A second emergency impacted wisdom tooth removal. Would have been nice if I was knocked out and not gripping the armrests for dear life, while Doc had his foot firmly planted on it too for leverage.
• Forced to take meds from both these episodes that kicked my ass so badly that I was unable to maintain any level of healthy eating or exercise. Weight gain, loss of muscle tone and general sallow, yellow appearance. Soooo sexxxy.
• One missing Siamese babycat, eventually discovered a week later she had been run over, her body thrown into an open plot of overgrowth down the road. The person who did it clearly saw my son and I calling for her, plastering our tiny neighbourhood with posters, saw the expensive newspaper ads, and didn't give a shit. They have no clue that losing her shattered me, but the waiting and hoping for her return made it so, so much worse. They didn't have to lie with my sobbing son every night and pretend to be positive about her return. She had just emerged from kittenhood having already survived being born and living on the streets of Joburg, numerous eye infections, stunted growth, parasites and infections, and falling out of a second storey window. She grew into a healthy, affectionate and gorgeous little girl who made my heart so full. She loved Mini-Me best of all, and would follow him all over the house just to jump at the chance of some lap-time when he sat down. The impact she made during her relatively short time with us was huge, and Mika's place can never be filled.
• Tigger was the gayest cat in the whole wide world, and was highly strung, shrill of meow and scared of his own shadow from the day we got him. Seven years later, his breathing became far too rapid and after many different diagnoses and vet visits, he was labelled as having a heart condition. Congestive heart failure ensured massive fluid buildup in his abdomen, constant medication and breathing difficulties. Through all this, he remained ridiculously affectionate, chipper and ate like a horse. As his condition worsened we came to terms with the fact it would be kinder to put him to sleep. Appointments were made and a day set - soon. Before this could happen, his condition changed abruptly and I returned from work one day to find him lame, lying in the rain in the garden. Remaining as calm as possible for Mini-Me's sake, all I could do was grab my keys, throw all of us in the car and drive to mom's one handed, holding him with the other, so she could hold him as I shunted it to the nearest vet. I was fully aware that this cat was dying, and a scared Mini-Me sat in the back and quietly watched me as I struggled to hold my composure and talked gently to poor Tigs. Despite my outward calm, I think he knew it too. Marching into the vet, I interrupted her explanations with a request to please, please hurry and put him out of his misery, as he became more frantic on the table. Distress at being held down caused him to turn around and sink his teeth into my index finger, cutting right through the muscle. And before she could even reach for her needle, his struggles grew weaker and he slipped away. Horrified and blood fountaining from my hand, I lost all composure as I made arrangements for his body to be cremated. As she stressed the urgency for a tetanus shot and stitches, all I could think was, "This is my fault, he didn't deserve such a painful death, I should have acted faster..." Walking to the car carrying only his blanket, I watched Mini-Me's face crumple as he eventually cried at the realisation that Tigs wouldn't be coming home. Holding him while he sobbed in the back seat as he sobbed, I would have given anything to take his pain for him. After three different visits to so-called 'after hours' doctors who refused me an emergency appointment, I landed up in the storeroom of a very lovely pharmacist who took pity on my sobby, rain-sodden self and gave me a shot and the other necessary dressings and antibiotics without a prescription. I fought at the 1000mg horse-tablet sized antibiotics and their sick-making side effects, and was told in no uncertain terms that a cat bite was waaay worse than a dog bite (who knew?) and I would surely get something nasty without them. He was right, I did; they didn't work and I still have limited use of the finger from nerve and muscle damage, and the remains of a nasty, painful infection. Tigs left his mark, both on my finger and on my heart. He was gentle, intuitive and dignified, and I'll never forgive myself for his most undignified ending. My ginger ninja, I hope you're in a good place now.
• Resignations abound at my place of work, one recent one belongs to the only person I can stand, and who I immediately recognised as me, only years ago. She's what I was when I was younger and very idealistic, my scarily similar 'I-just-read-your-mind chick, don't even think about it' now best friend. That person. And she has to leave, if she has any chance of not letting an exceedingly fucked-up environment jade her any more than it already has. I know it's been each other's presence that has kept us both here for so long, and that to ask her to stay would mean she would sink in deeper. I absolutely will not show her how devastated and adrift I feel at her leaving, she's the kind that will feel guilty and shitty, always worried more about other people. But damn. Heartsore. Going to be harder than hard. And our project? I'll need to grow another set of hands, because I'm on my own. I'm not surely how this is logistically possible right now, I'm already in the office til midnight some nights, and working evenings and weekends at home, but there we go. Work. The place you spend the majority of your time. It's important that you're appreciated as a human being, that you're good at what you do, and that it's not an environment loaded with poobombs waiting to explode if you step the wrong way. That's all I can say about that right now.

