Hello, Surf Reporters! It feels like I’ve been away for a long time. That big Charmin extravaganza on Friday wasn’t a regular update, it was done over several days, which is outside my usual crank ’em out like an email way of doing things around here. Then there was yesterday’s disgrace… Sorry about that one; it definitely falls into the “better than nothing?” category. I’ll try not to let that happen too often.
Wanna hear a sad story? OK, on Saturday I had to be at work at 6 a.m. The end.
Actually, there’s a little more to it. You see, I’m a night person, who works a night shift. I go in at 3 in the afternoon, and get off at 1:30 in the morning. It’s not ideal, but I’m wired for it. A few days ago I was given a hunk of glass, with my name etched in it. Apparently I’ve been there for five years already. How is that possible?? And I’ve been working that 3 to 1:30 deal the whole time.
But now I’m being asked to work every other Saturday, for the next few months — and be there at the outrageous hour of 6 a.m. I don’t know nothing about no 6 a.m. Oh, I know it exists, but almost never see it in real life. It’s like the taint of humanity.
Indeed, I was so freaked out about having to get up at 4, so I could be there at 6, my entire weekend was wrecked. And I didn’t fully recover until… today?
On Friday night I went to bed at 9, which felt like the middle of the afternoon to me. But I was able to sleep — until 2:30 in the morning. Then I was wide awake, with no hope of losing consciousness again. I got up, put on a pot of coffee, and monkeyed around on my computer until it was time to leave for work.
It wasn’t so bad, especially the first half of the day, when the caffeine was kickin’. But by the time I left there, I was starting to edge into zombie territory. I’m sure I was walking around with a distinct “I like them French fried potaters” look on my face.
We went to some stores that afternoon, and I snapped a few photos. But I can barely remember it. It’s all a big fuzzy dreamscape to me.
That night we put up the Christmas tree, and I fell asleep every time I sat down. I had to keep moving, or my head would just flop to one side, and drool would start to drip on the end table. Eventually, around 9:00, Toney ordered me to bed. “Good god!” she added, for emphasis.
And I slept until 10:00 the next morning — thirteen hours. But I still felt weird on Sunday, not fully rebounded from the trauma of the 6 a.m. And I know it sounds very Nostrils-like, but yesterday was messed up, too. I was exhausted and sluggish, for no good reason.
It kicks my ass, and totally ruined what might have been a pleasant weekend. We did some Christmas shopping, put up the tree, and had a few adult beverages on Saturday evening… But I can’t remember much about it. And it took me two full days to get my sea legs again.
For a Question, I’ll repeat one I posted at Twitter, and possibly Facebook: 2 things you can’t do with the family, without an argument breaking out: playing Monopoly and setting up a Christmas tree. Any others?
For the record, we didn’t get into an argument this year while putting up the tree, but we usually do. What other activities almost always lead to a big family argument? Please tell us about it in the comments.
And I’ll see you guys again tomorrow.
Have a great day!
Now playing in the bunker
Do your holiday shopping at Amazon: US and Canada
The Qweezy Mark says
I swear I never touched that damn girl. No matter what they say, I NEVER TOUCHED HER!!!
A sure argument: Scrabble.
WB in OH says
I usually end up arguing with my dad every summer when I help him put in his window air conditioner. You’d think after twenty some years we’d have it figured out how it goes in.
That’s what she said.
Lucie in Tampa says
Visit relatives. There must always be a bonus sidetrip negotiated as a crowdpleaser.
Any board (or, for you older folks “parlor”) game would lead to WWIII. And sometimes peace wasn’t restored for weeks.
Another thing that could lead to an all out ass kicking brawl – whichever sonovabitch emptied the sugar bowl and didn’t refill it. Ditto the asshat who put back the thimble full of milk/soda/1/2-1/2 etc or the Depression era morsel of cake.
And since it’s Christmas, that beautiful giving time of the year, woe be the poor bastard who opened the “NEXT DAY” on the Advent calendar.
