It's -5 C, Yet Everything's Melting

...I know, I know, emphasize the fun in dysfunctional, and if life gives you AIDS, make lemonaids... but sometimes it's just not that easy...

Don't even talk to me about my stupid Pandora music selection of the day, trying to highlight that damn site was apparently what caused all the trouble in the first place!!

Dysfunctional families all have a tradition of staging an Annual Christmas Meltdown of some form or another, and because mine is certainly no exception, last year, things fell apart between my parents and me. I will spare you the details, but I can assure you it was 100 --no, 200% THEIR fault. I know you don't believe me, so I will offer up some proof. For the last ten years, we have, under the tacit agreement that Christmas is pretty commercial, given each other the following presents:

1. A book.
2. A C.D.
3. And that's it.

But last year, because they felt guilty for being responsible for the Annual Christmas Meltdown, I got:

1. TWO books
2. TWO C.D.s
3. Booze

We're lucky in my family, the meltdown usually happens a week or two before the Big Day, enough time to sort things out and enjoy the turkey. It's like make up sex, only better, it's make up Christmas, with gifts. And my dad and brother are there. EW, EW, EW, change the subject.

Pleased that I've managed to get through a good chunk of December without things falling apart yet, I went over to my parents on Thursday to help them put up the tree. My dad, who has been on the hip replacement waiting list for approximately 8000 years, limped in and out of the house setting the thing up, cursing under his breath and denouncing the Germans for foisting their yuletide flora traditions upon the whole non-Teutonic world. "Never mind the war," he said at one point, "it's this damn tree business they should really feel guilty about!"

And keep in mind, he spent a good part of his formative years living in a Nazi-occupied country.

While he grumbled about the tree, I struggled with my own difficulties. Breastfeeding lately has become nip-rippingly awful, if you know what I mean. Since Baby Fangs McGuire there sprouted her two upper teeth, she's been chomping down on me like I'm a tasty slice of festive ham. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, and I can't get her to stop. One good thing about old High Intensity, she bit me once, I screamed like a wolf in heat once, and that was that. But Baby Fangs just doesn't get it. While I sob and clutch my nipple protectively she just stares up at me angelically with those killer blue eyes of hers, smiling her sweet, innocent baby smile and cooing adorably. The little bitch.

Meanwhile, my mom wasn't having too great of a time either, because H.I. had conned her into doing crafts for the tree, and if there is one thing my mom hates, it's making crafts. So in other words, we were all pretty miserable, except for the two kids, and they don't count. However, we made it through the afternoon without any actual fights, and when I left, although they were glad to see me go, and I, myself, was very pleased to be going, affectionate and pleasant good-byes were exchanged more or less sincerely.

And then I got home.

And checked my blog.

Which had been destroyed. By that (***censored***) (***more censoring***) (***ooh boy, you definitely don't want to see that***) who, while taking a break from his paper writing took it upon himself to "fix a few things up."

In retrospect, I cannot believe how much the sight of my desecrated blog made me want to weep. It was like looking at a much loved landscape that had been left to ruin and rot by a raping and ransacking army. Wow, what a sentence. I wonder if Lord Byron ever ran into alliteration problems when he was waxing rage and melancholy? Probably not, the articulate bastard. I hate him.

So anyway, I don't think I really have to tell you that my feelings towards Mr. IQ Not-as-High-As-He-likes-to-Think -It-Is-Especially-in-the-Field-of -Computers have been less than amorous since he did his damage. And I think that "Destroying a Person's Blog" is indeed grounds for divorce. In total despair, I sent out the AAAARRRRRRGGGGGHHHHH post--- and then everything REALLY got bad. Because the damn thing wouldn't let me post. I tried, easily fifty times, and the dashboard said it was published, but when I went to my site, it wasn't there. As I type this, it is 12:30 am, Saturday night/Sunday morning and while the paragraph/italics thing has cleared up, I still am unable to post. Perhaps this, too, will never get out there. I'm going crazy. What did he do??? Why did he do it? I never asked him to "improve" anything. Let's not mince words here: I'm MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD.

So this year's Annual Christmas Meltdown has not involved the Aged P's, but instead, That Guy, a first in our lives together, and honestly, until the posting thing clears up, things will remain tense around here. I guess I shouldn't be so honest, and perhaps I should just take a pill and put things into perspective, but the reality is that when you've lived with someone for a long time, and a petty thing like the way a wine glass is held irritates you on a bad day, plunging uninvited into somebody's blog and screwing everything up is gonna cause some problems in a relationship. It just is.

P.S.: It's now Sunday afternoon, and I still can't get anything posted. Freaking out majorly now, really.