Beattie Returns with Smelly Feet in all her Glory!

smelly feet
Originally uploaded by joy and pain.

I'm back, everyone's happy, and I brought smelly feet with me apparently. I am sick. I am hoping that is the only reason why I couldn't smell my offending feet during the evening, and not that I am so used to my odor that I can't tell that I stink.
I wore the same pair of wool socks all week in Wisconsin. They are my lucky socks. You NEVER take off lucky socks. Hence, my feet smell. I am going to continue wearing my lucky socks until I land my dream job, get laid, or win the lottery, whatever happens first. And since I am a Beattie, the chances of any of that stuff happening are pretty slim, so get used to my magnificent socks and the smell that goes with them.
I had a blast in cow country, I am glad I am back. I brought diseases (I'm sick!) and smells with me for all of you to enjoy.

Family Reunions Under Way in Beer Town

Had a safe landing. It's a safe -1.2 degrees tonight and there is snow all over the place. Fun, fun, fun. My parents are playing Christmas music nonstop, and I nearly froze to death my first night at home, since my mom loves sleeping with the house at 60 degrees.
I am having fun so far and love hanging out with the pups. Jake has been following me around the house and slept on my feet last night, so I was warm.

I got all my Christmas shopping done on my first day in town! It only took about 3 hours and I am so psyched. Wrapping took a helluva lot longer time however and I got a paper cut on my lip. I went out with my father the other night* and we had to grab him "wind pants" that Grandma is technically giving him for our annual Beattie Secret Santa. Some secret. I can picture my grandma all crabby on the phone, "Keith! I am your secret Santa. I don't know WHAT you want, so...go buy it yourself, wrap it, act surprised and I'll write you a check when I'm at your house for Christmas." I wish she did that with me when I was 12 and cried in front of the whole family cause she bought me (literally) grandma panties. She made me show everyone. It was aweful. And then she'll get tanked off of one glass of boxed wine and will act all unsurprised when he opens the package and will then mess up her elaborate plan by writing a check in front of everyone.

And that will follow up with her asking if I have a boyfriend. And what I'm doing with my life. And why in the hell am I still in DC if I am not with my old boyfriend. It will be fun. Maybe I'll come up with an elaborate lie. My mom thinks that I should join as many dating services as possible. I told her actually going out with guys I meet online, isn't really my style. I would be fine with scoping out possibilities, but can't see myself "going all the way," if you will. She was not happy with my bad attitude and thinks Mr. Right is a few clicks away. Won't she be happy when I announce I am hooking up with a 45 year old divorcee that I met on Match.com that seems very happy with me. Oh, and by the way he has a couple of kids from two failed marriages. It's a possibility that can't be too far off the tracks.

*And speaking of "Beattie-ing" a situation...when my father was going to try on his track pants the fitting room door chimed really loud and no one was there to let him in. He panicked and yelled across the department, "JOY! I can't get in!" Me, "Um...dad, is the door locked?" Dad, "No, but look!" And he is swinging his arms with all the clothes and the chimes go off. He looks all panicked like an alarm sounded. Me, "Oh. Dad...that's just to let employees know that someone went in the changing room...is the door locked? No? Ok, then don't worry, everything is fine."Ah, in 25 years that was my first shopping experience that I was with my father when he had to try on clothes. While it's surprising...I wonder if he ever had that problem before.

For those of you who don't know, my father has a little problem with OCD. And when I say a little problem...I mean we can't leave the house once. We have to go back and make sure that the garage door is locked and that the house door is locked...and we have to open the garage door to get to the house door. Do you see the problem in this? So after all of that we have to double check that the garage door is locked again...and while we're at it, let's take another peak at the house door. Again. And again. If the stove is used, same problem. My dad drinks coffee, so he has to check that too. None of the appliances stay plugged into the wall. We may have an electrical short and a fire. When we go somewhere the doors in the car have to be checked. Some of the stuff in the car could get stolen. Keep tabs on your wallet! So when we went to the mall and parked in the last column of the lot (my idea) and walked in to the mall and started to thaw out my dad panicked that the doors weren't all locked. I lied and told him I looked and that everything was fine. He got all nervous and shifted back and forth and wondered aloud if we should go check. I must have given him one of my mom's looks of death because he immediately said...um, are you SURE you looked? Well...ok, we'll leave it. And then the whole shopping trip I got nervous and OCDish, "Fuck...if someone broke in, this will be MY fault cause I swore everything was fine." (No one stole the orange winter hat and Christmas coffee mug presents in the backseat, which was locked - so I win.)
Ah it's good to be home. A little bit quirky, but now you all know where I get it.