That's pretty much all the private stuff I can talk about in public, so the rest I'll keep to my chest for now. Yikes. Long list. What a major moan. I do feel a little lighter though, if not exactly sure of how to get out of this hole. They say you have to hit rock bottom before change is forced upon you. Can anyone spare some change?

Douchebag Dedications

Let's ROLL with the vitriol

Ahhhhhh maaaaaaan. Why? Why do you gotta go be dumb all up in my space today?
Cath says there are no dumb people, only dumb actions. Oh honey I am soooo gonna have to disagree with you on that one today, because I have been an IdiotMagnet alllll week, with today's events (all before lunch, are you shitting me?!) resulting in a spectacular crescendo of my irritation.

It's not an original idea, but it's a good one: stupid people need to come with a warning sign. Takeaway coffees come with "Caution - Contents Hot" emblazoned on the packaging, (in case, you know, you were expecting something different when you ordered that poncey cappuccino with a longer name than a pedigreed cat?)
Vacuous people need signs to warn the general public immediately. "Caution - Contents Stupid" is short, to the point, and would make a lovely T-shirt. Please take a memo and execute with immediate effect. (The idea, not the stupid people. Although that would be lovely too. Can we just skip ahead to that part?)

To wit; to list:

1) Handbrake. The thing you use to ensure your shiny new Honda Civic doesn't go rooooolling out of its parking and down the entrance ramp. So that the poor driver you hired (because at least you realise you can afford it, but you are incapable of driving it) doesn't have to fling himself into the rapidly-moving vehicle, only to be met with "Don't scratch it!"
It also ensures I am not squashed flat by said vehicle as I'm having my morning smoke break. Thankssomuch. Here's your sign.

2) Oh you're pregnant? This makes you feel a little warm, does it? Well now, the rest of us don't mind wearing three layers of clothing or keeping a jersey in the office all summer long so that your gestating ass can be cool and comfy. Sure! How about, when you're screaming in at the maid for making you the wrong lunch (no we really wouldn't expect you to walk to the fridge yourself, you're pregnant, woman! Are you mad!?) we turn it down a few more degrees? All that shouting must make you even hotter. (Although it may help if you took your own jersey off, too) How about 15 degrees as opposed to the normal 17? Just a hint too - pregnancy doesn't make you fat, honey. It's the large pizza hidden in your desk drawer. Nom nom nom.

3) To the cold-caller who wants to sell me a funeral policy/new account/credit card/cellphone contract/electric ass-wiper. Stop. Right. There. I appreciate that you are doing a job. A shitty one, at that. You must deal with some real assholes every day. I will attempt to halt your spiel (you should put some animation into that reading-voice, by the way, but I understand - shitty job, and all that) by telling you politely, but in no uncertain terms, that I am not going to waste both your time and mine, that I do not purchase anything over the phone, especially not from unsolicited calls, and that I am currently at my place of employ and therefore unable to chat, so thanks but no thanks. IF after I have taken the time to stop you, politely explain my reasons and reject your advances, you continue to talk over me, argue with me about why I should purchase your product right now and get snotty, offended and obnoxious, I reserve the right to go postal on your ass. And it will be horrible. I will be scarily calm but will probably make you cry. Really. Just let's not and say we did, mkaaaaay?

4) To the gentleman (and I use that term soooo loosely) in the BMW who sidled up next to me and started to nose his way into the queue I had been inching along in for 45 minutes: you sir, are a meatpuppet. You don't care that you've blocked an entire offramp. You are very busy and important and simply deserve to cut in front. Waiting in line is for everyone else, not you. The rules of polite society and common decency don't apply to you, you are special. So special that you refuse to glance in my direction, and it takes numerous hoots on my part before you will turn to acknowledge my existence with a sneer. I'm glad you did, asshat, so I may smile back sweetly while gently extending my middle finger and simultaneously pulling off nice and close to the car in front of me when the light changes. Oh dear, are you stuck there now? Why are all those people behind you beginning to hoot? Friendly, aren't they?
You're the same person (you're all the same person to me) who simply MUST ride my ass in the fast lane, where I happen to be going 20kms over the limit anyway, because I drive a teeny tiny car. You find it incredibly offensive to your (tiny penis? er... massive ego?) overpriced midlife-crisismobile, that my oddly-coloured, gnat of a car is in the fast lane, and keeping pace. Suck it. I'll slow down just to annoy you. I hope you are reincarnated as Barry Ronge's favourite g-string.

