Author: cursingcats.com

It’s been a week.

Posted on | by cursingcats.com | 1 Comment on It’s been a week.

Hi. I need to get some shit off my chest. And it’s a raw shit dump. I haven’t talked to anyone about this. That includes my friends and my husband. But I’ve been awakened by panic attacks for two days in a row now and I need to get it out. Don’t worry, I will totally talk to Mr C about it — but he’s currently asleep and then he’s got D&D later so that might not happen till tomorrow. Eh, even then it’s his birthday so maybe not then. He’ll read this. (Hi, my love!) And I’m going to go to my friends house to talk and pet their dogs. I’m like dressed and everything.

So the fact that I haven’t had this shit dump to an actual human yet is 100% on me, OK? I’ve talked to K on the phone extensively — hell, I saw her all three days of the trial. And Mr C and I even watched the Glass Onion last night (It’s the sequel to Knives Out — and holy shit, they are both incredible movies — must see). The problem is, sometimes I don’t realize what I’m feeling. I guess I’m not in touch enough some times. So I have my very logical side and my very emotional side. And right now my logical side is having a fucking millennium New Year’s party while my emotional side is crying in bed and therefore waking me up in panic attacks to try to get some attention.

It’s been a rough week, yall. So this was the last week at my shit show job, the week of my court case/trial, and also our HVAC needs repair.

So let’s start with the elephant — the court case. This has been 3 years over due. The car accident which caused a concussion which led to post concussion syndrome and me losing my job and being out of work from October to August — that happened back in mid October of 2019. Obviously, settling is ideal. However, State Farm only offered me 7k. To cover 10 months of not working. However, I’m not that stingy, I only asked for the 7 months because I was released by my doctor to work PART TIME in May. It took until August before I actually got put on another contract and took a 20k pay cut. But we’re only arguing for when I technically was allowed to go back to work. But yeah, 7k aint gonna cover it. So I had to get a lawyer.

So we get a lawyer and sue. Some fun facts: the police report is inadmissible in court because it’s hearsay — they didn’t witness the accident. Also you cannot even MENTION insurance in court. Probably because if the jury knew insurance were the assholes and the ones paying up, everyone would logically go “no shit, that’s what insurance is for” and you’d always win. That’s my theory on that rule. So it’s not me suing insurance, it’s me suing the 16 year old kid that hit me in his daddy’s car. And the opposing lawyer is representing the kid, but the kid didn’t hire that lawyer — insurance did. This is all pomp and show of insurance using the kid as an avatar. The kid will never pay a penny ’cause… THAT’S WHAT INSURANCE IS FOR. But it doesn’t change the fact that I am suing that young kid over there sitting with his mommy and daddy for comfort. Do I get anyone for comfort? No. Cause Mr C has a job, I guess? I’m too self conscious to ask him to be there for me? Maybe I didn’t think I needed it because strong independent woman? I don’t know. He had offered and I was like no, there’s no point in you missing work for this BS. So anyway, I was alone. It was my own fault, but my point is — I made an error in judgment and so I had to go through this alone. </SCENE>

So I spent three days getting ripped apart in court. Because I’m the plaintiff, and the kid is the defense. So the other side didn’t even bring any witnesses. They admitted 100% fault in the accident. Their argument was that I’m a big fat liar about the illness that caused me to miss work and lose my job and wreck my face. He even quoted the TV Lawyers’ pitch “In a wreck, get a check!” But like, we’re arguing this to a jury so the main case is she’s a big fat liar. But we gotta lather it on — so we’re also gonna throw in she’s crazy (it’s documented since 2003). And then for the cherry on the cake — how is this bitch worth a six figure salary? Also somehow we’re gonna throw in that she has a lot of medical problems – let’s discuss all of that. Somehow maybe it’s just the thyroid or anemia that’s been well under control for 15 years.

So OK, I know I’m not a liar. So that’s really just an anger issue. But every time I complain about this piece of shit scumbag lawyer whose job is to drag my reputation through the mud in the dirtiest most exploitative ways — every time I mention wanting this fucker to die, everyone — even my husband, just say’s “That’s his job.” “He’s just doing his job.” You know what, I don’t give a fuck. Hit Men are just doing their jobs too. They got nothing personal against the people they’re paid to kill. Maybe he chose an asshole job? Maybe he has no ethics because he’s a piece of shit? I mean he sleeps just fine at night. That makes him a fucking asshole. He said a lot of bad things about me and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t get off because it’s his fucking job. Why is everyone just DISMISSING my anger? I’m fucking allowed to be angry.

So then let’s discuss my mental health. Cause it’s not like a sensitive subject or anything. Why are you crazy? Why do you require two antidepressants and take valium 3 times a day just to leave your house? Let’s talk about it. You take a lot of medication (Not like that’s something of a touchy subject like when my MIL snooped on my first trip up there and commented to my fiance that “she takes a LOT of medications.)” Do you think maybe you just didn’t wanna go to work? Even you doctor says he thinks underlying psychological conditions are probably contributing to your condition — sounds like he doesn’t believe you either. How do you feel about that? Do you think you’re crazy? You wanna cry about it cause you’re a big fat baby?

Also, why should you get paid this much? Like, you kinda suck. And you have a fuck ton of medical issues. Perhaps you just don’t wanna work? ‘Cause you’re lazy. Which I am. I am lazy, yall. Maybe you’re just trying to get a big payout. And it’s true that I’m heavily money driven, yall. That’s why I wanted my missed wages back. It’s also very true that I had to wake up early every day so K could come over on her way to work (GOD BLESS GOOD FRIENDS) and spray paint my hair brown. Cause as I am, I do not deserve that much money. I only deserve that much money if I present myself as better. With brown hair and makeup and better clothes and confidence. Cause normal Mrs C is a crazy wreck who doesn’t deserve her good life. Only prettier people deserve nice things. That’s never been a sore spot for me.