Chip Clone Found while Master is Hounded by Wrench Weilding Christians

chipwannabe
Originally uploaded by joy and pain.

I stole this pic from someone. But it's a good shot of what could be my dog's clone. And it made me happy so I am sharing the wealth.

I hate mechanics. I hope that bit of Joy trivia doesn't create bad karma for me, but all I wanted today was a stupid oil change...In my quest for the perfect oil change I went to Craven...they seemed to offer a bunch of services pretty cheap...so I went. Turns out they are a Christian organization that is trying to take me for all I'm worth. I have nothing against Christians. Most of you all know I was raised to be a devout one...but shit happens and I am pretty much devoit of sainthood at this point.
Their mission statement is to please God with a great quality of workmanship (according to the plaque on the wall)...that probably should have been a warning flag. I amuzed myself with the stack of pamphlets and Spanish/English version of the Bible piled up in the waiting room. Did you all know there is a Christian directory (Christian Yellow Pages) for Virginia? Wow. After waiting about TWO hours for my oil change package I find out I have 2 tires with nails in them and they are more than happy to install a new set for $469. All I wanted was a $20 oil change. Fuck. So I end up paying for half a set now so my tires won't blow when I'm driving around doing my heathenesque errands and will buy the second half after Christmas...The whole experience sucked over 3 hours from my life in which time they find more problems, including some holes in one of my lines...? My power and brake fluids need to be flushed, my radiator may have a leak...etc. etc. Total estimate, $1600. Is God working in mysterious ways through Craven? Do some of their earnings go to missionaries somewhere??? Is someone saving up on commission for a nice Godly Christmas? Did some devoted Born-Agains pound those nails into my tires themselves???
I am not amused. And I am not newly converted. Christian mechanic sweat shops aren't on my hot list of "places I want to spend my day off at" anymore.

Beattie Destined to Join Clan in Seven Days.

Flying High for Christmas
Originally uploaded by joy and pain.

One more week and I am audi. I am flying high towards snow and sleet and cows and more. I can't wait to see my family, and dogs, and well snow. One whole week of debauchery with my brothers and sister...Apparently my dad is willing to go off the wagon with me. He's nippin the whiskey...looks like it's fate. We will have a merry Christmas and hopefully I won't fall in the street drinkin with my dad. Maybe I'll win it big playing poker with the guys again and make out with 12 bucks.
I'll get to sleep on a twin daybed and get twisted up in the head/side boards...and fight for the only shower...and get locked out since I don't have a house key and haven't lived at home for 7 years...I'll have to try to sneak in after going out, and try to get past my parents...and beg for the car. HEY! My parents just got a Cadillac....Sweet. We'll probably get snowed in...I'll have to shovel. We'll get to use the fireplace...and...and...WOOHOO, can't wait to go home.
Not much else going on.

Stigmata Approaches Burrito Handler on a Regular Basis Despite Protests

I'm tired. And my knees hurt. I am seriously more than considering a trip to the friendly doc to see what is officially medically wrong with me. For those of you who don't know, I am a clutz. And when I say clutz, I mean as a kid I seriously tripped on the seatbelt on the way out of the car and fell into the street on a regular basis when trying to walk on the curb. I have had a lapse where I was normal, but the last couple years have proven that fate is catching up to me. I now trip while walking up stairs and bang my knees on everything under the sun...including pavement, but that's normally only after drinking. However...I have had those damn bloody knees for over a week now, and it's like I woke up bleeding on the pavement yesterday.