In my house it’s the gift buying. We’re not married (cuz we don’t roll like that) but after being together 9 years, we practically are. Except in the art of gift buying. We do fine with the kids in the family (nieces and nephews and shitheads), but when it comes time to buying for our repsective folks we usually start to argue. Over dumb things, like how much to spend, what to buy, who’s getting the gifts, etc. His stepmother has everything so she is the hardest to buy for, or get creative with. This year our fight was over her because we still haven’t gotten her anything and I’m getting nervous we won’t find anything as time grows near. Meanwhile, he could give two shitlets about the whole thing, so when I bring it up he finally shuts me up with ‘She’s my stepmother; leave it alone and I’ll figure it out.’ So, this year I’m holding him to that. If we don’t get her anything I’ll remind him that she’s his stepmother after all and that he shoulda figured it out.
Passive aggressiveness at its finest. Merry fucking Christmas!
Gift certificate to her favorite restaurant and a nice card.
Give her some of your famous fruits and vegetables.
Bill in WV says
Give her a container of assorted cookies/treats and attach a note saying “These were MY MOTHER’S favorites”. That’s usually a big hit in these types of situations.
Fancy Pants Maguire says
We sometimes argue about who gets to wear the socks. Stuff like that.
Root 66 says
-Playing “Phase 10”–It’s a card game that gets progressively more difficult the more “Phases” you complete. By Phase 9, we’re usually ready for pistols at 10 paces!
-When the kids were smaller, where we went out to eat usually resulted in angry glares, stifled sobs and bitter grudges if we didn’t go where the best kid’s-meal toys were!
WB in OH says
Regarding Monopoly; If throwing the board were an olympic sport, my little brother would be a gold medalist. We use to secretly gang up on him just to see how long it would take for him to throw the board across the room. Ahh, good times.
I feel left out… Monopoly never produced any arguements. Roll dice, pay rent, collect rent, become a slum lord, take card, follow simple instructions. What the fuck is so arguementative about monopoly?
When I was growing up, it was a battle when my dad got the Griswald ball of tree lights out and tried to 1) untangle them, and 2) get them to all light because when one goes out, they all go out. He used to get so pissed off, we dreaded the tree even going up.
Nowadays, my boyfriend and I are remodeling the kitchen, livingroom and diningroom. Our main disagreement has been over painting. He doesn’t think it’s necessary and gets totally offended because I want to change the wall colors he slapped on TWELVE years ago. I want to spruce up the place with fresh paint, brighten things up. And since he smokes inside (another big arguement), I’d rather smell fresh paint than his stinkin ass cigarette smoke. He doesn’t think his smoking has affected the wall color. That yellow tinge didn’t come from Home Depot.
Oh…this paint and smoking thing has been an ongoing arguement since I moved in with him five years ago.
BC, I’m with you on the indoor smoking. I smoke, but I don’t smoke in the house. It’s exactly because it discolors and be-stanks the walls and everything else in proximity.
Lucie in Tampa says
AGREED. I quit smoking 2 years ago & I always smoked outside. I am about to move this next week & the people who lived there chain smoked in the house, first thing I have to do is go in & clean the walls & wash all the curtains & shampoo the carpets, I cannot stand the smell of stale (or fresh) cig smoke! I actually got violently sick at a concert 2 months ago cuz we went into the “smoker” area to see our friend, it was so intense I got completely sick & ran to the ladies room. yuck!
We can’t play pictionary. “That’s supposed to be corn? A goddamn tree?”
Anything involving a screwdriver or pliers being pulled out at my house is a sure fire kickstarter for some ugly comments along with a slammed door or two. I certainly don’t help matters with the “just give me the damn things” through clenched teeth, which I will freely admit to. But honestly, is there anything uglier than a tool impaired grown man? Oops, getting a little pissed there just thinking about it.
God. Not your fault that you get pissed off about too incompetency.
I’ve given up on being able to go to CVS with TW. She goes ballistic whenever I put a box of condoms in the shopping cart.
I use the word “safe”, which she apparently objects to just because I had a vasectomy 15 years ago. Go figure.
We’re so pathetic we actually argue about wether we’re having an argument or not.
My family always played Monopoly at get-togethers, and it never really produced any arguments. Instead, we seem to be some rancid combination of indecisive and passive-aggressive. So nothing was done.
There are only two types of arguments in my house between the wife and I.
