Saturday, December 26, 2015

Is it wrong?

WARNING! THIS IS A REALLY RAMBLING POST.

So as I was saying, is it bad for me to feel sad all the damned time? Like I have the weight of the effing world on my goddamned shoulders? I mean, I was always told, "You think you have it bad? You've never had it bad. Quit crying or I'll give you something to cry about!" Words like that I understood.

I couldn't explain my feelings, though. It is still pretty much *I was going to say impossible, but damn...clearly that isn't right* Anyhow, what I was going to say was that I have difficulty articulating what my feelings are.

Sort of like a dude. I'm like a girl/dude. I am not a big girlie movie person, I like action movies. I always wanted Tinker Toys; Lincoln Logs..things like that. Maybe I have gender issues,too?! Anyhow, I am tired of trying to always be "normal". Having dropped all that shit in your lap, allow me to explain the why to all of this. Let's see if you can keep track:

I have been diagnosed with the following:

Chronic clinical depression
OCD
PTSD (you don't have to be in a war to get this)
personality disorder
the biggie: BIPOLAR DISORDER
Generalized anxiety..
and some other shit I can't remember right now.

Now, see...many people will say something like: I always thought she was crazy. Or maybe, Wow, I've never seen her like...go crazy.

Well, that pisses me off. Here's why:

It's ignorant and offensive. Being Bipolar doesn't mean you run around batshit crazy with your genitals hanging out screaming, "Let's go to Vegas!" I mean, you could do that, but I don't. Bipolar disorder has different variations and different medical "cocktails" to attempt to control it. Some are more manic, some are more depressed. Some swing wildly between the two. Some manic episodes last years, some last an hour...you never, ever know. For me,the depression is more prevalent.

I can remember being depressed on my 7th birthday, and I didn't know how to articulate it. I guess I came across as spoiled or whiny, because I was mocked and told how selfish I was. I don't know why. I think people thought I wanted my birthday presents then instead of after school or something. I was allowed to open a present, and I didn't want to. I didn't know what I wanted. I still don't for the love of Moses! I never know what I WANT at any given time. Even to this damned mother effin day.

I was diagnosed when I was 30 years old. I suffered for at least 23 years when I could have been treated. I doubt when I was a child that was very common, though. I waited to be diagnosed in order to not give a soon to be ex any fodder to attempt to gain custody of my children. THAT would have been the end. They are grown now. No worries. (In college, all three! One graduates this spring! Thank God! One is in grad school! Thank God! One is a sophomore! Thank God!)

Speaking of the end. Yes. I have. I've tried, but never succeeded. I think I'm too afraid. I'm either too afraid or too lazy. Not sure which. I can never anyhow, because I love my family. I would never do that to them. The dangerous thing is when my mind tells me that they would be better off without me. And I believe my asshole mind. Then I feel like a failure because I am scared.

You see...you can't trust your own mind. It's in there just doing whatever the hell it wants to do, and you can go to hell if you don't like it. (Not YOU, me. That is what it says to me. Not literally. It doesn't holler, "YOU CAN GO TO HELL IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT!" That would just be fucked up. (And kind of damned HI larious.) Because none of the rest is. That is one damned thing for sure. My mind says it's totally okay. It just told me to eat ice cream but we don't have any ice cream because some douchebag got bacteria in my favorite ice cream and they had to close down the factory to do something like hazmat cleaning or some such bullshit. THERE. See? All of that in a split second. I am careful to not SPEAK like that. Writing it is easier. Somehow, it comes out of my mouth, anyhow. *sad face* I HATE EMOJIS, by the way.

Most of the time, your mind is telling you how stupid and worthless you are. I am used to that. I expect it. When it is too bad, I go to bed. I stay in the dark, in the bed and hide. I cry uncontrollably. My family is scared, feel bad because they can't help me and don't understand what is wrong, although they know what is CLINICALLY wrong. What triggered it? Nothing. Nada. Don't need a trigger. It's always there.

It's always there..hiding. You can feel it hiding behind that rock right there to the left. Wait, it's to the right this time. See it? It growls and howls and it sounds like wind going through pine trees in the mountains. Wind sounds sad. That is how depression sounds as it ramps up to pay you a good old fashioned "HEY THERE! I'M HERE TO STAY FUR APIECE! HOW YA LIKE THAT? I'M HERE AND I'M GONNA MAKE YOU CRY AND CRY! Then I will laugh and laugh! I will just descend my damned ass down on your head whenever I'm ready and you won't know when it happens." THIS is the craptastic asshole type of depression that I want to kick in the throat.

I mean, the sister of this depression is always here. She is the one you can barely live with. You can act "normal" with her. You can work, do the things that have to be done in life. It's exhausting to act all the time. She just sort of hangs out next to me all the freakin' time. Like some idiot who likes you and you hate and they tag along like a puppy dog, but a puppy dog that can make you do things. Some goddamned puppy dog with super powers. That's some scary shit if you think about it. It's some idiot who you don't like who thinks you are the shit, but then hates you and has revenge on you because you don't like them always up on your ass whining and shit. They go to school and tell all the kids lies about you..like you pee in bed or something. (I don't. Pee in bed, I mean. Wait. I did when I was given Depakote. That was a goddamned amusement park for demons. I don't take that now.)

HOWEVER! Sometimes, their cousin Mania just waltzes in and begins telling you how damned AWESOME you are, and hell YES, you can do that! Watch. Then you wake up and don't remember drinking like 10 sake bombs, and you didn't know what sake bombs were yesterday afternoon. What the holy hell happened? Well, Mania likes to party! She also spends money, starts things she can't finish, makes really awesome plans that are completely impossible and stupid as shit. AND HAVE YOU HAD A FIREBALL? YES, PLEASE!! !

Hang on, "COPS" , my most favorite TV show of all time is on. I can't pass it up. It is the BEST.SHIT.EVER! Shit is going down on COPS, y'all. Wow. This girl is A MESS OF EPIC PROPORTIONS. Even I have never gotten that low. Wow. M&Ms and Crack in her pocket? I would choose the M&Ms.

So...back to the mania. Mania can fuck up your life forever. Problem is...YOU DON'T THINK THERE IS ANYTHING WRONG WITH EMPTYING THE BANK ACCOUNTS TO BUY EVERY DAMNED THING THAT IS REMOTELY RELATED TO THE LAVENDER PLANT. (I shit you not, lavender) SURE! I can TOTALLY start a plant nursery business RIGHT DAMNED NOW! I have a brilliant botany related damned brain! (that is almost true, but not so much.) There are no roadblocks on the road to absolute straightjacket hell.

OMIGOD! I just realized..I should tell this, maybe. I have ALWAYS been scared of the state mental hospital. Why? Because I was told I would go there if I didn't do this or that or stop doing this or that. