Mostly I Stand Around Being Delightful...

  As I was standing around being delightful the other day, I realized that unless I really think about it (which I am not going to do), I don't really know how long it's been since I've had to work for a living. A year? Two? Ten? It doesn't matter, because I don't miss it. I especially don't miss having to sit in that one office...the one that no matter what type of candle I lit, or what I sprayed, or what kind of incense I brought, always smelled like <insert good smell here> and the whiskey shits. I still hate those hazelnut smelling candles from WalMart because they actually smell like maple syrup and therefore remind me of pancakes, which does not mix with the other smells in that office, but I digress...it happens.

  Not having to go to a place every day is pretty nice, whether you like said place or not. I can now do all the things I have always wanted to do. I can have a hella clean house. I can have all the stuff in my cabinets so organized that it's kind of weird. I have time to perfect the art of homemade laundry soap. I can take the dog to the river every day (I don't, but I can). The other day I finally scraped the butterflies off our Pepto-pink bedroom walls and finished painting them a nice shade of $7 "oops" paint. The Fam mostly has a healthy dinner every night. I am experimenting with crafty things (they may not turn out the way I planned, but hey, a free story!). I am on my way to becoming one of those "coupon people." Best of all, I actually like the people I follow around and clean up after now!!! Sometimes it frustrates the holy horse feathers out of me, but hey! 'Least I'm not smelling pooh all day, or having to listen to...never mind...

  Life is good...great, even. It hasn't always been though, especially the past few years. For those of you that don't know me, I had a bout of some pretty serious bad luck peppered with some really really dumb bullshit. The short version is this: I found out I had to have a hysterectomy and gave notice for the time off at my job...a month and a half, to be exact. As the time for the surgery got closer, my boss started seeming to want me to cancel my surgery. Why did I jump to this crazy conclusion? I think it was, "You're really putting us in a tight spot with this thing, <other boss> is going to have to cover for you and wont be able to do what he wants to do..." Me and my darn malfunctioning mute button said something to the effect that he could eat my shorts because I was getting my guts removed and went down to the office. It never was really the same after that day, because a couple of weeks after that I got a call dismissing me...when I was all healed, I could call them and they'd see what they could do about giving me some hours. Gee, thanks. Whatev.

  So I lost my 45 hour a week job, got the surgery, and came home a day earlier than I should have (cuz I'm badass like that...OK, it was the idea of the hospital bill but I was fine, the Percoset told me so). 5 days after the surgery, no, not 5 days after I got home, 5 days after the damned surgery my boyfriend (who did not live with me) came into my bedroom with a worried look and a piece of paper. The landlord was too much of a wimp to give me and my incisions the notice stating my lease wouldn't be renewed, so he had BF do it. No matter that I had just asked about that exact same thing a month prior and he said all was fine...what a douche, but whatev. We moved in the nick of time, I didn't lose my marbles, just quite a few of them, and we started recovering as a family. That lasted a year, then we moved here. There was some really stupid move out bullshit, I got accused of a bunch of dumb stuff, but we compromised and it's over.

  Which brings us back to here, now, which pretty much rules. And I deserve it, so there. And I like to bombard people with the opinions I have had so much time to aquire...and William Shattner rules and is on my TV right now...no wonder I am so freaking delightful!!!