Although I'm sure at this point, you'd actually be less surprised if it was actually Elton John posting on my blog.
But do not be deceived. Tis I! Rachel!!
Have you recovered from your shock yet? No? That's okay. Take a moment.
I really have no excuse for my dearth of posting in the last ... oh, three months. Except for the fact that I've been in a very bad mood during most of that time.
I feel like Ouiser from Steel Magnolias.
You know Grumpy Cat???
|Courtesy of Grumpy Cat|
I have developed a severe case of chronic bitchface.
Sadly, there's no pill for that.
Well, maybe Xanax.
Last night, Christa told me the last several times she's seen me, I looked like "kind of scary, like don't mess with me of I'll slit your throat scary."
Which is actually pretty damn spot on. Whatever it is that keeps you from going around stabbing other people, mine is gone.
Angie's the only person at the office still speaking to me voluntarily.
It really is that bad.
And right now you're thinking, "Well maybe if you'd been using your creative outlet and actually posting on your blog, you wouldn't be in the position."
I refer you back to Grumpy Cat.
However, tis the Christmas season, so I'm trying to shaky myself free of this funk. I've been self-medicating with chocolate.
And on Black Friday, even though Mom and I had battled Black Friday crowds, I'd suffered from what I'm pretty sure was food poisoning from a very ill-advised breakfast buffet (Just Say No to buffets, kids), and was working on only three hours sleep, when I arrived home from my second round of shopping, I dug out all the Christmas decorations, determined to get them all up before I crashed.
Plus it was 60 degrees out, and if I was going to be working outside I wanted to do it during a freak heatwave in November.
Normally, my neighbor would put up my outside lights for me, due to my ladder phobia. But he and his family had traveled to see extended family for the holiday (RUDE!).
I could've waited for The Guy to come over, but then it would've been late... not to mention dark, and the entire point was to get them up while it was warm.
Plus, I'm tough! I could do this.
So outside I headed with my lights and garland. And extra clips.
I carried out the ladder I borrowed from Becky and Lee (holy crap that thing is heavy)...
And that's when I ran into my first problem.
It wasn't a stepladder. Or an extension ladder. It was some kind of weird hybrid thing that obviously knew I was intimidated and was screwing with me.
I had absolutely no idea how to even open it. I pulled things. I pushed things. I did all manner of things. I cursed it.
So I texted Becky. Who informed me I had to push in the knob things.
Okay, I'd done that already. Didn't work.
My frustration was mounting. But I was at a complete and total loss.
So I did the only rational thing I could do at that point... I called Dad. And I used my sad, pathetic voice.
He and Mom arrived ten minutes later.
Although apparently I need to work on my sad, pathetic voice. Because I was pretty sure after figuring out how to open the ladder (which took him five minutes, so I'm not a complete idiot), he would just climb on up and put up the lights. Done.
But no. He stood there and watched while I cautiously climbed up the ladder, clinging to each step like a scared baby monkey clings to its mother, chanting "I'm going to die, I'm going to die" the entire way.
Dad assured me I wasn't going to die. "This is a nice ladder," he said. "It's not going anywhere."
I clarified that I was less concerned about the ladder, and more concerned with my propensity for falling.
But I was doing okay until I had to climb to the very top.
Mom declared that she was cold and was going to sit in the car.
Great Peggy. Thanks for the concern. I'm only barely holding on here, and I had kind of hoped that if I fell into the driveway, you'd break my fall.
I see what motherly love gets you these days.
And it didn't help that the clips kept breaking. I quickly used up the spares I'd stashed in my pocket.
The clip in the very corner was the worst. Because I was at the top of the ladder, and I had to reach over to get to it.
I got the lights and garland clipped in... and they fell out.
So I put them back in... and they fell back out.
"Son of a BITCH!"
He laughed some more.
But third times the charm. Right?
This time, I let out the mother of all curse words. It was like the tire changing scene in A Christmas Story. But instead of telling my mother, my dad almost laughed himself off the porch.
Apparently, seeing his beloved daughter in mortal peril is amusing.
How does my neighbor make this crap look so easy??? He just climbs up there, boom, boom, boom, it's done. No muss, no fuss. It takes him like five minutes. For real.
It took me forty. Forty minutes. It was embarrassing.
And the real kicker? I've turned on my outside lights maybe three times. Because it's cold out there, and I don't want to go outside to turn them on and off.
So I decided to buy a remote! Genius. Then I'd turn them on every night!
Except I can't find any remotes intended for outdoor use...
|Courtesy of Grumpy Cat|