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My computer is a whore.
I spent the last two hours trying to sweet talk my computer into not being a total and complete whore. Then, finally, out of the blue? It worked. I damn near fell out of my chair.
My brother has been returned home to his rightful place. Namely, bugging me without even realizing it. Ah, siblings. Though in this case it's simply whatever soap he uses stinks, and it's worse when I'm recovering from my cold and my sense of smell is either heightened to freakish proportions or numbed completely. And it seems the Cold Eez is working/worked, as my cold is either about to shift to that scratchy sore throat on the way out stage, or leave entirely. Not sure which, but it's moving much faster than I anticipated, so yay.
I no longer feel the need to punch someone in the face, but that might just be because Key Lime pie and sleep is a well known cure for violent mood swings.
I ponder if they'll be cleaning the floors tonight or anytime this week. By cleaning, I don't mean the usual sweep/mop/buff. I mean wax. They were going to last week, but our pharmacist is allergic to the wax, so they couldn't. It amused the hell out of me when I realized the store looked rather empty because they'd somehow forgotten her allergy and gone ahead and booked the guys to show up. They didn't when someone reminded them that we know of this allergy because the last time she was here the day after they'd come, she had to call an ambulance because she couldn't breathe. So having her there, all night, with the fumes as they went out? Yeah. Really frickin' stupid.
I'm now in that full on panic mode about gifts. It's not cool, man. Not cool at all. Which is stupid as my list is fairly small, especially compared to other years, and I actually have some semblance of an idea as to what to buy people. So, there's a delay in the gifts, but they'll appear. Sometime.
And now, a memory from Christmas past:
My brother and I have fought pretty much consistently since he stopped with the hero worship, sometime around the time he was five. Stupid school gave him stupid friends and, naturally, they were more interesting than moi. Go figure. Not really the point. Thing is, our fights would escalate around the holidays, but we'd get sneakier about it. Very simply, neither one of us wanted to get the short end of the gift stick, y'know?
And sometime in the last few days near Christmas, I'd realize it didn't matter all that much, I would probably get something nifty, something crappy, and my cousins would come over and stomp all over the awesomeness with something I wasn't even aware I wanted until I saw theirs.
So, on Christmas Eve, especially if I thought my brother had a snowball's chance in hell of getting what he wanted, I'd write an emergency note to Santa, leave it next to the milk and cookies or above the fireplace, and it would basically say that I hoped my little brother would get what he wanted most for Christmas because I loved him and wanted him to be happy.
Then I would run upstairs, dive into bed, and attempt to fall asleep, crossing my fingers really tight in the hopes that somehow that would make it come true. That when he woke up in the morning, whatever newest gadget or toy he had his heart set on would be wrapped up nice and pretty under the tree, and he'd be happy.
My brother has been returned home to his rightful place. Namely, bugging me without even realizing it. Ah, siblings. Though in this case it's simply whatever soap he uses stinks, and it's worse when I'm recovering from my cold and my sense of smell is either heightened to freakish proportions or numbed completely. And it seems the Cold Eez is working/worked, as my cold is either about to shift to that scratchy sore throat on the way out stage, or leave entirely. Not sure which, but it's moving much faster than I anticipated, so yay.
I no longer feel the need to punch someone in the face, but that might just be because Key Lime pie and sleep is a well known cure for violent mood swings.
I ponder if they'll be cleaning the floors tonight or anytime this week. By cleaning, I don't mean the usual sweep/mop/buff. I mean wax. They were going to last week, but our pharmacist is allergic to the wax, so they couldn't. It amused the hell out of me when I realized the store looked rather empty because they'd somehow forgotten her allergy and gone ahead and booked the guys to show up. They didn't when someone reminded them that we know of this allergy because the last time she was here the day after they'd come, she had to call an ambulance because she couldn't breathe. So having her there, all night, with the fumes as they went out? Yeah. Really frickin' stupid.
I'm now in that full on panic mode about gifts. It's not cool, man. Not cool at all. Which is stupid as my list is fairly small, especially compared to other years, and I actually have some semblance of an idea as to what to buy people. So, there's a delay in the gifts, but they'll appear. Sometime.
And now, a memory from Christmas past:
My brother and I have fought pretty much consistently since he stopped with the hero worship, sometime around the time he was five. Stupid school gave him stupid friends and, naturally, they were more interesting than moi. Go figure. Not really the point. Thing is, our fights would escalate around the holidays, but we'd get sneakier about it. Very simply, neither one of us wanted to get the short end of the gift stick, y'know?
And sometime in the last few days near Christmas, I'd realize it didn't matter all that much, I would probably get something nifty, something crappy, and my cousins would come over and stomp all over the awesomeness with something I wasn't even aware I wanted until I saw theirs.
So, on Christmas Eve, especially if I thought my brother had a snowball's chance in hell of getting what he wanted, I'd write an emergency note to Santa, leave it next to the milk and cookies or above the fireplace, and it would basically say that I hoped my little brother would get what he wanted most for Christmas because I loved him and wanted him to be happy.
Then I would run upstairs, dive into bed, and attempt to fall asleep, crossing my fingers really tight in the hopes that somehow that would make it come true. That when he woke up in the morning, whatever newest gadget or toy he had his heart set on would be wrapped up nice and pretty under the tree, and he'd be happy.
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