5) Oh. OHHHH my. ExMi got me worked up. I am a fellow Grammar Nazi and proud of it. Again, not perfect, not pretending to be, but I love languages. Specifically, English. Please, please make an attempt to at least learn the basics, people! Is it your native tongue? Then why did your parents pay for you to be educated for so many years if you still can't tell the difference between loose and lose? That they're not burGUlar bars, it's not a cockAroach, it's not they're ball, it's THEIR ball? There is no such thing as a MUTE point?! Mootmootmoot! Oh god I could go on and on and on......... somebody stop me. I'm getting rabid.
Read. Read books. They make you smart in teh brains. Teach your kids to read early, read to them, and let them stay up that extra ten minutes to read every night. The benefits are boundless. Let's eradicate analphabetitis.
(An actual word, analphabet, meaning "an illiterate; one who doesn't know the alphabet or the basics of something." Anal.Phabet. Am soooo anal.)
Watch there be numerous spelling/grammatical errors in this here post. Karma, man. Karma.

6) And lastly, to the person who is too lazy to purchase milk, and has been opening and helping themself to mine? Die. You're a waste of skin if your mother never told you stealing isn't nice. I purchase my own fat-free because I find the full-cream abhorrently vom-inducing. DO NOT diss me because I bring my own healthy food because it's not office-budget sanctioned (majority rules, I get it. I like biscuits and chips sometimes too, but I prefer fruit salad and wholewheat bread. You like fried bacon, glutinous pasta that comes from a bag and clogged arteries), and then proceed to steal that "gross stuff" of mine when yours has run out. I promise you, I will find out who you are, and then it's on. Just fight fair - no trying to sit on me.

Harsh? Petty? Maybe, but as a person who does not suffer fools lightly (no, really. Dad managed to work that into his speech at my wedding. Nice, Father. Defining character indicator or what?) I am not saying I'm supremely smart, or that I'm superior in some way - promise. I am only asking one thing: don't make the stupid near me. Go do it somewhere else. So I can retain some faith in the human race. Please. See? I said please. I'm nice, I'm well-mannered la la la lalala.

Pass the prozac. Nom.

Taking Up My Headspace

Bad

Am horrible person.
An indication of how wrapped up I've been in my own damn shitstorm lately: I forgot The Ex's birthday yesterday. Which wouldn't be so bad, except that...ya know, I kinda went and produced his offspring 11 years ago.
My. Big. Fucking. Bad.

As hard-ass as I have to be with him, all differences and past assholery aside, we've come a long way towards being if not always friendly, at least civil, for the Mini-Me's sake. And who reminds Mini-Me that it's Dad's birthday? And purchases a gift to proffer when he's collected for his every-second-Sunday visit? Me. And I forgot. Out of order. Not my finest moment. And I feel like absolute shit. So if you'll excuse me, today is reserved for quiet self-flagellation.
Jeeeeeez.

TAG! Wait,.... I'M it?????

You know it has to happen someday, but when you're young (*cough*shuttup) and innocent, you think you that time is far away; something to do when you're a grown-up... for now you only read about it in secret and hope that one day it will be as fun for you as it seems for others...

Then one day, you're going about your unsuspecting little business, and someone new comes along, says lovely things to you, you become enthralled by their way with words... and then they jump you when you aren't looking and nail you!

Yes, ExMi popped my (meme)cherry. I'm loving her blogs (she's a fellow bad mommy) so I'm going to attempt this and still retain some shred of dignity!

Ahem. Right then. *clears throat* "do re mememememe..."

The Real Mom Meme

1. Real Moms don’t flinch when they talk about boobs. They do make you laugh your brains out.
2. Real moms go on vacation. Real moms go on vacation and learn to play traffic cop.
3. Real moms brag about their kids
3. Real moms do not mince words when they present the truth.
4. Real moms juggle
5. Real moms “resist the guilt and embrace the journey”
6. Real moms don’t give a damn to media generated Mommy Wars
7. Real moms have kids with potty mouths.
and mine......
8. Real moms are unable to hold back the f-bombs when golf clubs and fishtanks collide.

Don't judge me! (Oh alright, go on then do, it's fun.)

Er. The only problem now? I read (see: stalk) most of the same people she does! Can't just jump out of the woodwork and start tagging strangers, can I? No really, can I? Cause I am the last one to the party on all things internettiquette.

I had an update. I swear. But the gecko ate it......

See? Spot's eeeeevil.

Disclaimer type-thing:

(Alright, fine then - I'll admit I do love a meme. Is that a bad thing? Self-indulgent? Am led to believe it may be? But hell, I love reading 'em, so maybe they're a bit more difficult to actually do...ahee.)

And so I'm back...from inner space

Alright, I'm back.
*Wave's sheepishly to the two people in the back*

Well, kind of.
So many things have happened in the past two months (months!) that I've been on a life-imposed hiatus. Some will be explained, some I'll keep to my own damn self, if that's alright.
More later.
I feel a little bruised and bombarded.
And as usual, work's kicking me squarely in the vajayjay. (What a boring excuse, I know.)

Time to regain my sanity. I'll start tomorrow...