…that would be me. I’ve been remiss since moving over here as to posting on a regular basis. Not that I don’t have anything to rant about. Far from it. I just don’t seem to have the time for it and when I am at home I am usually writing about cocksuckers and child beaters over at the old site. Alas, the pickings have been slim even over there the last few days. I think I’ve posted four times since Thursday and even those were just pathetic attempts to make sure I managed to get something online because I felt guilty. It’s a bitch when real life gets in the way, eh?
So what exactly have I been doing with myself all weekend?
December is always a tough month for me. Longer days at work preparing for the ‘Superbowl’ of days at work for one thing. Back before I made the excellent choice to go into the foodservice business I would wonder at the occasional business that was open on Christmas Day. Of course that was in the mid-eighties and you could barely find a place to fill up your car on Christmas then. Now it’s a little different and Christmas is big business for more places but there are still enough folks with the brains to close on Christmas Day that it is overwhelming for the ones that are open and invariable we never seem to have enough help or time to get all the fucking chuckleheads in and out the door. Christmas Day starts at 5am for me. As a store manager I would usually only end up working 10-12 hours because I was one of the smart ones that actually staffed their restaurant with plenty of good folks. Unfortunately my three managers (and all of the other ones I worked with last year) don’t seem to be able to do that. Last year I worked 19 hours on Christmas Day and this year doesn’t look like it will be any easier. At least I will be at the one closest to my house. Not as far to drive after midnight when I get off work. That extra fifteen minutes of sleep will help me out when I have to get up at 5am on the 26th to feed all of the sumbitches that get up to return their fucking gifts the day after Christmas, the ungrateful bitches.
I also tend to have twice as many (or more!) meetings and shit to attend in December as well. We do something for the children of our employees on the 11th, so we also had to spend this past Thursday night wrapping the fucking gifts. That is exactly how I envisaged spending the evening of my 42nd birthday. Wrapping fucking Christmas gifts for someone else’s little trailer trash for four fucking hours. Actually I had a pretty good time and for a good reason. Probably the only thing related to work I will truly enjoy this month. We also have our weekly Thursday meetings. We also have a preparatory holiday meeting to last for four hours on the evening of the 18th. The mandatory Christmas party for the managers on the 15th. Oh yeah, I still have to cook at least 35 hours a week in addition to running my three stores and making sure my managers don’t fuck anything up while I try to get 70% out of them.
Needless to say, December is not my favorite month. It’s not always been that way though. As I mentioned, my birthday was last week. My youngest curtain climber has hers the day after. She turned 6 this past week. Six years old. The last of our toddlers. While some things are best left behind it’s with a slight tear that I realize that I will never have the chance to clean up shit spewed all over the bathroom wall during potty training, or hold another one in my lap to console them while they power puke all over my shoulder. Twenty years of punishing nastiness makes one miss a thing when it’s finally gone.
So that’s the reason I haven’t been online much the last week. Not to mention the 3-D castle puzzle I spent the weekend working on with my 11-year-old. You know, the one I got her last year that’s been gathering dust on the top of the bookshelf. Not that I don’t enjoy doing it with her but like my son she seems to wait until twenty minutes before bedtime to remind me we need to work on it. A bit fucking late. She’s catching on though and got me early the other day so we pulled it down and now the dining table is covered with semi-complete walls and moats and 680 loose puzzle pieces. It’s going well. I’ll have to make sure to post a picture of it here when I’m finished.
…back to the six-year-old. She’s asked me several times over the last couple of months for a camera. Her elder sister received one for her birthday and she has wanted one since. I managed to find a V-tech camera for her. Tough little bastard that isn’t going to break when it’s dropped, has a bit of rubber in it’s casing, two places for little hands to hold it, two eye-pieces too look through, yet manages to do a semi-decent job at taking pictures. Even has a place for an SD card, non-removable without a screw-driver of course, which is a good thing. The last four days have been filled with “I took a picture of your sock, hehe” and cute shit like that. The great thing about digital is that it’s easy to get rid of crap.
Well, it’s about a quarter of six now and I have to pour the wife a cup of java and get my ass in the shower. Until the next time lovely people, and just remember, you really don’t want to fucking eat out on Christmas Day. Slaughter yourself a pig or turkey and gorge yourself on that shit. Make your fucking wife cook all three meals and for god’s sake DON’T FUCKING COME VISIT ME ON CHRISTMAS!

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