Suzy Says

Improved tree

I’ve always been terrible at wrapping presents. You’d think I’d be good at it, given my expertise in applying make-up, love of all things sparkly, and generally trivial mindset, but no. The ends bunch up, the paper is unevenly cut and/or is too big or too small for the package, there’s tape all over the damn place, and the ribbons are knotted and bedraggled. I’m the anti-Martha Stewart.

This is another reason why our Christmas stocking tradition is so very kick-ass. Cheap; non-stressful; fun; and nothing to wrap.

Yesterday, I put together Megan’s Christmas stocking, which was made by Erica. Hence its awesomeness:

I’m pleased to report that it is jam packed with goodies. I actually had candy left over (for now).

The only present I had to wrap was for Jessica, and it’s the best wrapping job I have ever done:

I should get extra credit for valiantly giving her the fluffy snowman pen, especially because it lights up, and the snowflake pin, especially since it’s sparkly and would have looked excellent in my hair. Also festive. Don’t say I never did anything for you, kid.

I smugly put the elegantly-wrapped present and stuffed stocking under the tree. About five minutes later, it was brought to my attention that this was an idea worthy of International Stupidity Day. All the cats converged on the present and started playing with the snowman fluff. Sighing, I removed both items and hid them in the laundry room/pantry*. Oh, Nanny, where art thou?

Speaking of the tree, I ended up excavating a string of lights for it. This just encouraged me, so I added candy canes (in a classic flavor). The iridescent tree topper was half-price the last time I was in Rite Aid, so I had to get it. A little out of proportion to a Charlie Brown sized tree, perhaps, but so are showgirls’ headdresses.

*The washer is still leaking, but Rob put up my “Vertigo” poster, so at least it’s well-decorated. A girl must have some standards, you know.

Winter skies

Ring, ring!

I open my eyes. It’s still dark. Even the cats aren’t asking to go out.

Ring, ring!

Rob! Something must have happened*. Looking at the clock, it’s around 6:00 am, so maybe Meg came home and found Rob in low sugar hell. Grab phone and answer anxiously.

It’s not Megan. It’s someone asking if I’m Megan.

“No. Who is this?!”

It turns out to be the internet people, asking about billing.

“Are you kidding? It’s 6 am!”

“I’m sorry, I thought you were on the east coast.”

If they were anywhere near the US of A, they’d know that California has never been located on the east coast, nor will it ever be.

If they knew anything about their jobs, they’d know that I don’t get the bills. They go to our IT person in San Francisco.

I explain this to them, and hang up. Despite the early hour, I am so annoyed that getting up is inevitable and coffee is optional.

While I’m in the shower, the PG&E meter reader passes by the window, which is located right in the shower and gives a splendid view of the garden. Or a surprised blonde, depending on your point of view. I don’t know which of us was more taken aback. After he fled, Lucky peered in to see what all the excitement was about, and then wandered away, bored.

I was heading to town to run some errands, so I called my brother to ask him if he needed anything. Since it’s an hour’s drive round-trip, we try to spare our sibs an extra trip if possible.

I called him on my cell, because if I call him on my landline, it’s long distance. Even though he lives less than a quarter of a mile away. The problem is that the sibs’ cell phone numbers are registered in Boonville, about a 45 minute drive from here. So even though it’s the same area code and county, it’s long distance. Go figure.

But we have the same cell service provider, so if I call them on my cell, it’s free. However, the cell service at my house is horrible, so the call cut out. I called him back on the cell, and it happened again, so he called my landline and begged me to never call him on my cell again, for fear of an aneurysm.

He needed five gallons of gas, so it was good that we were finally able to talk. Cheap at the price. Note: if you ever have a plastic container of gas in your back seat, you will be amazed by how your car smells like gas, even after the container is gone.

Before I could leave the house, my cell rang again. I was pretty sure it wouldn’t be my brother, and it wasn’t. It was the credit card company, telling me that my account was overdue.

“Uh…I just got an email telling me that payment was due on January 10.”

“Oh.” Pause. “Let me check our records.”

Because, really – why check your records before you call people and harass them a couple of days before Christmas?

It turned out that I was right and they were wrong. I hung up during the apology.

Was it International Stupidity Day and nobody told me?

When I finally got home from my errands, I found a message for Megan on my phone number from my friends at the internet service provider, asking me to call them and confirm that I should be added to the account, despite the fact that I did that THREE WEEKS AGO:

http://suzysays.net/2009/12/patience/

I handed the whole mess over to our IT person. Merry Christmas! Enjoy!

Despite my new year’s resolution, this one defies categorization.

*It used to be that if the phone rang in the dark, I immediately thought “Mom!” Now I think “Rob!”