Oh my my my, it’s been FOREVER since I blogged. Bad KenderMomma, no biscuit. Or cookie. And forget about those peanut m&m’s you like to eat. Frozen. In bed. While telling the littlest furry kender “no, you cannot have these, they will make you sick, yes they will.”
So… Lots has happened. The littlest bipedal kender-beastie is NEARLY house-broken. Now if she would just stay in bed. My meds are working off and on, so, cool – some days I’m efficient Momma, other days its “Momma’s gone CRAZY.” Turkey day was good. We went to a friend’s house, cause the thought of making a turkey for 4 people, two of which are more interested in seeing if the food will stick to the table, windows, wall, or match their underwear was just too depressing for me.
Oh let’s see… What else? Oh yeah. I got downgraded to a “historical consultant” at the nonprofit play that I WAS with. The gist of it?
“You’re not Christiian, so you need to GTFO.”
“Um, okay, that’s fine.”
“Oh, but can we still use your skills? And because no one knows the inventory and checkout systems YOU created that have saved us money in lost costumes, can you TRAIN someone?”
“And by the way, you’re going to Hell.”
I swear by all that’s good, sweet and holy, I’m too nice. Really. But when D gets home from the wilds of Europe this coming year, and we leave freaking Cat Box Nevada, no more pro-bono shit. Ever. Never ever. I don’t care if they’re blind orphans with scurvy and missing fingers.
I got to watch the shit storm of Regretsy versus PayPal. That was AWESOME. I was all set to close my PayPal account; WTF pending transaction? Oh. Riiiiiiight. Donation to the drive that PayPal’s trying to steal. Fine. Now that I’m lucid and have had a little more sleep, I realize that closing my PayPal would be CRIMINALLY STUPID; once I start selling costumes and clothing on eBay, Etsy, or my own site, how will people PAY ME??? Hello, nearly shot myself in the foot with that decision. With a freaking filthy, rusty, barbed harpoon. DAMMIT.
So PayPal is not “last resort, carrier pigeons won’t carry my check or money order, I’ve gotta have this now, Now, NOW.” Which would be a very odd thing, cause I do custom work – I don’t carry stock, I DON’T HAVE THE SPACE.
Happy place, happy place, D has promised a house with speace for a workroom that I don’t have to share with the kids or animals. Sigh. OKAY.
School is good. I’m starting in on my
eith , ayth, EIGHTH (I’m in college and can’t
spell eighth without some thought and spell check, how the f*uck does that
work?!) When I saw that it was an ethics
class, I screamed. And it wasn’t the
fan-girl scream of joy that I do at the poor unfortunate designers or authors
that actually talk to me. Then the
littlest kender looked at me and said “hee hee hee, Mommy, you sooooo funny.” Great, toddlers get my sense of humor. Awesome.
But some Yule gifts have been bought on Amaaon, the Science Fiction Book Club, or at actual real time retailers. I KNOW. I’ll have to get my huge butt outta bed, brush my hair, scrape the green fuzz off my teeth and put on a bra. And then try and convince the three year old that yes, it’s 50 degrees outside, she will be wearing pants. But not underwear, because 75% of the time, she’ll pee in them to spite me. How do I know that it’s spite? Um, hello, she’s THREE?
And speaking of three, she’s still up and it’s after 11 pm. Thank you albuterol, you’ve made my toddler into an insomniac. Wheeeeeeeeeeeee. On that note, I should probably find my own bed under the unfolded clothes, littlest pet shop figures, and dog hair. Stay warm, and a Welcome Yule to my sister and brother pagans, Happy Hanukkah, Merry Christmas, Joyous Kwanzaa, and Festivus to the rest of us…