Rambling Reflection

I'm coming up on a New Year, and this is always the time I start really reflecting on what's happened the past year. I don't know that it's been all that exciting, save for one thing. But I won't talk about that. What I do want to talk about is what I hope for the new year. That's right, you bastards, this is not going to be funny or entertaining! It's going to be sappy and cryptic! Deal with it! Now join hands in a circle of love...

I hope that I do fewer things that compel me to go to confession (even though I do have a little crush on Father Liam). Shit, is that lust?! Damn! I'll get my keys...

I hope that I am a better friend to those of you that I've kind of neglected this year. You know who you are, and I'm sorry. I do love you. Now please stop laying a guilt trip on me every time we talk. It's not fair. I do have some semblance of a life of my own, you know. Bitches! (Sorry, just kidding...)

I hope that I can quell the restlessness that really grips me about every 2-3 years. I came "home" to stay, I thought. But home isn't as sweet as it used to be. (Hor, I'm coming to the Ghetto next! Maybe it's "sweet"?)

I hope that I'm not kidding myself about being restless, and that it's more about me being less happy than I think I am. That would totally suck.

I hope that I've met the last of those people who would manipulate and abuse me. I've worked in earnest to purge those people from my life the past few years. I need the peace. (Dyckerson, I said PEACE not PIECE!)

I hope peace finds those of you who desperately need it. (You know who you are!) I've heard everything you've said, and I care. Stop looking for the worst that is happening in your life this next year.

I hope that my tendency to take good care of others extends towards myself more in the new year. I just feel at my best when I'm taking care of someone else.

I hope that my grandfather truly knows how much I love him, even though my weekly visits have been haphazard lately, at best. It scares me how old he looks every time I see him.

I hope I can find the job that is right for me. I want the freedom to do what I know is right every day without always having to ask for permission. And I want a bigger office. And better pay. And more people to boss around. I'm not afraid to admit it.

I hope that I never see another Red Bull and Vodka. (Okay, maybe I don't REALLY hope that, but they are the devil, people!)

I hope I can finally make a decision on something that has been on my mind constantly. It just scares the living shit out of me.

Happy New Year! If you make resolutions, I hope you can stick to them. If you don't, I hope you know that other people don't think as much of you as you do of yourself. Everyone should have some kind of improvement plan for a new year! XOXO

PS-I also hope I don't have any injuries this next year. My torrid (albeit brief) affair with the physical therapist aside, I really thought it sucked to be on crutches and in a finger splint.

Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

Sassy is not happy, you fat bastard! It's been quite a while since you brought me anything worth a shit! I've given up this "being good" business all year long in hopes that your ginormous ass might bring me something I actually asked for at Christmas. And while we're on that topic, who the hell died and made you the final decision on what is deemed naughty and what is deemed nice? That mean ass little shit Jimmy Turner tortured me in kindergarten, and he still got the fucking motherlode that Christmas while I got a black eye and scabby knees, courtesy of that "nice" little shitbag. Screw you and the sleigh you rode up on, you pathetic excuse for an elf!

And I'm putting you on notice: If you try to stuff your bloated, stocking-clad self down my chimney this year, be prepared for a crotch fire! And I really don't appreciate the reindeer shit you tracked in on your stripper boots last year, so if you are stupid enough to try the chimney even after my above warning, wipe those things off, or I'll shove them down your damn throat! Yeah, you heard me, you jolly, junk-tucking piece of shit! Stop trying to act like your "marriage" is for real. So, you know what it is I want for Christmas, and unless I see it on December 25th tied up with a nice red bow, just keep walking, mister! And stay out of my nog too! And don't try to sneak in here while I'm at my sister's either, like you did last year. Your stench lingered long after you had gone, and I noticed I was missing some panties. Remember: I'M watching YOU.

Love,

Sassy Blondie

Proud member of the NRA since 1996

*Just want to wish all of you non-Jews and believers a Merry Christmas! I hope you get what you want in your stocking and don't end up in the emergency room. Also, don't drink too much and throw up on your Aunt Gertrude's Christmas sweater...even though it would truly be a vast improvement to it. XOXO

Team Up! Whatever..

Big happenings today in Mayberry. My boss is leaving to take over another school and Big C got the interim job as Head Bitch. Now while I am sad to see my boss leave, I'm ecstatic at the things Big C and I can do now! She'll be fabulous! Onward and upward, right?

