A Festivus Miracle

I was feeling a little

discombobulated.

I couldn't quite figure out why.

Then I did a little

photo-chopping.

And, 

wouldn't you know it,

I suddenly feel 

put back together again.

It's a festivus miracle!

Cheers,
A

PS: Happy Birthday, dear Stella.
PPS: You are only one.  You cannot read.

The Airing of the Grievances

As is a Festivus tradition
here, via this blog,
in no particular order
I shall air my grievances.

I shall
in the spirit of Festivus
call out those
who have annoyed me
over the course of the past year.

And if you made the list
then I ask that
in the Spirit of Christmas
you forgive me my grievances
and give me a gift anyway.

Here we go:

*Line Whiners.  It's the holidays, folks.  You're going to have to stand in line.  Yes, there should probably be more than two employees at Gap's cash wrap three days before Saint Nick slides his fast ass down your chimney, but when there are only two overworked, underpaid, smiling employees behind that massive counter and you are forced to stand in a line that meanders nearly out the door, quit your bitching!  We're all, you know, the restivus, waiting too.  Just like you are.  Maybe you could take these extra few moments to ponder what it is you are buying, and maybe even decide that you can, in fact, live without it.  Put it back.  Nay, throw it back thus forcing a Gap employee to spend hours folding and re-folding unwanted merchandise further preventing him/her from assisting customers who wish to actually purchase something and are, quite frankly, sick of standing next to your complaining self in the line-that-just-won't-end.

*Express Lane Item Counters. Please. Pleeeeeeeeazzze.  In the name of all that is Holy: Stop counting how many items people have in their carts.  And, if they happen to have more than 10, please keep it to yourself.  Sometimes, people are in a hurry.  Sometimes they have a Yoga class to get to. Or a last minute bank deposit to make. Or need to get home to a baby with an erupting molar and an ear infection.  Or they are just plain rude and don't really care that they are in the express lane.  Or maybe, they just don't bother actually counting each and every item in their shopping cart.  Maybe they eyeball and think to themselves, "Eh, that looks about right." Regardless, it really is none of your business. The line will eventually move, you'll pay for your items, and be on your merry way.  Just in time to leave your cart behind my car and cut grandma off on your way out of the parking lot.

*The Biggest Loser.  First, I love you. I do. I watch you every single season, and will continue to do so as long as there are overweight people wanting to lose weight on TV is Bob.  That being said, would you get rid of the gratuitous infomercial bits not-so-conspicuously placed in the middle of the show?  After seven seasons (or is it eight?) I know that gum will curb my cravings for dessert and other sweets.  I know that Jenni-O Turkey is a much healthier option than beef.  And I get it: Vegetables!!  Fruit!!  Leave the commercials for the two minutes I look forward to fast-forwarding through and show me more Bob.  And Jillian, too for that matter.  I'm not picky...

*Spammers.  Correction: People Who Respond To Spammers.  Please.  Let this blog post serve as the Idiot's Guide On How NOT to Fall For Email Fraud.  Step One: Enable "Junk" filter on email server.  Step Two: Do not open any emails that your email is smart enough to send to your junk mailbox.  Peruse the messages, give a good once-over.  You know, make sure you didn't need that coupon from Amazon.com or J.Crew.  And then press "DELETE." Step Three: If you didn't quite understand Step Two and actually read the email read the following information VERY CAREFULLY:  You did not win an obscene amount of money due to the death of a foreign dignitary.  You are not their sole heir.  You will not receive the money once you send a small sum to a bank account in Nigeria.  Secondly, no one that you have zero recollection of giving your personal (as opposed to professional) email address to is going to send you "A Very Important Business Proposition for You!" Also, Hotmail/GMail/Yahoo is not contacting you for your email address and password so that they can ensure your account is secure.  They actually have your email address.  They own the rights to it, remember?  Your email ends @hotmail/gmail/yahoo.com?  That means they know who you are.  Second, if they are going to send you an email alert, they wouldn't be dumb enough to funnel it into your junk mail filter.  In the off chance I am wrong about this, heed the following: In the address line, it won't say, "Windows Live Team" {windowslivetomjones@yahoo.com}  It won't say this, ever.  Not even once. So don't respond with your email and password.  Pretty please?  With common sense on top? Step Four: Repeat steps 1-4 as often as necessary.

