Merry Freakin' Kitmas

Well it's the 5th of the month, once again. A date, for many, as highly anticipated as Christmas. I've heard stories of women who claim not to be able to sleep the night before My Creative Scrapbook reveals their new kits. They lay awake with visions of paper and chipboard dancing in their heads. Then when the big day finally does arrive, Ma with her kercheif, springs from the bed and rushes to her computer, eager to see what MCS has given her... knowing that it'll be nothing short of a pony or a puppy! Definitely no disappointing tube socks in these kits.

And even though I'm a tad annoyed that no one bothered to leave a plate of cookies out for my jolly behind, I'll play along. Cause I'm a giver. So yeah, Merry freakin' Kitmas.


Working with the Album Kit, I managed to document my grandparent's 50th wedding anniversary, which occurred back in 1998. The title for my page, Always, was actually their wedding song. A sampling of the lyrics are, "I'll be loving you always. With a love that's true, always. Not for just an hour. Not for just a day. Not for just a year. But always." Sadly, Grandpa died just a few years later and Grandma requested their wedding song be played at his funeral.

I find that incredibly sweet. Sweet like those cookies would've been... had they been left for me and my giving soul.


Sweet like birthday cake icing smeared all over a baby's face and hands. Those sticky hands which want nothing more than to be picked up so that they can touch you... your pretty clothes, your clean hair, your nice furniture... everything. Ghack!

No more talk of babies and all the sticky stuff they tend to drag along with them. Blech! There's a reason I really didn't enjoy being an Aunt until Chelsea got to be this age:


Now that she's older and her hands aren't as sticky, I'm once again allowing her to hug me and sit on the furniture. However, if she doesn't do something about her taste in music soon, she's gonna be losing those couch privileges. What?! I'm just sayin' there's only so much bubblegum pop one Aunt can take.

... and they heard her exclaim as she stalked out of sight, "Merry Kitmas to all and you better leave some friggin' cookies next time!"

Klassy!

I'm a super klassy kind of gal. Normally, one must travel as far as the hot boiled peanut stand at the Farmer's Market in order to find a genteel creature, such as myself. However, this past Sunday night, one could find me and my two super klassy cohorts, Lesley and Paula, hanging out at the Skate Station (come on, you know you're jealous). We were there to cheer on the Roller Rebels, Gainesville's Roller Derby Team, as they played their first game of the season.

I'm not a sports fan. At all. Ew. But I have to admit, Roller Derby intrigues me. I think it's just the idea of angry women on roller skates. Angry women on roller skates with bad ass nicknames. Wait... angry women on rollers skates with bad ass nicknames wearing ripped fishnet stockings and tutus. That's entertainment! That's klass! Quick... give me a beer bottle so I can open it with my teeth.

My camera wasn't cooperating during the game so I don't have a lot of action shots to post. Lesley was also not cooperating during the game, claiming that she didn't have a trace of make-up on. So the only photo I have to post of her from that night is this one showing the whites of her eyes.


Me and Paula, on the other hand, couldn't care less whether we had make-up on or not.


Who are we gonna impress? The toothless guy over there gnawing on a pretzel? Or maybe the emo kid down in the front with all the piercings? No. This guy!


Yep. Definitely worth the few extra moments I took to apply some lip gloss.

When I grow up...

Things are getting pretty scary at my place of employment. Just yesterday, in an effort to avoid layoffs, everyone's hours, wages and benefits were cut. However, if business doesn't pick up soon, layoffs will happen and I fear that I will be one of the folks let go. Which, obviously, has me pretty freaked. I mean, Slurpees and nekkid lady trucker caps just don't pay for themselves! And dammit, it's Girl Scout cookie season!

Throughout my school years, my mom kept all of my pictures, report cards, memories and such in an album which she handed over to me this past Christmas. Each year, along with the information such as my teacher's name, my best friend and my favorite subject she also documented what I wanted to be when I grew up. In Kindergarten I claimed I wanted to be a nurse. What the hell?! Clearly that answer was the result of my having eaten too much paste.

Even stranger yet is the answer I gave her from grades one through five. Apparently, until I was 10 years old, I wanted to be a teacher. Again, what the hell?! I must've been infatuated with red ink. Or perhaps I was giddy with the knowledge that a teacher has the power to label a person as satisfactory, below average, or my personal fave... a failure. And they're able to state those facts in glorious red ink!

Luckily, by the time I hit Middle School, I'd realized that women could be more than just nurses, teachers and ballerinas. They could be anything! So from that point on, my school album reflected such career choices as archaeologist, fashion designer and journalist.

As I think back on all the jobs I've held over the last 40 years, not a single one of them, however, is a career that I'd listed in that school album. So far in my life I've worked as a:

Shake Shoppe Girl
Movie Theatre Concession Stand Girl
Pizza Delivery Driver
TCBY Counter Chick
Airport Gift Store Attendant
Tuxedo Rental Store Clerk
Hotel Front Desk Clerk
Hotel Night Auditor
Hotel Director Of Sales
Newspaper Paste-Up/Layout
Accounts Payable Clerk
Accounts Receivable Clerk
Receptionist...

and currently I'm a purchasing agent. Cross your fingers this one sticks for a bit longer. Well, at least until my shipment of Thin Mints arrives. But seriously, look at the list. Where's my archaeology? Where's my fashion designer? Where's my journalist?

Sure I've gotten older, but did I ever grow up? Oh my gosh! Am I freakin' Peter Pansy?! So I have to ask myself, what do I want to be when I grow up?