Wednesday, December 21, 2016

With Painful Steps and Slow

That title is just because I've been obsessed with Sixpence None the Richer's version of It Came Upon a Midnight Clear for the past few Christmas seasons, and it seemed more appropriate to my current state than "With Peaceful Wings Unfurled".

Matt went to California last week because he kind of needed to visit a customer and if he did it now it would give him enough points to maintain his Ludicrous Elite status for next year. I don't begrudge him that at all - traveling is draining, and anything that makes it less suckful is all good with me - but it was kind of a tough week to be alone. There was shoveling and box-moving and decorating and baking to be done, which is fine, but on top of all that I was the sole kid wrangler and driver, and by the end of the week I was wrung out like a dishcloth. Consequently, I feel like I've managed to get everything done for a great family Christmas, but my Christmas cards are now going to be January cards and I haven't done as much for friends and charitable stuff as I meant to and have done in the past. I did some online donations, and I guess I'll have to call that good for this year.

More on cold-weather accessories, because it was so enjoyable last time: the temperature dropped to below minus 30 with the wind chill last week. I actually had to wear a winter coat in the car a couple of times, something I rarely do because no matter how cold I am getting in, I'm always too hot by the time I get where I'm going. I also tried multiple pairs of mittens and gloves, and the only ones that kept my hands warm were the ones I got at a sex store while I was visiting Zarah in Barrie. The store was empty when we went in, and the woman who owned it was so fun that we ended up trying on a bunch of lingerie and walking around the store half-naked completely unself-consciously. Then I noticed this random box of mittens that were wholly incongruous in the setting but incredibly squishy fluffy warm, and dirt cheap, so I bought a pair. Then, while I was waiting for Zarah to finish up and chatting with the store owner at the counter, I picked up a bottle of vanilla something and said oh, what is this? Room spray? And then the store owner doubled over laughing because of course it was lube. Sex lube. At least I didn't try to spray it into the air.

Right now we're continuing our tradition of exposing Eve to horrifically inappropriate Christmas movies - watching The Ref while I bake cookies and she decorates. She did a bunch of really beautiful ones, and then she said "hmm, this one looks a little Satanic. Maybe I'll try adding some of these adorable little gingerbread men sprinkles.... OH NO, now it looks like I murdered the gingerbread men and they're lying in a pool of blood!"

So. You know. Merry Christmas.

Tuesday, December 13, 2016

Reading and Not Writing and Walking

Goodreads just sent me my Year in Books, which reminded me that I should be getting ready for my Year-End Book Round Up posts, which reminded me that I haven't done any normal posts lately, which reminded me that I should FREAK THE FUCK OUT and add it to my list of shit that I'm behind on, along with Christmas shopping, Christmas cards, Christmas decorating, Christmas baking, and, I don't know, exercise and having a conversation with my husband.

Just kidding. No freaking out. My cards aren't getting there til January, most of the presents are done, and I just baked some stuff and tried to put it in the freezer and realized there's no fucking room in the freezer, so I guess we'll just eat it and then I'll bake some more. Also, not cooking because the freezer's full - smoothie fruit and lobster mac-and-cheese bites tonight, frozen pizza and an opaque plastic container of something-or-other tomorrow.

Winter boots: My Bogs from a few years ago still look fine, but when I wear them my back hurts like hell, so I mostly wear my Docs, unless the snow is knee-deep and then we have giant boots that you can't walk any distance in but they work for shoveling or taking Lucy around the block. Last year I bought a pair of simple black Joe Fresh boots just to have when I wanted simple slip-ons to go from one place to another in the car, or around the block with Lucy when it wasn't too snowy.

Sweet fucking freshly-poured purgatory, what maladapted sadist designed these things? They're so viciously uncomfortable they feel like they're on the wrong feet even when they're not - I've even tried wearing them ON the wrong feet to see if it would be an improvement. It's not, but it's hardly worse. It feels like the soles are made of concrete. I ended up wearing them to walk home a couple of weeks ago because of that pesky no drunk driving thing, and my hips were on fire by the time I made it a couple of blocks. I don't know what to do with them. I can't give them away because I wouldn't wish this level of excremental misery on my worst enemy, and I don't feel like I should throw them out because they're so patently evil it seems like it would end up in some Jumanji/the Possession scenario where their sinister heartbeat lures some unsuspecting innocent into finding their hiding place and they'll end up wreaking havoc all over again.

I might have to burn them.

Okay. ONE. One magnificently trivial post in December, ha ha ha ha ha ha. See you tomorrow. Or in January.