Holiday Spirit Can Kiss My Ass.

Well, here we are, folks; another December, another holiday season, another month of consumer excess and vanished courtesy.  I write to you from a little suburb of Philadelphia, the City of Brotherly Love and Drive-By's.  In the little apartment I share with my husband and our rescued cat, my days are usually spent locked up tightly inside, creating whatever my hands and heart come up with that day.  On the rare occasions that I do venture outside, it is to work with a friend who makes beautiful cakes - my official title is "Cake Bitch", which I think is mighty appropriate. 

One day, a few weeks ago, I was called to cake-making duty and spent 8 hours having a lovely time with fondant, food colouring and a toddler who makes the most hilarious non-word noises I've ever heard.  Upon returning home, my husband and I walked through the screen door that encloses our building's vestibule where mail is delivered daily.  We came inside, mrrow'd at the cat, and I realised that we should have received a few packages that day!  I walked back out to the entryway and saw no packages.  As it was late on a friday night, I couldn't do much about it at the time, but come monday I was on the phone with several different people concerned in the affair.  Namely, the company I'd ordered 2 items from and UPS, who had delivered them.  On friday. 

It took me about ten seconds to realize that someone had stolen the gifts.  Some asshole, some fuckstick walking past our home had glanced in, seen the boxes, and taken them.  We can't lock our screen door because a. none of us have a key and b. the mailman wouldn't be able to deliver mail, so anyone can just walk in whenever they please.  Well, someone did, and they walked out with the only gifts I was (at the time) able to afford to buy my man. 

Things turned out in a way, though, as the company sent me a free replacement of one of the items, and another place had the other item for $8 cheaper.  Today, we were both home and received the free replacement, which made me feel better.  However, today was also the day I realised that the custom wedding band the hub had ordered for me hadn't arrived either.  Cue detective hat: I contacted the artist, he gave me the shipping info and lo and behold, it had also been delivered the day the other gifts were stolen.

So some fuckstick out there has my wedding band.

After a few moments of deep sadness and anger, I re-ordered the ring, to be delivered to my mother's house instead of here.  The artist was very nice and sent me to his website (instead of the craft-site I'd ordered it from originally) where I was able to order the ring again and this time, free shipping.  So it all worked out in a way; we're out the money we couldn't afford to lose, but there were some kindhearted people willing to cut me a break.

The moral of the story?  People steal shit in December, and there's not much you can do about it.  If you see it happening, STOP THEM.  They're ruining someone's holiday.

Fucksticks.

Well, dang; it has been a while.

Because I like lists so very, very much, here follows a list of things I am bitchy about lately:

1. Why are there able-bodied actors playing disabled characters? There ARE disabled actors out there, people; try thinking outside the ableist box, okay?

2. Seriously, enough with the fucking rain.  (I am aware that I am bitching to the skies here, folks. But you're reading it, so...)

3. Body, we are at a point where I'm getting closer and closer to having you replaced with a jar and a label reading "Abby Normal".  I've been sick with a cold, sick with an infection, sick with pain and nausea, and I'm goddamned sick of being sick! It's been months since I felt close to my norm - which, for the record, ain't that "norm" after all - and because of you, my old Body, I missed the deadline for NaNoWriMo, among other things.  So shape the fuck up or I'm shipping you out!

4.  You know, I don't have a number four.  That's kind of nice.

I'm going to veer off into namby-pamby-land here for a second and tell you what I am not bitchy about:  my husband and his amazing work ethic, wonderful laugh and ability to make my life shine; our cat, who is adorable even when dive-bombing us from high shelves in the middle of the night; my family, who put up with me and still love me; my friends, few they may be, but solid; and finally, the myriad other assholes out there with sensitive stomachs who paved the way for my gimp ass to be able to eat bread made without wheat and beer made without gluten.

Salute.