And yall, I’ve suppressed a lot of shit these past three years. Like this wreck FUCKED ME OVER. I’m over here getting headaches and motion sick all the time. I can’t travel. But it could be worse. I’ve mostly recovered! I’m so lucky! Yay me! You’re not allowed to be sad cause other people have it worse. And my career took a reset. Major pay cut. Lost the job I liked and was super proud of. Was gonna be a SME — the pinnacle goal of my software engineer career — on a very important and prestigious contract. Now, after having not been able to do math for a few months and not having worked on complex software for three years, I don’t anymore. I decided to step back from development cause I’m not sure I’m good enough anymore. Not like imposter syndrome is a thing anyway. Let’s talk about it in front of 20 – 30 people.

And to finish off this fun time — let’s interrogate you in front of everyone. Because that’s what it it is. An interrogation. When you testify, you don’t just get to tell a lovely story — you just answer questions. About EVERYTHING. Remember everything your lawyer told you to say. Your dates better be right and your numbers gotta be right and you better remember everything exactly that happened three fucking years ago cause it better match up completely with what you said in your deposition almost two years ago. And don’t talk to much — only answer the question asked. And don’t nervous laugh — stop that!

So yeah. That case ripped my fucking face off. It was a highly traumatizing experience. It opened old wounds. It made me super self conscious about pretty much everything. But it’s over. It’s totally over. And we “won.” My lawyer is handling the shit ton of people I now I owe money to (gotta pay back everything BCBS paid for my medical — gotta pay back everything short term disability gave me. The doctor’s depositions come out of my part of the winnings. And the lawyer gets 40% before any of that). So the jury awarded me my lost wages for the 7 months, plus a very small bit for medical and pain and suffering. After everyone gets their cuts, I get like 3 months missed wages.

So it sounds like it wasn’t worth it. Cause I only got 3 months when I missed 10. Yes, again — I got fucked by this wreck. Life isn’t fair. I got a ton more than the 7k insurance offered before I got a lawyer. And while I will not see a third of it — State Farm had to pay into 6 figures for this case after the verdict, the trial, the failed arbitration, and putting me though bullshit by dragging this on for three years. So making them pay is part of the win. Fuck them.

So that’s over — I should be shitting rainbows! Instead, I’m looking around like a fucking mac truck just hit me. What the fuck just happened? Why is that allowed to happen? I really over estimated my mental fortitude. I shouldn’t have just asked Mr C to come, I should have asked K and K2 to come too! I got killed even though I won.

And listen, I’m petty. So like I know that when I married Mr C, I agreed to be a financial squirrel. We want to retire. And he doesn’t believe in any debt — even good debt. So our number one priority is to own this house ASAP. We can’t even buy new furniture for the house until we own it. So this money will all be put directly to the house. I acknowledge that. And that’s fair. He was 100% the sole breadwinner when I was out of work and it cost us our savings. Do I agree with his view that even mortgage debt is bad debt? No, I don’t. It’s OK to have a mortgage in my opinion. And K’s about to get a new car and I don’t like driving my tiny car cause I want a bigger car that wins in the car accident rather than gives you a brain injury. So were I single, I’d be buying a new car. But I’m not. So I asked if I could keep just a tiny bit to pay for a bit of my sleeve tattoo and Mr Cs first gut reaction was to question why I needed it when I was supposed to be saving for my tattoo. That hurt. I mean he’s letting me have it, that was just like his gut instinct cause Mr C’s gut instinct with money is that he is a squirrel and it must all be saved. NO TOUCH.

Also, my laptop, which is my only computer, is freaking out something major this week so DON’T DIE, PLEASE.

Anyway — my last week with the shit show. This should make me happy. I should have just been able to coast through it flipping middle fingers to everyone, but shit show is a shit show. I went directly from court verdict on Wednesday to work. Had anything that needed to be done get done? Nope. I have spent the past two weeks requesting an inventory of the classified items in my possession. I have requested multiple times that a witness inventory them and sign for them. I got nothing. So I had to stay late on Wednesday and I sent a really bitchy email to everyone. I stated that I tried to get these items inventoried and signed over. And I took and made my own inventory of all of my assets. As my contract was terminating, I could not be held responsible for these assets and anything missing is not my fault because security has refused to give me their inventory.

That’s terrifying. Because shit show IS A SHIT SHOW. They lost 11 pieces of government property JUST THIS WEEK. So you think they’re not gonna lose my shit? The classified shit that was last signed for by ME? Making ME RESPONSIBLE FOR IT. They could just accuse me of stealing it if they want. So I printed out my bitchy email and attached the 9 emails to security and supervisors requesting that this shit be taken care. And I told them I’d be keeping it in my own records in case you ever wanna blame any of this on me.

So that was extremely stressful. Thankfully, two hours before I left for good, they inventoried my shit and at least verified that they saw it. Thank you.

What else? Well, there’s something wrong with the HVAC. We had it fixed up and repaired last summer but towards the very end of summer the downstairs stopped cooling. I didn’t care to pay someone to fix it as winter was coming and we had just been through this. Then two weeks ago after the crazy winter storm, my kitchen starts smelling like spray paint chemicals. It wasn’t the refrigerator or tankless hot water heater. So I correctly (it turns out) surmised it was the HVAC unit leaking chemicals.

So, did you catch the part where Mr C has lordship over the money? I have lordship over the practical shit. No offense to my actual rocket scientist, genius husband, but he’s worthless with that shit. I wanted to put it off cause I got enough on my plate but Mr C is afraid of dying from toxic fumes so I had to get someone out to look at it. Now, our AC people are not in our city. So to pay them to just come look at the unit is $175 for travel. And they’re honest guys so they’re the first ones to tell me to get someone local to do it. So I figured, just for diagnostics, lets get a local company out to diagnose if it’s leaking chemicals. They’d be $109. They did correctly figure out that our coil had a total blow out, all the chemicals are gone and told Mr C it’d be $3,100 to replace the coil but they’d just replace the unit. As I had told him to do, he told them to fuck off. I mean, he doesn’t curse but whatever.