Number One. She is too tough on the kid and I am too easy. Kid is a 19 year old college freshman. Yes, I am passive and she is too aggressive with the kid. I choose my battles carefully and make my point when necessary. She wants to beat the kid over the head with a golf club for minor infractions and threatens to ground her for a year. The correct answer is somewhere in between (but closer to my view than hers)
Number 2. She buys something that is too expensive that she does not need. Let’s use a $400 purse, for example (and we have maybe 1,000 other purses clogging up all of our closets already). If I mention it in the most gentle way, the immediately flies into a blind rage and begins calculating an exaggerated monthly cost of my cigarettes and beer. By her calculations, I smoke 8 packs per day and drink 34 cases per month, and she knows this is fact because the recycling can is full again.
At least cigarettes and beer get consumed, and don’t clog up the closets for years afterward. I don’t know about you, but my storage space is limited and I already have too much “stuff”.
Someone counting my beers will almost always cause an agruement!
I have to give my husband credit.. he never gives me serious grief about my purse and/or shoe thing. For the record, a lady can never have too many.. For the most, I stopped with the $500 purses a long time ago. We have 4 kids and, even though we’re in a position to do afford it, I always think that there are SO many more practical things I could be spending that on. Or I could buy 2 $250 purses instead! Don’t judge..
I believe it is impossible to tow a boat with a truck and try to park it without an argument and potential blood shed
Holy shit! If you have an award for being at your job for five years, I should get one for reading The WVSR for at least twice that long. I remember when you lost your old job like it was yesterday.
Thanks for the entertainment all these years, Jeff.
I was just thinking that! It was just yesterday Jeff got the new job – a day before that he was whipping his hands thorough his hair trying to find one.
And didn’t Bikerchick JUST move in with the guy? Wasn’t it yesterday we were talking about the move to Italy? Has it been that long since Jason caused us to start hollering “ASSRABBIT” at all the drivers around us?
Phil Jett says
Growing up it was playing Tudor electric football with my brother. Usually it was about whether that little felt football actually hit a receiver when thrown or if the bases of two players touched on a sideswipe.
Now it is always with the wife about packing the car for our yearly trip to the beach. We always spend the first 400 miles on the road not talking to each other.
Shit, Example Fight #3 just came to mind:
When we are getting ready to pack the van for a trip, I always announce to wife and kid well in advance:
“Pack all of your shit in suitcases or boxes and put them by the front door so I can load the van. We have approximately 50 suitcases and a large supply of boxes in the utility room. Remember, I cannot stack bags, so don’t be putting a bunch of shit in shopping bags.”
Of course, they pack like we are going on a 40 day voyage to China for a weekend trip because they are female and they might need 5 swim suits or down parkas in all eight available colors depending on the weather and their mood or if they are bloated or having a bad hair day or Cousin It is coming to dinner or someone has a pimple on their ass or …………..
At first, they pile suitcases and boxes by the front door as instructed, so I load the van with their stuff, and my “one” travel bag and “one” computer bag.
About three minutes after I complete loading the van, I will turn my back and 15 to 20 shopping bags filled with miscellaneous shit magically appears at the front door to be loaded.
Then, the fight begins.
Catch Phrase with a large group of family members usually turns into somebody getting really pissed off.
Sorry, guys. My computer is fixin’ to shit the bed, I think. All sorts of trouble today… I haven’t written one word. Hopefully tomorrow will be better.
I thought yesterdays disgrace was a mild success.
Supposedly Google has made it more difficult to find porn.
My search for “big fucking titties” worked just fine.
I read the same Info McNugget today: http://www.listbox.com/member/archive/247/2012/12/sort/time_rev/page/1/entry/0:32/20121212195444:ADE29F88-44BF-11E2-A0E3-97391B34FA70/
I’ve always been – what, baffled? by the thinking behind this sort of thing. Like how they can show murder on broadcast TV, but not titties. Maybe I’m just weird, but I like titties better than murder.
The Divine Miss E says
Shit, I’m late to this one.
In my family, there aren’t really many arguments, but planning anything requires a congressional hearing. Just deciding where to go to eat usually results in at least 20 minutes of discussion and mind-changing, to the point where I’m ready to yell “Fuck! I’ll just go home and make a sandwich!” And reason is not allowed in the decision making process. I was clearly born into the wrong family. because I don’t feel like our Christmas party needs to have a “theme”. You want to wear an ugly sweater, fine, but fuck off I’m wearing whatever I want.