*LOLers.  If I've said it once I've said it a million times, LOL does, in fact, mean "laugh out loud."  Which stands to reason, then, that if you are using the addage you did, literally, laugh.  Out loud.  Audibly.  It is not a placeholder for "I don't know what else to say." Or "Imagine something funny written here."  Allow me to be perfectly clear, I myself utilize these three offending letters at times.  I have typed "LOL."  When I have laughed.  Out loud.  Audibly.  Otherwise, I stick to the old wisdom that if you don't have anything to say, don't LOL.

*Homophobes.  No further explanation needed.

*Overhead Bin Stuffers.  Your suitcase is beautiful.  Gorgeous.  One of a kind, even.  But it belongs in the overhead compartment.  Alone.  Without your laptop.  And your purse. And your plastic shopping bag of goodies that you couldn't live without and just had to buy before you boarded the plane to some fabulous vacation you can't really afford but you're going on anyway.  Those things? They belong under your seat.  So that my suitcase, once I finally get on the plane, has somewhere to go.  Unless you're in the bulkhead.  Without kids.  Or the need for any extra space whatsoever.  Because you are evil.  In this case, you can put your purse in the overhead compartment.  And listen to a tiny cramped baby scream in the seat behind you for the ENTIRE PLANE RIDE.

*Wikileaks.  Couldn't you have leaked some information that actually would have been helpful to the general public?  Like who shot JR?  Whether Kim Kardashian's ass is real? Barry O's birth certificate?  The names of countries in the world who would destroy us if given the opportunity and/or weapons necessary to do so?  Or given the removal of foreign aid in the form of American dollars?  Why Iceland is green and Greenland is ice?  Why people can't use blinkers?  Did the Mayans know the outcome of the 2012 election?  Did they predict Sarah Palin as victorious?  Is that why their calendar ends that year?

*That's What She Said-ers. Myself included.  Can this phrase be done now?  I'd like to stop using it, but it's just so hard.  (that's what she said.)


Okay, friends.

That's it.
That's all I've got.
This year, anyway.

Did I touch on yours?
Or did I leave something out?

Oh yeah,
I did!

*Readers who refuse to comment.

I kid, I kid.
Sort of.
Maybe.

Cheers,
A

Festivus Part Two: Feats of Strength

The second part of the annual Festivus tradition involves performing Feats of Strength.

I fully intend for my body and uterus to perform its own feat of strength in the not-t0-distant future (please, oh please Santa?), but here are DRL and Elena's attempts:

Tell me this is not a feat:
Ok.
Fine.
It was merely an attempt.

This was the real feat:

You lookin' at me?

And DRL's feat of strength cannot be captured on film as it involves tolerating a very pregnant, very hormonal me, so I chose to include the photo of his awesomeness.

He can ollie like a madman.

And I've been told he's got the best 360 flip this side of the Mississippi.

Joyous Festivus,
A

Festivus Part One: Airing of the Grievances

Here, in no particular order, are my list of grievances of the past year.

I am officially calling out of those who have disappointed me in 2009.

*The driver who cannot, will not use their turn signal. You know who you are, and are far too numerous to call out by name. I don't have to yield to your manuevers if I do not know what they are. You do not have the right of way just because you are turning...if you do not indicate that you are turning! I do not have to let you merge in front of me just because you "feel like it." I don't need much. Just an orange colored indicator of your next move. Something to let me know what you're thinking. A little gift of courtesy. A trifle, really. A token. Besides: if you don't use your blinker fluid on a regular basis, it goes bad, and then requires changing. This is a very expensive procedure. Just ask the gents over at Pep Boys.