BTW, the internet says a replaced coil with labor should be between $800 and $2000 dollars. The highest price estimate I could find was $2500. Also note, our coil is aluminum, not copper so it should be cheaper. Why are the trades people allowed to just rip you the fuck off? They’re allowed to just pull a number out of their ass and expect you to pay it. WTF?

So then I call our guy. I tell him the problem we think we have. Luckily his minion is already in town on another call so he’ll pop over. Awesome. So I met with him. I love this guy because he always teaches me so much. He explains everything and how it works and whats what. Anyway, the other people were right. He said personally, he’d just replace the coil. However, we want to know the numbers on the coil vs the unit and calculate whats cheapest in the long run since our units are 7 years old. So his boss is gonna figure that out for us. Oh, and the coil was like totaled so all the chemicals spilled out at once. And yeah, we’d have smelled that. But like there’s no more even left to spill out.

That was Thursday evening. That night, it got kinda fucking cold. It was 60 degrees downstairs. The heater had been fine, the AC was the problem. I had tried flipping the breakers off and back on but nothing was happening. So when my fingers started needing gloves while I watched youtube, I decided to text the minion and ask if like maybe he did something to it? Thankfully, minion calls me immediately and profusely apologizes. He thinks he disconnected the unit and forgot to hook it back up. But he’s willing to walk me through getting it back on. Sweet.

So I grab some shoes and venture out into the freezing cold darkness to wade through giant japonica bushes to get to the HVACs God forbid we have lights over there so I’ve got this guy on speaker phone and am using the flashlight function of my smart phone. He tells me what to do, it’s pretty easy and he tells me what to check for. Sweet, it’s running. So I return to the much warmer 60 degrees of my house with him on speaker phone and ask him about those estimates. He hasn’t talked to his boss yet so he doesn’t know if he priced the coil or bought one or what. Cool, we’ll figure it out next week.

So Mr C heard and comes down to get the gist of whats going on. I explained it and hes all twenty fucking questions about HVACs and what they guy said and estimates and did they buy the coil even though we haven’t even told them if that’s what we wanna do? We don’t know, no ones talked to the boss. Well are they gonna buy the coil without asking us? I DON’T KNOW. I don’t even care. We haven’t committed to buying it so even if they did order it, it does not concern us!

Jesus H *****, can I get a thank you? I just fucking fixed the heater. If it had been up to him, he’d have frozen all night and paid them to come back out and hook it back up themselves! I’M HANDLING IT. He won’t ask contractors a thing buy he’ll play twenty fucking questions with me about it. I was kinda angry.

However, I’m not the silent type so a little later I pointed out he hadn’t thanked me for fixing the heater. Because if I know what I need, I ask for it or at least hint at it. So yes, he totally thanked me for fixing the heater. And pointed out how great I did this week handling all this bullshit and he was very sweet. He’s a good husband so I keep him.

What I didn’t know, was like how fucking upset I was about all of this bullshit. I apparently need more than some pats on the back to recover from this — whatever the fuck this was. So yeah, I’m waking up to panic attacks. And because the office (his lair) is right above the living room (my lair), I hear everything. And last night he was telling his friends about he trial and we this and we that and we’re doing this. Which I get that we are a unit. I also get that when you’re talking to your friends you are the point of reference these people have. But my bitter ass just kinda had a guttural reaction of “WE aint doing shit. I’M DOING IT.” Not that I said anything — cause when I’m angry it’s best if I just go to bed. But then I woke up with another fucking panic attack.

Jesus, one day I’m gonna have a heart attack and just ignore it thinking it’s a panic attack.

So yeah. That’s where I am. So it’s Sunday of my four day weekend before I start my new job. The new job that terrifying because what if it sucks? Or I can’t do it? You know, normal new job feels. So uh yeah. I should be relieved cause the trials over and I’m done with the shit show _

PAUSE

There was another thing. Friday at like 4:50PM I got an email for monies owed from the Shit Show. They are saying that I have to pay back my sign on bonus. I do not. And I replied that they better reply ASAP that they’ve figured out their problem or they need to send me paperwork stating why the original terms of my contract have changed and I need to give them to a lawyer. But it’s a 4 day weekend so I won’t hear back until Tuesday. So surely this was an error and they will fix it. But as it stands they have now said that not only do I not get my final paycheck, but I OWE THEM MONEY on top of that.

Yay, that’s not stressful at all. Not because Mr C freaks the fuck out about every dollar and now we’re talking about me taking a muli-thousand dollar hit.

So, Mrs C, why aren’t you like just so happy to be done with the trial and done with the shit shit show? It’s a four day weekend — and no job stress cause you’re between jobs! Why are you having panic attacks? WTF?

I THINK I FIGURED IT OUT.

I’m still sitting a bloody mess on the side road after being hit by a mac truck going “what the fuck was THAT?” This week was the “THAT.”

Delusions of happy thoughts

Posted on | by cursingcats.com | Leave a Comment on Delusions of happy thoughts

Today was my last day at my shitty job. They read me out a little early so I got home around 3:45. Mr C took a nap, but I had to stay “up” for the AC repair guy. After he left, I decided I wanted a nap too. I set my alarm for an hour and a half so I wouldn’t sleep too long. I ignored my alarm. Mr C got up to go fetch him some dinner and I stayed in bed kinda 75% asleep and 25% awake. Maybe 80/20. I miss Jack. Obviously, sometimes I think about getting another cat when I’m ready. So I was thinking about looking at cats. I have a long weekend between jobs as I have Friday off and Monday is a government holiday. I thought maybe mom could come up and we could look at cats together.

