Frog and Goat

2005 hasn’t really started off with a bang for me yet. I think I’m still trying to get over 2004. The better-half and I recently had a conversation about the feeling of “whew, thank god that year is over and done with” that we seem to always have at the end of December. We didn’t come to any conclusions about whether the years recently have just sucked or if we just feel all wrung out by the end of each year that we feel a little pessimistic.

Every New Year’s Eve we talk about what was good about the year and what was pretty bad. I think, unfortunately, the bad outweighed the good in 2004. Even while having the conversation I think we felt a little troubled about being able to come up with so much that was wrong. I guess that’s human nature.

To get the whining over with:
Work was a joke last year. I have an interview set up to discuss curriculum development for a large organization in the area so this year could reverse that joke.
Family dynamics didn’t really improve this year. There’s always this year to work on that.
My grandmother’s health has failed. She’s my last living grandparent and I’m sad.

At least the sun is finally out again and pizza is on the menu for lunch. Life has a way of looking up.

I purposely haven’t commented on the tsunami because what could I possibly say about it to adequately express the horror? The one thing I will say is that we should all do something to help those in need. Personally, we picked Americares.

We finally broke down and bought a Dyson vacuum. I say we finally broke down but the honest truth is that we just finally took the time to plunk down the money. The better-half was out buying Christmas presents and added the vacuum to his cart. We got the purple Animal model and it rocks.

I used it very quickly this morning since we have a showing scheduled today. After I finished running it the better-half asked me if I still liked it. I think I gushed for 5 minutes about how much I like the vacuum. In fact I related the story of how a little piece of junk on the floor behind his favorite chair tried to run and hide but the Dyson hunted that thing down and disposed of it. I like the thought that the dirt in our house now knows fear.

So you can understand my love of a vacuum, I should tell you that we also have a Hoover Windtunnel that blows chunks. The better-half has cursed that machine since practically the day we got it. I have always hated it but found myself defending it when the better-half would start trash talking it. Even when the vacuum ate part of our kitchen linoleum.

All of that changed a couple of months ago when I was vacuuming our bathroom and the Windtunnel decided to eat the bathroom rug. I go to great lengths to prevent that from happening–standing spread eagle to support two ends of the rug; hoisting the vacuum so it barely rolls on the rug, etc. That vacuum ate the rug and started making that horrible noise that vacuums make and then the smell of the rubber belt grinding on the carpet threw me into a fit. I turned off the vacuum and then beat it with its own attachment sticks. The vacuum was cowed and started thinking about pressing charges. I pressed it back into the hall closet vowing that we’d get a new vacuum sooner rather than later.

Now we have the Dyson and it rocks.

I’m going to the dentist in about a half hour. I’m always happy to go to the dentist because of that squeaky-clean feeling. I’m sure to get scolded for not flossing. Yeah, well, I should also eat better, lose weight and give up my fondness for curse words. Let me just add flossing to the staggering pile of things I should do better.

After the cleaning and scolding, I’m headed to the grocery store. Our household is running dangerously low on key items. Things like toliet paper, tissues, beer, cat litter and cheese. I’ve avoided the grocery store for over a week because I hate going into any store right before a major holiday.

We had dinner last night with our friend C. We went to a place in the booming town of Mechanicsville and as we were eating our salads I interrupted conversation to alert everyone to the fact that there was someone going around to all the tables making balloon shapes. I think I actually said “don’t be alarmed but there’s someone making balloon shapes”. I was a little freaked. The balloon maker wasn’t singling out children and one man was wearing a God-Knows-What balloon thingamabob on his head. Later, C. referred to the balloon maker as a him. The whole time I thought the balloon maker was a her. In case you are in town, Pat the Balloon Maker hangs out on Monday nights at Joe’s.