Tuesday, December 20, 2005

It must be Festivus

Oh, wait, should that be capitalized?

Oh, well. In honor of a fantastic, albeit made-up holiday which just happens to fall a scant few days before Christmas, I will begin with the airing of grievances. (Thanks to Andrea @ MinneapolitanMusic for the kick-ass topic idea.) Of course I am taking care of business a tad early as Festivus is commonly observed on December 23rd with a non-traditional dinner and the feats of strength but let's get to those grievances, shall we...

Grievance Numero Uno...

There is a guy at work who, especially now that I find myself managing our department, increasingly grates on my every nerve. He is beyond compare when it comes to involving himself in everyone's conversations and loves to waltz right in to my office without even pausing to ask if he may come on in. It's not that I don't want him coming in, it's the principle of things that common courtesy dictates that you should at least ask even if doing so is only a technicality.

The Second Grievance

My left elbow. It is being abnormally stubborn this week. It seems to have stemmed from lugging multiple bags of softener salt to the basement on Sunday afternoon and akwardly dumping them into the water softener. That's where things went wrong and now, due to this mishap, I scream in pain as I try to straighten my left arm out or use it to brace myself while leaning. Daily life has totally changed while I heal from this terribly un-cool injury.

Grievance Number Three (The Final One)

My car. It has been unfailingly dependable since I purchased it in 2000. It was a youngster at only six years old and had only 23,000 carefully-driven granny-miles on it. (Honest, a confirmed grandma owned it) Now, nearly six years later and an additional 85,000 miles it is showing its age. My twelve-year-old is approaching its teen years and I have no desire to be the parent of a teenager at a relatively young age. I am sure that its needed repairs aren't anything major but I'm pushing that inevitable seven-year-itch and my eye is wandering to my wife's sleek, black two-door with alot of creature comforts (including a moonroof & heated seats) and far fewer miles. 2006 is the year, hopefully, that I can peddle my American-made car and step up to her kick-ass, sporty import.

Happpy Festivus, folks. Christmas is only five-plus days away.

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