That would be nice. She could help and it’d be something we could do together. Maybe hit up a few Saturday adoption events. I wasn’t decided or anything, just a thought I probably wouldn’t act on. I decided to get up when a strand of Christmas lights went out on the bedroom tree changing the general cast of the ceiling from a warm red to more of a green shade – then that strand must have completely died and returned the walls to the warm red. When my feet hit the ground I remembered mom’s dead.

I saw a gently sweeping stripe of dead lights on the tree confirming my suspicions.

Wouldn’t have been as good as Jack anyway.

The Time Has Come

Posted on | by cursingcats.com | Leave a Comment on The Time Has Come

My trial is tomorrow. The trial by fire. No, really though — it’s the trial over the car accident I had back in 2019. Yep. Over THREE YEARS AGO.

So I’m not gonna go into huge detail about it cause I’m not sure I’m even allowed to. But yeah. So I have to go defend my honor or something to even attempt to recoup my lost wages. Which isn’t going to happen because of lawyers and fees and stuff. Much less any pain and suffering — like we aint even gonna touch that.

So I have acquired a vegan leather briefcase to hold my notes and drinks and snacks. I mean, I do need a notebook to take notes and I do need to keep reviewing my — whats it called — deposition! My deposition. Because this accident was over three years ago and I’ve forgotten so much. Which to be fair, I did sustain brain damage, which was the problem. But there’s also gonna be a lot of snacks in there. This is going to be all day for multiple days. I can’t eat out of a vending machine ’cause keto so I’m gonna take some quest cookies and beef jerky and bottles of water and I might even put a tiny cooler with some yogurt in there.

K is coming over on her way to work to spray my hair brown. Because respectable people, apparently, don’t have pink undercuts. And lord knows I have to look respectable because I got rear ended AT A RED LIGHT.

Wish me luck. I’m gonna go shower and put a ton of gel in my hair. And dry shampoo. I need my hair to be pretty solid so it doesn’t move much with the brown spray paint on it. That spray paint better work or like my lawyer will die.

Uncomfortable Conversations

Posted on | by cursingcats.com | Leave a Comment on Uncomfortable Conversations

Today at work, I had to work with a new person to get a release out the door. He’s not new at all, he’s just been out on sick leave because he had cancer. So I got stuck with people like the dumbass that brought his cell phone into a classified lab that ended up in a report on my permanent record because I signed him in.

So I introduce myself. We’ve met before apparently, before he took leave. I don’t remember this at all but OK, off to a great start.

Anyway. This guy is thorough. Crazy thorough. Opposite of what I’ve seen at this wretched company. Don’t get me wrong — I respect it. Don’t put your name on shit you haven’t verified. Awesome. I’m over here shipping this shit out to be fielded — and just this morning I had to bitwise wipe the damn things to nuke them so they wouldn’t mount so I could manually repartition them and reprogram them. Dear god check it for me. He had a lot of questions and I didn’t have answers to any of them. Because B, who does this shit, quit. So I’m just flailing around making do. I’m trying to get him answers and he just keeps saying that’s not the way B did it. But he couldn’t remember anything about the way B did it except that what I was doing wasn’t it. Joy.

Also, anytime I tried to point something out or highlight something for him, I was constantly reminded that he’s been doing this with B for 4 years. Awesome, but can you just check it off?

So we’ve got 4 people trying to figure out how to show specific items to be checked off and we make it work. TEAM GOALS. I’m only here two more weeks. He’s griping about how we’re always doing this shit so last minute — and hey, I agree — that’s why I quit this shit show. But it’s specifically our fault because Hardware doesn’t do this last minute shit. OK.

So I’m making light conversation, as you do. I mention that it’s a bit warm (I have 6 computer towers under my desk — don’t worry though, he knows because he’s been doing this with B for 4 years and she did too) – anyway, that shit puts out heat. And I’m heat intolerant, as you know. Cancer-guy thinks it’s fine. OK, it was just small talk, whatever.

But then…

“If you think THIS is uncomfortable, let me tell you about uncomfortable.”

Oh god.

He’s a veteran. And he’s been in trench warfare where they didn’t even have toilets or sleeping bags or showers for weeks at a time. And he starts telling me about trench warfare and Eeyore’s wandered over now and they’re discussing war tactics and shit and the misery of being in the military. And weren’t those banned in the IRN treaty — yeah because of cancer guys team! Awesome. And there’s no sleeping or eating and I’m just kinda leaning back in my cubicle surrounded by kids toys and figurines and there’s a rubber ducky (left by B) in between me and this guys face as he tells me how bad people smell after three weeks in a trench without showering. And I’d never survive.

Listen, I’m an engineer. I couldn’t cut it in the military. I’m not athletic, I have flat feet, severe problems with authority, and I despise sweating. I’m a pansy, I get it. I don’t even have a dick so why are we in this dick measuring contest? How did this happen?

And just when it’s finally ending and he’s about to move — Eeyore mentions that he hasn’t seen him in a while — where’s he been? Some kind of medical event? “Medical event? Only THE medical event. Cancer.” God dammit, Eeyore. I’ve never even met the guy and even I know he had cancer. So now, we also wouldn’t survive cancer. It’s a hellish experience and and he had radiation and chemo on his neck and it hurt so much that he couldn’t even swallow water for weeks. He used to love spicy food but now ketchup burns going down.

But at least he did better than Brenda who works/worked a hall over and got diagnosed a month after him and DIED.

This conversation is fun. I’m having fun.

Yay work!

A Passive Aggressive Christmas

Posted on | by cursingcats.com | Leave a Comment on A Passive Aggressive Christmas

So this year, Mr C and I spent Christmas with my family. It’s only 90 miles away but we planned to spend the night. My family does their big celebration on Christmas Eve so as to not have to fight for everyone’s time. Everyone’s free on Christmas Eve. So we went down on Christmas Eve and planned to sleep over at Sister1’s house, have Christmas brunch and head home on Christmas. Really just a formality as I feel bad that we spend a week with my in laws but only spend 24 hours with my own family. So we could at least do that.

