Constipation of the Blog, Diarrhea of the IM

God, internet but I've missed you. I have felt so stifled lately. There's nothing can be done for it. 'Tis the Season(al Affective Disorder) and all that.

The following things are happening:

the annual holiday in-law angst. Fuck, but it's a pain in my ass (HEE! that pun wasn't even intended but have decided to leave it). Oh wait, here's an email from my SIL, Katy (or, as I mentally {mostly mentally} refer to her, Catty). I'm going to copy and paste it so I can share it with you here.

Be right back, promise.

Okay, here it is, comments in brackets are mine, as you might've guessed:

Laurie: [note use of colon, hate that]This year, Mom's [this is referring to my MIL, btw] Christmas celebration WILL [precious little dictator, bless her fucking heart]be on Christmas morning. This is when we will ALL be celebrating the holiday together. We expect you to be there bright and early [expecting and getting are two different things]. Thanks, Katy

A little background is: the above is our invitation. The first we've heard. Like we might not have other plans for a major holiday that's occurring in a mere three weeks or anything freaky like that. And dh doesn't want to cause a fuss. So we will most certainly have our holiday plans dictated to us just in this manner. Shit like this? Totally stifles my creativity. I can't even find the humor in it, knowing that I have to endure intensive in-law exposure. Certainly, I've considered coping in the manner of my brother-in-law, who manages to escape most of the pissing match/tomfoolery/dysFUNction by sequestering himself in the guest bedroom, consuming large amounts of homemade noodles, mashed potatoes, and Crown (I know), but there's only one spare bedroom there, and I don't really want to share quality time with him, either.

Plus, (Not-So)Favorite Co-Worker (NSFCW) is currently getting a divorce, definitely, maybe. This requires her (and me, by default) to listen to the blues and old country & western tunes, with an occasional segue to Enrique Eglesias, all at top volume. And singing along with. Like goddamned karaoke without some liquor to take the edge off the awful painfulness and make it fun. The definite potential divorce possibility also renders her incapable of answering her phone, except in cases of personal calls, which are answered immediately. Before you think I'm a total heartless bitch, keep in mind that this is at least the fifth time NSFCW has been "getting divorced" in the 2 years we have worked together. Yeah. One of those kind.

Furthermore, there has been Way Too Much Work come across my desk this holiday season. Much more work than I like to complete Prior To The Holidays. Prior to the holidays, I like to do my Christmas shopping online and address Christmas cards and compose my Christmas list and consume alcoholic beverages to get me in the mood, er, spirit of the season, and eat cheese ball. Simultaneously. In a drunken stupor.

And also, N recently tried to burn our house down using our own personal toaster against by char-toasting the world's smallest piece of bread (decided against auctioning this smallest piece of arson bread on ebay. Sorry). Yes, we try to supervise him. Who knew he'd been carrying that bread around in his pocket like that? WHO KNEW??? Good thing that damn little future felon is so adorable.

There's been much IMing of these events to my friends in the computer, but it's mostly incoherent stuff, filled with outrage, disgust, rampant usage of expletives and lots of feeling sorry for myself. And yeah, sometimes I do use my IM sessions to jumpstart a blog entry, but 2343 IMs that consist of "Fuck, shit, piss, cocksucker!!!! What am I going to do??? Help me! HELP ME GODDAMNIT!!!" ??? I mean, come on--what kind of blog material is that?

Say what?

It's better than my usual blog material??

Oh. Okay, then. (said in small humble voice)