It's that time of year--damnit!!!

So it's Christmas in Ohio--yeah me. This will be my 2nd Christmases here in Ohio, and I've done a pretty good job of picking the best years to be gone (that 2004 week without power sucked royally, well it sucked for those who were here). This year has the added stress of the impending arrival or Darth Gudrun, my Sith German, mom. The weeks of planning have descended into a frantic week of buying gifts, cleaning house, and getting everything that would be needed to avoid this being a disappointment for her. Adding to the event is that this will be the first time Liz has met her. Oh, I'm also busy loading my dad's new PC for him (well my mom, as it will be her gift to him). He has never used a PC, so it will be a challenge.

Anyway, I've managed to flick numerous people off, curse many more, and stare down a few, and they all deserved far worse (I couldn't afford the missile launcher option on my Mazda), oh and I've found myself grabbing shopping carts, purely for there potential use as weapons if shopping gets outta hand. Speaking of which, I decided to put off buying the standing rib roast until today. Bad move. I've pretty much decided to get all my meat at a local Italian market/butcher shop, which is a relic to a bygone era, and their meats are amazing. I really can't go back to supermarket meat, and their prices make it hard to do so as well. Well, I get there right after they open at 10am, and their lot is full, neighboring office lots is full, and the roadway is littered with cars parked on the right of way--oh shit. I decide that I really don't have a choice, and suck it up and go in. I grab a number, a pink one labeled 98. Ok, so I check the board to see what the current # was, 19. Fuck. Now if you're gonna brave the madness just to get your number, you're likely gonna stick it out, and you're gonna buy a shitload of meat. Oh, and everyone there is an Italian housewife or a grandma. They all have carts, and they mean business. Knowing that I can't wait it out and hold on to my sanity, I decide to take my number and run.

I run home; I do laundry; I go to Weilands (another local market) to check out their meat and buy some booze for Darth; I got to Giant Eagle and spend 30 minutes and $30 there; then I returned. 84. Not too bad, but I still had to wait, elbow to elbow with a lot of blue hair in my grill. As I wait, I see they are giving out yellow numbers, not too surprising as the pink ones were almost done when I grabbed mine, but then I realized that most people had blue numbers. The new #s were over 100 back in line from what was being called--shit, it sucked to be them. Before long I ordered my meat, and braved the line to checkout, which too 45 minutes or so.

Well, back to cleaning. Merry Christmas to all.