We’d usually sleep at my brothers house, but they were full for the night. They had to take custody of SIL’s niece. Her mom was a drug addict. She’s supposed to be better now though so they’re working with her and bio-mom was sleeping over for Christmas. So they had a full house — but also a damn full plate of drama of their own. So we’d sleep at Sister1’s house — where Sister2 also lives. Plan. Not ideal because Sister1 has a big dog, but whatever – it’s one night. (Brother has 2 big dogs, but unlike the rest of my family, he trains them. His dogs are insanely well behaved.)

So dinner is at Dad’s at 5. He has forbidden present exchanges so we got to my bros house at 4 to exchange gifts. Well, Sister1 decided not to come cause she didn’t feel good. That’s fine, she has RA really bad and it really brings down her quality of life. Understood. However, since Sister1 wasn’t going to come, Sister2 decided not to either. This pissed SIL off very much because they’re having a feud right now. But whatever. We gave the nephews and kinda-now-niece their presents.

SIL explains that Sister1 is sick with a cold so that’s why she’s not feeling good. Wait, what? No one told us anyone was sick. She explains that Sister1 has had a cough for about a week now. Two things: Mr C is a germaphobe who didn’t want to be there anyway. Also, I have no PTO so I can’t get sick. It’s not an option. I gotta work. So we decide not to spend the night at Sister1’s house.

Sounds simple? Not simple. I about had a panic attack over this decision because this was gonna piss Sister1 off and I knew this would be a nuclear bomb. But Mr C is very supportive and said he’d go with whatever decision I made. So I texted them that we wouldn’t be spending then night. Then I had a mini panic attack but Mr C was very nice and let me sit in the car and calm down. Then we got out of the car at Dads. Sisters had just pulled up.

Sister1 immediately laid into me something fierce. She was furious. She said she wasn’t sick that it was just her RA and she can’t help it. So I’m being an asshole over something she can’t help. I tried to explain it was over the cough but she said she’d taken multiple covid tests and she wasn’t sick. (Which, if you weren’t sick, why did you take covid tests? Someone’s lying.) After screaming at me in the driveway in front of my husband, Bro and SIL arrive. I try to explain to SIL what is going on but she’s having major neice baby-momma drama of her own and needs a xanax and a couple of drinks. Fair. Merry Christmas.

So we go in and pretend to be a happy family, cause that’s what we do on holidays. But Sister1 is still furious. She won’t speak to me or look at me. If I move towards her, she leaves the room. At one point, she had to walk past me and went all the way around all the furniture so as to avoid me. It was really obvious. I pointed it out to my husband who reassured me, I’m not crazy — she’s crazy. But I felt like SHIT. Absolute trash.

So dinner was OK. Affair child and his family came. Dad loves to coo over affair child’s child. He was never nice to any of us or even my nephews. So it kinda just makes me sick. Like, I know he’s kinda probably got a bit of dementia, he’s bonafide insane, and is now on psychiatric medications. So like he’s different. Logical me knows this. But emotional me sees him as an evil bastard who ruined pretty much everyone’s lives just for shits and giggles. HE SHOT MY DOG.

Ok, breathe.

So I walk in the kitchen where SIL is and — just to make sure I’m not insane — I clarify that he never treated her kids so nicely and isn’t that kinda gross? She agrees. Ok, I’m not crazy. But by this point in the night she was taking shots and so was Dad’s girlfriend cause — family holidays, am I right? Oh yeah and Dad has 2 huge untrained dogs and Sister1 brought her dog, so in the background and all around you are 3 huge dogs play fighting. Also a sad little blind, deaf, and incontinent little dog but I mean, you can’t fault him. He just wants the other dogs to leave him alone.

Then girl friend actually starts talking about making him (Dad) go back to a psychologist — not just a psychiatrist who gives meds, but an actual therapist because of how bad he’s been the past two years. She’s actually started to have heart troubles because of the stress of this bastard. So I’m like girlfriend, it’s not just two years. I know for a fact he’s been an asshole for 40 years minimum, and thats just what I can actually verify first hand. Why does she stay? IT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE.

So after dinner we go to the Sister’s house and give them their gifts (because again, Dad had banned gift giving at his house). I was surprised she let us in at all. It wasn’t bad. But we did go home that night. I mean after the way she had treated me all night, there was no winning. Like you want to bully me into sleeping over because you’re angry? WTF?

So we slept in our own bed which was nice. Wouldn’t have had a good nights sleep on her air mattress. And we didn’t have to drive home or do anything so we got to sleep late and chill. We opened gifts. I had eggnog and Mr C had cookies. I took pictures. Later that evening, Mr C took me to look at the Tinsel Trail Christmas lights. But Christmas was kinda ruined.

Sister1 is still so angry she won’t talk to me or respond to texts. She’s acting like I’m being ableist against her RA when I just didn’t want to catch her COUGH. But she denies ever having a cough so it’s moot. So yeah, she hates me now. She’ll hate me for a few months and then maybe get over it a little bit. We’ll see. I feel REALLY bad. So it kinda spoiled my Christmas.

Yay, family!

Gingerbread Houses Through the Years

Posted on | by cursingcats.com | 1 Comment on Gingerbread Houses Through the Years

This is a post about gingerbread houses. And Mom. And Jack. And how Mom got her groove back through gingerbread. Just go with it.

So back in 2006, I had just moved into my own place on Golf Road. Lovely shitty apartment of my own. $545 a month. Just me and Jack. And mom visited a lot. I worked at the police department as a dispatcher and was less than a year away from starting my career (though 5 years from graduating — not the point). It was Christmas! My first Christmas in my OWN place. This called for something special. This called for … a gingerbread house!

So mom came to visit and help me make my very own gingerbread house. There were issues. We couldn’t find any gingerbread mix. So it was really a sugar cookie house. It counts, OK? It had windows! Mom showed me how to crush up jolly ranchers and melt them to make stained glass windows! We had a peppermint roof and a full length chocolate chip chimney. I cut up gum drops and made a wreath. It was glorious. This was before cheap battery-powered lights, but if we had had those, it would have glowed gloriously through my translucent blue and purple sugar windows.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Then the next few years we’d always do something special for Christmas. Usually treats. Like chocolate dipped Oreos, or chocolate covered Ritz Crackers with peanut butter, or those fancy treats where you melt a Rolo on top of a pretzel and smush it with a peanut M&M — or if you’re going somewhere fancy — a half a pecan. Sometimes we even did gingerbread cookies and decorated them with icing.

Then, in 2009, I was feeling adventurous. I was in a much nicer apartment with a guest room and dating a cute guy who would become my husband. It was time for another gingerbread house. We had to outdo our previous effort. This had to be magnificent. We would do something with more grandeur. We would make a church.

How does one make a gingerbread church? Well, you just make the front and back taller so the roof is steeper and put a steeple on top. We’re not on the Food Network here, aint nobody got time to make templates and stuff. But don’t you worry, we got this. It would have even more jolly rancher windows! More icing! The M&Ms would be Christmas colors to look like Christmas lights! And best of all: Shingles. We would use Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal and put individual shingles on that shit. Boo-yeah!

Now, I would like to say, we kept improving on our gingerbread game. We got so good we could do competitions! But we didn’t. The church was actually the pinnacle of my gingerbread greatness. Sad, I know. But that’s not where the story ends. Those were merely flights-of-fancy in the gingerbread game of my own. Mom would take gingerbread houses and flip the script.

So take a step back. I moved away from my text-book codependent family in 2003 and got a shit ton of therapy. In my evolution of self, I turned from my father. Fuck that asshole. No, not God, my real father. THAT asshole. Sometimes the pendulum has to swing really far to right itself. Now my beloved mother had been beaten down by that motherfucker for decades. And you can be damn straight I turned my pot-stirring self to getting her to realize it. And she was really coming around by the time she kicked the bucket. I think she might have had the gumption to skip Christmas by the time she died. I’m sad I never got to see that and sneak her a wink and a high five. OK, back to the early 2000s:

So dad always controlled every holiday. Though they divorced when I was two, dad always controlled everything. Holidays were at his house. We’d go over the weekend before and scrub it clean cause he’s kinda a hoarder. Mom would make every single dish and we’d go over to dads and pretend to be happy. Even after he got a girlfriend — who thankfully took over the cleaning part. Mom would still cook for a week and haul it all over to that bastards house so he could have his happy family holiday (yes, with his girlfriend and my step brother — the kid he had while he was still married to my mother). Every Thanksgiving and every Christmas — even Easter.

At some point, she started making extra to “hide.” Is it hiding if you make it yourself, in your own house, and just don’t take it over? Not really, but in my codependent family it was rebellion. I think this started when the girlfriend would start making to-go meals for her friends and for my step brother (the affair child). We stopped having leftovers left. Mom stopped having food to eat off of for the next week after she’d spent all week cooking for everyone. No more turkey casserole! You know, where you shred the turkey and mix it with the dressing and cream-of-chicken soup? None. So mom started making extra dressings and extra mac & cheese and keeping it at her house. Come 2014 something had changed.

Now I’m not sure what triggered the change. And I wouldn’t dare say “something snapped” — nay, something clicked into place is what happened. Maybe that was after dad started putting rules on presents — how much we could spend, and then one year declaring we weren’t allowed to give gifts at all (yeah no, fuck him — yall know I didn’t listen to his shit). But 2014 was a new era. In 2014, mom decided to have her own Christmas.

Now don’t get me wrong, it was still a secret. It didn’t replace dads Christmas. Mom would just have her own Christmas on a different weekend with only her own children and we’d ACTUALLY be happy for real. There were kinks. Bitch sister banned pictures so there are no photographic memories to look back on with my blessed mother. Because god-forbid dad find out and get his wittle-feewings-huwt. So I’m a bit bitter that moms gone and I can’t go back and look at those non-existent-photos, but it happened. And I have the gingerbread houses to prove it. Recently, I took an internet deep dive to find them.

2014 was a learning year. What would we do for moms Christmas? She’d make a big meal but what should we do? Gingerbread houses! But we’re not going to be all difficult about it. This was before gingerbread house kits were a thing, mind you. Mom decided we’d make cardboard houses and decorate them! And we’d use hot glue and caulk because ain’t nobody eating these anyway. So we made cardboard houses in advance. And even one Pringles can which became a rocket of sorts. Then, when the night came, we exchanged presents and ate food and laughed and made merry in my sisters tiny house where mom lived. And after dinner, we gingerbreaded! We had tons of cheap candies and graham crackers, pretzels and cereals, all sorts of shit to glue to your box house!

I chose the biggest box house because I’m ambitious. I did not anticipate the sheer amount of time it would take to cover such a large house with graham crackers, cookies, and smarties. Much less how much time it would take me to caulk to entire roof and lay it with pretzels. It was all I could do to get a Twizzler door and butterscotch windows before the night was over. But it was a wonderful Christmas party! And mom was beaming.

I returned home with my house and eventually, I had to spiff that shit up. I had run out of time! So one night while my husband was playing D&D at the table with friends, I sat in the living room with hot glue gun and made that shit SPIFFY. Look at this. M&M Christmas lights! Lined windows! My signature gumdrop wreath — and Christmas tree Peeps. Fuck Yeah. Much better.

Oh now we had a tradition. And the next year, we found gingerbread house kits! 2015 brought a cookie roof and a ice-cream-cone tree (pretty sure mom made me that). We even started saving all the leftover candies because, again, nobody is eating this stuff. And we got better. Caulk is great for cookies and cereal, but don’t use it on the sugar candy — it melts it. Like, it never dries and the candy melts off it. Some kind of chemical reaction. I don’t know. Eventually we gave up on caulk anyway.

In 2016, I bought a whole stash of PREBUILT gingerbread houses. All we had to do was decorate. I went with a Chex roof.

By 2017, gingerbread house kits were becoming a thing. Not only were they easy to find, they started making weird shit. Mom bought me this sweet Mario castle kit! For some reason it didn’t come with a roof or second-story walls. But I’m an engineer so I hot-glued some wooden-skewer beams for supports and filled in with graham crackers. Fuck yeah. Add some Peep trees. Magnificent.

I should also point out that it started to become clear that this tradition was spreading in the family. And by family, I mean Jack. It became very clear that he was sneaking on the counter at night to eat the icing and marshmallows. I let him have at it. It was Christmas, after all. It was pretty evident on that red mushroom though.

In 2018, I brought back my cereal shingle technique. Notice the Mario-Coins saved from the previous year.

In 2019 mom really went all out. Sister had moved into a bigger house so we could set up in the downstairs game room. Multiple tables were set up and everyone was gifted an adorable little spruce tree in a gingerbread box. I’m gonna be honest, I don’t remember this year much. I had some pretty bad brain trauma and I probably barely made it there. That might also explain why the hell there is so damn much icing on the roof. Not my best showing.

2020 was one hell of a year. The party almost didn’t happen because — well, Covid. My husband wasn’t about to leave our house and he really didn’t want anyone here. But I begged and God was on my side. Everyone promised to quarantine and come up here for the party so I wouldn’t have to travel (I was still recovering). God really made that year special for us. Everyone came up. And everyone spent the night! It was so much fun. We had a full house. And mom had got us all matching PJs! We took one of the family’s most cherished photos that night. A family photo with us in our matching PJs and mom up front. Who knew it would be the last family photo we ever took? We didn’t even hardly have any family photos — maybe just my wedding photos, actually. I’m still so sad my sweet husband took the photo because that means he’s not in it. If only I had thought to ask CB to take one with him in it…

Well, we didn’t actually do houses that year. We decorated cookies to make things easier. J had bought an ugly sweater cookie kit and me and mom baked hand-cut gingerbread cookies before everyone got up here. I think it was December 19th? Just a week before she died on Christmas day. Fucking Covid.

The next year, 2021, not everyone was in much of a celebrating mood. But my sister-in-law and brother agreed to host. I found these spiffy fondant penguins at Target. My sisters didn’t come. But we kept the tradition alive. Hey, I even did a damn fine showing with a frosted miniwheats roof. And that was the last Christmas with my precious Jack. And damned if he didn’t go after that house in those dark mid-night hours. He nearly ate a whole damned Peep tree! And look how his tongue sanded down the wreath candies and the fondant door. And is that a Super-Mario star I spy from years before atop the tree?

This year, 2022 was a little better. My sisters still weren’t feeling the joy so I said I would host. And I bought us all fun kits from Publix! I honestly didn’t expect my sisters to come, but last minute they did! Not only did they come, but they stopped at the store and picked up their own gingerbread kits to make! Since I didn’t expect my sisters and I’ve been insanely depressed about Jack, I invited K2 to join us. She made her first gingerbread house in the form of a Publix. I made a moose lodge with a pretzel roof. Apparently, my husband doubted my pretzel roof. SHAME on you, husband! My pretzel roof is fantastic — I mean, there’s a lot of glue strands but whatever.

It’s not very traditional Christmas-look, but it’s there. I wasn’t feeling it as much this year without Jack. Last year we didn’t have mom, but it was still a tradition for me to make a house for Jack to eat in “secret.” This year was harder for me without mom and without Jack. But we kept the tradition alive. We KEEP the tradition alive. Long live mom and her rebellious Chirstmas parties!

I miss my Jack Jack

Posted on | by cursingcats.com | 1 Comment on I miss my Jack Jack

I miss my Jack Jack. This past few days have been a new wave of sadness. I suppose it started with one day this week when I got home. You know how, when you get a new pet, you realize all the stuff you have to change? No more toilets left up, no open doors, no leaving food out — stuff like that. Well, I’m trained for Jack. So I came home and was careful not to swing open the door because he’s always right there waiting for me to open it. But… he’s not anymore. Like for that little minute I forgot he died and expected him to be behind the door.

Then, I had to read all the “The Loving Reaper” comics. Link here on WEBTOON. They’re PSA comics that are beautifully drawn and depressing AS FUCK. And a lot of them involve pets and terrible human beings, and obviously, death. So that didn’t help. I know.

Then, I went saving off old photos. This wasn’t related to Jack. We did our annual gingerbread tradition and I wanted to look at past gingerbread parties. I’ll get into it in another post — but it led me to going through all of Facebook and even back to Flickr for photos. So I also took the time to download all of these old photos (yes, you can request a zip file of every photo you’ve ever uploaded to Facebook). I saved them to my google photos for good future keeping.

LOOK AT MY SWEET BABY! Look how little he was! Those cheeks!

And here, he’s being all curious and adorable.

And I miss his little foot prints.

I just miss him so much. He loved when I’d come home and scoop him up like a baby and rub his belly and talk to him. He’d turn on that fake hamming-it up purr that sounded like a motor while I rubbed his “polka dots” (belly) and stuck my finger between his toe beans so he could squeeze it. He was such a good boy. He loved me so much. I really miss him a lot.

The past few nights (maybe 4ish?) I’ve been getting terrible anxiety at bed time. I’ll get anxiety tummy and then a tight chest.

I also started following this local cat place on Facebook and so that’s had adopting another cat on my mind. I think it’s just upsetting me though. I want JACK. I want Jack back. I want my biggun’

I’ll hide that cat page for now. I’m just upset all over again. Now I’m getting anxiety attacks every night. Ugh.