NOW. The title explanation: As I mentioned in some earlier writings, Mayberry got a new Sheriff this year, and he's really rocked the boat since his takeover. Heads have rolled and shit lists have been made. One thing the Sheriff has pushed this year is the idea of the "Administrative Team". His motto has been, "Team Up!" No more secrecy, no more warring factions, just one big happy team holding hands and singing Kumbaya. So today, 5 minutes before the big staff meeting to tell everyone of all the changes, I get the information. Yes, I fucking said 5 goddamn minutes (Yes, I'll be seeing Father Liam again this week!). Never mind that this decision had been made final at 8am this morning. Never mind that those fuckers had ALL DAY to let me in on this shit. My boss tells me at bus duty, "Sassy, I wanted to tell you before the meeting so that you wouldn't be surprised, but I'm going to the other school. I'm sorry that I couldn't' tell you before, but I was told I couldn't tell anyone. " Excuse me? I'm part of the motherfucking administrative team, aren't I? And if that wasn't bad enough, when giving his farewell speech to the staff, called me by someone else's name. The lady who was there before me. The lady whose fucking shadow I've been struggling to get out of for the past 2 fucking years because she was the goddamn Super Assistant! Everyone in the room jerked their heads at me when he did this, and he didn't even realize he'd done it. Huh? I know it was an emotional time for him, but it made me feel completely shitty, and I fucking despise the pity looks the staff gave me. Then when Big C spoke, she did say something really nice about me. (Thanks, Big C! I can't wait for us to get started after the holidays.) Later, she came to my office to tell me how horrible she felt that she wasn't allowed to tell me. Then she told me how hard it was to hear him call me by the other name yet again. I really appreciated that.

So it's yet another shakedown in Mayberry. I'm sad to see the boss move on, but I'm excited about the work I can do in what I hope is the last 6 months I am there. We have a great staff, and I know things can only get better. At least I know Big C won't hide out in her office.

Still, somebody find me another job. Mayberry needs to be my past in the very near future.

And a big middle finger to the Sheriff! Team up, eh? Whatever, you asswipe!

*I'm okay, I just hate hypocrisy.

Evidently, the Post Office Always Delivers Something

So I'm at the post office today after being sent home from work all sickly. I thought I might just be able to time it right so that I didn't have to wait in line. I mean, people still work at 1:00 in the afternoon, don't they? Apparently not. That bitch ass line was out the door! And it's colder than a witch's tit out today too! So I'm waiting in line with my package trying to fill out everything so that people don't get all shitty from the line when I make it up to a postal person, and the old guy with a cane behind me starts talking to me.

OGwC: What ya got there, sweetheart? Sending out some Christmas gifts?

Me: Well, I guess it's sorta like a Christmas gift, but it's cookies.

OGwC: Oh how delightful! Nothing says, "I love you" like homemade stuff.

Me: Umm...I wouldn't say that these are the "I love you" type of cookies! Ha ha

OGwC: Well darlin', you just remember that they can! Pretty girl like you should have a lover.

Me: Uh huh...well, thank you!

OGwC: You are a sweet girl! (Pats my arm and smiles warmly)

Me: Why thank you. (Smile warmly back at him)

Then I let the old guy in front of me because I was still trying to address my package. Then I drop my car keys. As I reach to pick them up, my head collides with a Good Samaritan who was also trying to pick them up for me. After the initial, "Doh!", I see that this is a tall kid of about 21 or so. Here's the conversation:

Me: Thank you so much! I'm so sorry that I knocked you in the head! Ha ha

Him: No problem! Ha ha It was my fault. My mother always said to help out a lady in need.

Me: You're mom is a smart lady. But really, thank you.

Him: You sure got your hands full there. Do you need some more help? (Winks at me)

Me: I'm fine, thank you again.

Him: You sure have pretty eyes. (He was more or less ogling my cleavage, however)

Me: Thank you. I had nothing to do with them. All my father's doing.(I turned back around)

Him: (Taps me on the shoulder) Are they real?

Me: No, they're glass. I'm blind.

Him: Ha ha! That's funny! I meant are they the real color?

Me: Yes.

Him: They sure are light.

Me: Uh huh. (still keep turning around after answering him)

Him: Does your boyfriend like them too? Do you have a boyfriend?

Me: Listen, Romeo. I'm at the post office so that I can get some things sent off. I'm not here trolling for some ass. I'm not sure where this conversation is going, but I do know it will not be having me as a passenger. Thank you again for helping me with my keys, but you're too young for me, and I'm out of patience.

