Psychicgeek » Santa

Eight things

witchypoo — Wed, 26 Dec 2007 13:41:29 +0000

I have been tagged by Kim. This is what the weekend is for.

The Rules Of The Meme:

Each player makes a list of eight random facts/habits about themselves.
At the end of your list, choose eight people to to tag and list their names.
Leave them a comment on each of their websites to let them know that they have been tagged.
The people tagged will write a post on their own website about their eight things, post these rules, and tag eight others.
etc etc blah blah blah…

1. I hate shopping. Really, I don’t go out much at all, except to visit with friends.

2. I used to be a clean freak, but I’m feeling much better now.

3. I graduated with honours from a database program. Nobody wants a geezer on their IT team it seems.

4. I have the conviction about these things about me that nobody really wants to know them, or cares to read them. My friends are much more interesting than I am.

5. I have sworn that I will not attend another funeral. My mother’s funeral was so traumatic that I will have none of it, ever again. I have told my Grammie this, and she is okay with it, because I come to see her every chance I get.

6. I wish I had a secret Santa to buy me a kickarse digital camera. And I’m totally sick of filling my own darned stocking.

7. You can always tell the days I don’t feel like cooking supper. Those are the days I reward myself for shopping in the first place and bring home a frozen pizza. The pizza I make at home is killer.

8. I can’t wait until the snow is right to make a big, fat snowperson. I will dress it up with scarves and hats, and hope that the kiddies in the neighbourhood will play with me.

I’m not tagging anybody, because I don’t want anyone to feel obligated. But you can feel free to do this if you would like to.
Shameless self-promotion: Show me some freaking love. Go on, vote. You know you wanna. You have to register first, but you will make me very happy. Check your junk mail folder for the registration confirmation. Oh, and if it says voting is closed? It is for 2007, but this award is for 2008.

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Eight things

Lies Their Mother Told Them

witchypoo — Fri, 07 Dec 2007 06:59:16 +0000

Edit: I have some housekeeping to do on the site, and since it’s a live site, if things look wonky this weekend, check later. I have to make the house and the site pretty for Christmas, so posting, not so much this weekend. You may now return to your regularly scheduled programming.

I wanted to be very careful about the whole Santa Claus thing with my kids, because I just knew that later? Every lie I ever told would be fodder for their therapy, or worse, their blog.

In that vein, Santa was not a huge deal around my house. All the best prezzies didn’t come from Santa. The stockings did. That way, in a lean year (think: fluctuating finances) they wouldn’t be wondering why they weren’t good enough to get that mongo expensive toy they wanted. Bonus! In a good year, Mom got all the credit for the cool gifts.

Ass Burger Boy confessed recently that he pretended to believe in Santa for a lot longer than he really did. He figured he would get more presents if Santa was still coming to the prezzie party.

Am I the only one who sees the insanity of plunking your sweet baby into the lap of a largely unemployed department store Santa? I mean, just about every little kid howls and screams to get out of there. They know things. They know they don’t trust this smelly man with the bad breath. They certainly don’t want to sit on his lap and risk him getting a woody. I think about these things, and see absolutely no reason to subject a child to the trauma.

When ABB asked to see Santa at a local mall, I told him straight out:”Ass Burger Boy, that isn’t the real Santa. That is somebody the mall hired to dress up like Santa so all the kids would bring their parents to the mall to shop.” ABB totally got it. And I didn’t have to worry that a pervert would get a woody when my darling child sat on his lap.

I ask you now to reconsider when you push your child to sit on a stranger’s knee in order for you to get that photo op. If the child doesn’t want to do it, trust that your child is using his or her innate intuition. Besides, haven’t you been warning them against strangers?

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Lies Their Mother Told Them

You know you’re old when

witchypoo — Sun, 18 Nov 2007 19:27:46 +0000

You tell a child that you were warned Santa leaves coal in the stocking of children who misbehave. Child says: “What’s coal?”
You remember the joy of getting your first television in the house. All the neighbourhood kids are your new best friends. Your father allows them to watch if they do not make a sound.
You remember what you were doing when JFK was killed. Typing class. Grade nine.
You realize that your best friend has been that for over forty years.
You remember some sad things, like how racial slurs were slung around freely and nobody said “That is so wrong.”
You remember what your city was like before it was on drugs. Shootings were only at deer in the woods. Murders were very rare.
The hot hairstyles you wore in the sixties and seventies? You’re wearing them again. Not the miniskirts though. That would be sad.
What happened in the home, stayed in the home. Don’t miss that one.
Most of the people you went to highschool with are either bald, fat, or both.
The ultimate in processed foods was Cheez Whiz. Produce and meat came from actual farms and not agribusinesses. You didn’t have to pay extra for organic. The chickens just scratched in the dirt and ate what they found. The yummy chickens.
You remember cigarette ads on tv with real doctors. There were ashtrays in the doctor’s waiting room.
You don’t remember your real hair colour.
You try to replace those things in the kitchen that make the stove work, and struggle to remember the word “fuse”
Finally, you know you’re old when you have to lift your boobs in order to wash your knees.

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You know you’re old when