No good deed…

Posted on | by cursingcats.com | Leave a Comment on No good deed…

I have a very sour taste in my mouth. I finally got off my ass to get rid of all of Jack’s old medication and food. I still have 35 cans of prescription kidney diet cat food. That shits almost $3.00 a can. I reached out to every animal shelter. One really wanted his food but wouldn’t send anyone to pick it up. After finally failing to get anyone, I posted it on Facebook and NextDoor. I required that anyone who wants it provide evidence of the prescription and slapped a $10 cost on it to avoid the weird freebie people.

Turns out someone we know has a cat that needs it. Awesome, come get it. Is it over? No. No good deed goes unpunished. I quickly removed all the listings but still had someone reach out to me on NextDoor about it (Admitting that they could no longer find the original post). She had wanted to get it for her non-profit but had to reach out to the foster mom who needed it to see if she had a prescription. Well, I’m sorry it’s gone. I mean, technically it’s by my front door, but you know what I mean. She got a little pissy and even showed me screen shots of the convo with the foster. They seemed peeved that I wanted to see a prescription. Well, yeah. This is prescription food. And damn expensive. Don’t feed it to a cat that can just as easily eat some 99 cent Purina food. Anyway, I did throw them a bone and offer up all of Jacks leftover medicine which includes prescription IV bags with lines and tons of sterile needles.

Anyway, the acquaintance that wants it. Well… I’m not thrilled with her situation. See, she has five cats. One of which is an old man that needs kidney food. He’s not on it though because she can’t afford it. Hence she wants Jack’s. But dude, STOP TAKING IN CATS YOU CAN’T AFFORD. On top of multiple other terrible life decisions I shall not mention. I’m just not thrilled with it. And now she’s sick and can’t pick it up today. And I know that she won’t keep him on this diet because there’s no way she can afford it.

Then tonight one of my local shelters finally replies to my email (they didn’t have a phone number listed anywhere) that they’d be thrilled to have it. God dammit. So it’s sitting by my door, but I have to say no. Cause I already told this other chick she could have it. And I even told her if she can’t pick it up, this shelter wants it. She said “no, I got dibs!” God Dammit.

So now, even though I’m giving away $200 easy in cat health care, I feel like shit. Awesome.

Oh and lets not even mention all the people who have subtilely (and not-so-subtilely ) tried to get me to take in cats. Obviously, I’m a good cat parent. And everyone’s always getting rid of cats. So I’m like a fucking target. Some of my work buddies took in two kittens that a feral had. There’s a third but they can’t have all three. So they really want me to take it. They’ve even shown me pictures. Another guy at work is getting rid of an adult cat and people have asked me if I’d take it. Then another work friend (a little better than JUST work friend) is rehoming his cats. He’s getting married and she’s not a cat person and so he’s getting rid of them. But he’s like super sad about it. So he keeps moaning to me about it. I’m pretty sure he’s hoping I’ll take them. But dude, one of them is antisocial and the other is a cuddlebug but apparently doesn’t want pets. So like, I’m not interested.

Also, my sister is having to find a new home for HER cats. She lives with my other sister who won’t take them. They’ve been living at my dads girlfriends house for 4 years. In a single room because they don’t mesh with her other pets. Sister never visits them. They never get any attention because the girlfriend is rarely, if ever, home. I bet my other sister folds and takes them, but whatever. Anyway — girlfriend is moving so cats gotta go. I bet you $100, if she shows up to my Christmas party on Sunday, she asks me to take the cats. She probably won’t show though. Anyway, she gets under my skin with those cats. Give them to someone who will love them! You don’t love them! She always posts about how much she loves them and compares them to my Jack. No, bitch. You border line abuse those cats. They’re probably half feral from years of no stimulation. I don’t even think they like HER anymore. Oh and lets not forget these are the babies of another cat she had that she didn’t get fixed. She liked the babies more so ditched the older cat to the shelter. Oh and she didn’t get them fixed either so they got pregnant and she had to get the girl a kitty abortion.

PEOPLE SUCK.

Christmas Time!

Posted on | by cursingcats.com | Leave a Comment on Christmas Time!

I finally got my Christmas cards ready to send! Envelopes stuffed, addressed (labels), and stamped! Look at these beauties!

I was so proud of myself that I got out our Christmas cards through the years. Look at how cute we are.

A few things. Why do I have to relearn how to make address labels every year? And why do printers hate us? Printers are a pain in the ASS. They shouldn’t be. We’re engineers. I’m not stupid, but it’s a horrible battle every freaking year. Actually, it’s a horrible battle every time we have to print something. You never win.

Lastly, I do not have a copy of the first year we sent out photo cards. It makes me sad. I didn’t think to keep one. Also, I think 2018 with the snowman was the best one. But this year has a professional photo so it’s pretty snazzy.

Oh and sad to say, this will be the last year of “Jack on the Back” 🙁

My Thrilling Life

Posted on | by cursingcats.com | Leave a Comment on My Thrilling Life

Just so yall understand my life when I get home. I’m lazy. I just wanna sit on the couch and watch youtube. Youtube is because I’m too lazy to commit to a show or movie. Right now, it’s not playing cause any minute I’m gonna get up to go pee and get a yogurt. I’ve been about to get up to go pee and get a yogurt for over half an hour at least. Probably close to an hour if we’re honest. And I’m just sitting here scrolling going ‘”holy shit, is that TOUCAN?”

Do I like toucans, or care about them, or need a toucan ornament? Nope. But apparently some part of my brain cares. Maybe I don’t see toucans a lot or something.

And now that I’m posting this — why does that ornament say 2023? It’s not 2023! What the fuck? Now I gotta go click the damn ad I just screenshot so I can read the fine print on it.

Just a second…

Oh. Ok. It’s an ad for you to buy their yearly membership to get exclusive ornaments. So you’re buying next year which is 2023.

I can go pee now. And get that yogurt.