Him: Uh...well...sorry. "Bitch...must be a lesbian" (under his breath)

Okay people, what the hell was that? The old guy, he was pleasant, and I'm normally okay being up for a chat. However, I don't need Grandpa Jones to tell me to find a lover. I have grandparents to remind me that I'm single again. Secondly, what was Junior thinking? Is the post office the new singles hot spot? What a freak! And to think that, in the beginning, I was thinking how nice it was that someone his age was a gentleman! I will never understand why not being interested makes one a lesbian. Surely you boys grow out of that?

Again with the little boys and old men!

Hey Junior, a little piece of advice: Don't be talking about a girl's eyes while speaking to her chest. Newsflash: They don't talk! Also, don't be running your game at the post office. I'm sure there are much more interesting places in which to proposition the ladies.

Do I just have a sign on my forehead? It's not like I'm super hot or anything. Jesus! Although I've had quite a run this past month or so, men don't regularly hit on me. At least, I don't think they do...not in any serious manner anways. Whatever...

*Yes, I know I shouldn't have gone to the post office if I was running a temperature, but I had shit to mail! And I never get off work soon enough to actually get to the post office, bitches!

**And I know I was rude, but I'm sick and tired. Give me a break!

Taking His Balls For A Ride

Really, gentlemen, what the hell is this:

I'm not sure if this phenomenon is catching on everywhere else, but this douchebag had a fake silver set of balls hanging off the rear of his truck. How did I notice this? Well, first of all, he was driving like 12 mph...just to annoy me, I think. Otherwise, ole Blondie here could not have had the time to search out her Crackberry and snap this little photo. What you can't tell from the crappy cell picture is that they are shiny and silver. Was this a Christmas statement? Silver Balls? Ha. Ha. You dumbass loser. Worse yet, when I passed his stupid ass, he had a pair of what looked like foam titties hanging from the mirror. I think I even threw up a little in my mouth. Classy.

Really, what the fuck? Is this supposed to make other men feel inadequate and the ladies swoon? What part of such an action would make sense? Has there been a staggering increase in douchebaggery in the last few years, or am I just getting old (Don't you DARE answer that, Dyckie!)? Am I supposed to see this tasteful display and drop my panties, panting with desire? What it really makes me want to do is take them and shove them down his shitbag throat! Better yet, grab my pistol and put the poor wanker out of his misery.

Gentlemen, a word of advice: if you have to advertise you have a pair on the backside of your truck, that's pretty much an indicator to us gals, and the gay parade as well, I'm sure, that you are afflicted with one or all of the following:

1. You evidently have no balls, so you bought some cheap ones at the Gas & Sip.

2. Your balls are indeed small and inadequate (along with your penis).

3. You are proud of your 5th grade edumacation.

4. You think you are incredibly cool and all the ladies love you...but you are still living with your mother and working the drive-thru.

5. You dropped your dick in the dirt, and now no chick wants your rotten, herp-afflicted ass. Therefore, you have to act like you are Jimmy Big Balls to save face.

Seriously. Just stop. You're embarrassing yourself. And stop popping your fucking collar while you're at it. Jesus....

*Where the hell would you get something like that? I shudder to think of the Google search phrase. Hor, I hope this isn't a hillbilly thing. If so, you should check the vehicles of all your male kin. ;)

A Dilemma: Short, Sweet, and To the Point

Well, it's just 29 more days until the New Year's Eve mess. Yes, I said mess. This is another time of the year where I have struggled the past couple of years. About this time, invitations and questions of what my plans are start to trickle in. What to do? Where to go? Take someone with me? There are so many decisions that go into navigating New Year's Eve. Do I accept and invitation to a party at a friend's house (did I mention married friend with ONLY married friends besides me and her husband's 65-yr old uncle Bert that will attend?). Do I risk my life and take the celebration to the street with other single party-goers and risk groping, drunk bitches spilling drinks on me, and certain death on the highways on the way home? Or do I sit through Dick Clark and that stupid little dick Ryan Seacrest here at homestead?

Decisions, decisions. I need some help, people. This is only the second occurrence of New Year's after the fiance's death (going on 3rd actual year). Last year I simply couldn't bring myself to do much of anything, and sadly went to bed prior to midnight. This year, however, I'm not feeling the same way. It's just been a long time since I have had anything other than standing plans for this event.

Got any suggestions? I'm listening...

*I know Christmas is next, but that's a family time. I'm a planner, and as such I need to get my plans in order well in advance.
**I would take this question to Father Liam, but I think we all know what he'd say.