*Misusers of Their/They're/There, We're/Were, Your/You're, Its/It's, and other similar confusions. Really people? Really? My facebook newsfeed is made up of people who are all over the age of 18 and have graduated high school. Thus taking a course in grammar, and being required to pen numerous papers in which the correct usage of such words would be required in order to earn a passing grade (at least I would hope.) So, I ask, what's the problem here? Do we need daily quizzes to keep you up on your skillz? An iPhone app that will help you pick the right word? A DSi "Brain Age" game that includes these common grammatical errors? Or would not being a stupid idiot be the best option? I'm open to suggestions...

*Solicitors. I do not want to join your Mafia. Or buy an animal for your Farm. Or sell make-up or erotica or jewelry or tupperware. I just want to check Spacebook and see what folks are up to. If you aree spending your time farming, playing bejeweled, killin' peeps in a war, or making an aquarium that's great. I'm happy you have something to do at 4 am. It's nice that you're sending your friends happy hearts and drinks of the season and other miscellany, but go ahead and cross my name off your list. And if you won't, I'll just hide you from my news feed.

*The "LOL"er. LOL translates into "laugh out loud." As in - I just chuckled. Vocally. Audibly. Someone may have even heard it. It has now become a typed version of the facebook "like" button. It is what people write when they can't think of anything funny, interesting, or important to say, but they want to make their presence known and they can't type "Nodding my head in agreement." Every time I read "LOL" I cringe. My disappointment in mankind increases. And I am further reminded that the next time I read something funny, something that actually makes me laugh, I have to say, "that made me laugh." Thank you LOL-ers for making me type 15 extra characters and ruining abbreviations for the rest of us. Don't even get me started on OMG and ROFL. I want video proof that somewhere, sometime, a person read something so funny that they fell out of their chair and began Rolling On the Floor Laughing. It never happened. And it is most certainly NOT an appropriate response to anything. Moving on..

*People who feel the need to make completely obtuse comments about my pregnancy. The "Wow, you're finally showing"-ers, and the "How's the baby coming"-ers, and my personal favorite, "Wow you're not very huge at all!"-ers. How's the baby coming? Do you think I have an ultrasound machine in my living room that I strap myself up to every night so that I can check in on my fetus? Make sure all is well? See what organ is developing today? Well, let me put the question to rest once and for all: I don't know how the baby is coming. If you want to talk about my cankles, hemorrhoids, or stretch marks I could go on for days. As to the current condition of the contents of my womb, however, your guess is as good as mine. My response to those who feel it necessary to comment on my size: I wasn't very huge to begin with and everything in life is relative. Second: I was ginormous when I was pregnant with Elena. Too bad you don't have a good enough memory to recall the size of my fundus then. Likely I would have lived up to your expectations.

*The Finger Moistener. Look, I don't care if you poop in the work restroom. Pooping is a natural occurence. I don't even care if it smells to high heaven. We've all been there. So long as you flush when you're done, your poop is your business. But turning on the water and running two fingers under the stream and then wiping your hands on 3.4 feet of paper towel does not make your hands clean. Whether you just pooped your heart out or simply ran into the stall to check and see if Aunt Flo was paying you a visit. You need hot water, soap, a hearty lather, and about a solid minute of washing before you are germ free and fit to participate in the Holiday Pot Luck. Try singing the Birthday Song in your head as you scrub. Song's over=hands are clean. Done and done. Now pass me the cookie tray...

*The woman who walks her dogs to my yard every morning and has them relieve themselves on my tree. My yard is not a dog park. My grass is just as precious to me as your grass is to you. I don't care if this is your "routine" and you'll have to up your pooch's dosage of Prozac if you don't adhere to it. You are rude. And your dogs are ugly. There will be a note on my tree next spring.

*Lady Gaga. Need I say more?

*Sarah Palin. Without getting all political on you, allow me to just say that I am gravely disappointed in her politics, her accent, and her attempt at "going rogue." I do, however, really enjoy doing Tina Fey style impersonations of her. Making this addition to this list kind of a wash.

Honorable Mentions:

*Brett Favre "fans."

*My Utuerus (on this list only if I fail to deliver its contents prior to December 31st at midnight).

*The facebook "like" button

Merry Festivus, everyone!

A