This is my post for the 27th of November and I will no doubt regret it once it's posted but I'm counting on Carol to disregard my internal caution signals.
** Just for note, if you have a play list of Christmas Music on your ipod and you're looking for new material, by all that is holy DO NOT add the song Gaudette. It's a chant and a total buzz kill. I know this because I'm buzzed and it just killed me.**
Here I sit, in my living room, by myself because my family insists on watching TV while they eat. Their brains have been taken over. This weekend is decorating weekend. It has been decorating weekend for the last 45 years. I'd say 50 but I don't really remember the first 4. We are supposed to be decorating the house for the holidays. I take great pride in my house at Christmas time.
What's wrong, you ask? Don't worry, I'll tell you.
Emma has hurt her back. She went riding again today and evidently there was mayhem, losing the group, galloping through woods with no path, wandering alone with Argo crying out for the other horses, the leader, our sweet Zoey, continuing to insist that she knew the path was close and Sweet Fairy on a time table in order to arrive at her place of employment on time. Fun was had by all except Emma, who is no longer able to move. Weeelllll, isn't that convenient. She's on painkillers now, watching some show that is beneath my superior intelligence which is why I'm in the living room and she, Bonnie and Beerhound are in the family room. The girls received his brains and my looks.
**I'm so sorry daughters of mine.**
Bonnie was supposed to be home by 11:00 am to take part in decorating but evidently her and the Boy, aw hell, his name is Luke. They'll be together forever because that's how my life works. Don't get me wrong, we really like him but the fact that he picked Bonnie does cast aspersions on his ability to make wise choices. He's asked her if she ever thought of children and we have told her, as politely as possible, not to procreate. Poor guy.
Anyhoo, be home early to Bonnie means 4pm. Go ahead. You do the math. I say 11am. She comes home at 4pm. And to think she was the only baby that arrived on time when I was in labor. Mind boggling, isn't it?
I have no idea what Beerhound is doing. He did ask if I was happy and when I replied, "I want the house decorated!" He answered, "It's too late. It's already 9pm."
So, here I sit in my living room, on one of three pieces of furniture left that hasn't been chewed to death by Rue.
**It isn't really 9pm. It's only 6:30pm. Beerhound thinks I can't handle my wine. To that I say HA, and HA again.**
I am, as of this moment:
Typing this post.
Eating chinese take-out.
Listening to my Christmas music, minus Gaudette. I deleted that motherfucker.
Drinking Woodbridge Chardonnay straight from the bottle. And, yes, getting seriously buzzed.
Dolly Parton is singing "Hard Candy Christmas". I think I'll sing along with her.
Bear is trying to eat my fried shrimp, oh and here comes Beanie and Harper. I'm going to let them. I share. I'm nice like that. Besides I bottled fed all three of them so sharing food doesn't seem that out of place. Although you may think twice about kissing me if you ever meet me.
And if I get really desperate, I'll throw in a xanax.
NO, that's wrong. So wrong. Disregard that last thought. Mixing medication and alcohol is never a good proposition.
To end, here's what I think in French.
Ma famille est impossible et aggravants. Ils sont fous de me faire. Je pense que je vais boire du vin un peu plus.
Oh and here is the chorus for "Hard Candy Christmas".
Me, I'll be just fine and dandy
Lord, It's like a hard candy Christmas
I'm barely getting through tomorrow
But still I won't let sorrow bring me way down
Amen! I love you Robert Mondavi!!