When going to go get a photo ID for work, (I was all dressed up and trying to look respectable...think picture day at school) I clipped my knee with the corner of my door at just started pouring out blood...and it fucking hurt (Not trying to be gross...I am not really a wuss when it comes to pain, but I looked like an asshole), and the place closed in 40 minutes and it was raining so I had to go get the picture over with. Well...pain aside, as I was sitting in the waiting room I noticed people were giving me weird looks and as I looked down, I saw my leg was pretty much covered in blood. Fun. Not even a good story to come out of that one. So, I am wearing knee pads. Literally. I have gauze taped to my leg so that when my body considers revolting again, at least the disruption won't go through my jeans. It's like my knees are on the rag. Not fun. So, this long and pretty gross story aside, I am going to the doctor. I need to fix my retardedness and see what's wrong with me. If I am dying, I'll let you all know.

In the mean time. This weird random dude came in today and asked for a pizza. I actually laughed at him at the wrong moment. His defense was that we used to be pizza hut. I looked at him and emphasized, "USED to be...dude, we sell BURRITOS." Our place is flashy beyond belief. You can probably see the colors glaring at you from 5 miles away in fog, and the name of the place is everywhere...it's a wee bit obvious that Pizza Hut is dead and gone. I guess he really wanted a pizza.

Bloody Christmas at the Crack of Dawn

Bloody Christmas
Originally uploaded by joy and pain.

You know your insomnia is bad when the paperboy is dropping off his load and you are wasting away on Microsoft Paint...

Beattie Can't Sleep and is Living in her Own Christmas Wonderland

I can't sleep. It's quarter after 5...in the morning. I'm kinda tired, but it's just not happening. I worked all day and got home to a house complete with a water-drained Christmas tree, devoid of all ornaments and lights. While watching like 4 hours of tivo I decided it's a dandy time to ornament the tree...which is a huge step for someone that procrastinates in every situation under the sun and hates decorating the family tree...this may be one reason why I schedule coming home for Christmas the day before so I don't have to do any decorating...
So...I untangled about 8 strands of lights (which all worked, an odd factor considering they were buried under hockey equipment and basic crap in our basement/garage) while watching Days of our Lives. I don't and I mean DON'T want to get sucked back into that show. Cause it's pretty gay. I did watch it while stringing up lights. After which I broke two glass ornaments and have decided that someone like me should stick to the crappy plastic ones that look like ass but that are joy-proof.
I will take this opportunity to tell the 5 people that access this site that as I was working, I noticed my bloody knees. Damnit.
I went to a holiday party a co-worker threw on Saturday and got rocked. And I mean rocked. I am not drinking whiskey anymore. It's going to be tough, but I haven't gotten a bloody knee in awhile, but I woke up on Sunday with a riproaring hangover and two bloody knees. And they won't heal. And now all my jeans have blood marks on the knees and I wince in pain whenever I kneel. (Insert jokes here, which coincidentally I have been getting all week). Apparently I left the party with a Manhattan that I made myself...so it was pretty strong I am assuming. And while drinking in the cab I felt the need to throw it at Geoff...like the whole cocktail. Damnit. And I apparently spit in his drink earlier in the evening. I guess I am a bitch when I drink whiskey...So no more for me. But in my defense, I don't remember anything. Although it started coming back to me after Geoff described me in all my insanity...shameful.
So. As karma would have it I struggle to do any kind of work that involves my knees. And I don't mean that side job on the corner. But despite the bloody knees, my Christmas tree is decorated, I got a REAL wreath for the front door and I wrapped my one and only Christmas present. I feel very Martha Stewart. Now I just have to get the blood out of my jeans and sheets from my stupid knees and I'll be dandy.
So for any of you reading this that is buying me a Christmas present, I'm sticking to vodka and will consider getting a tattoo with a disclaimer that I am not responsible for anything I do after consuming dark liquor.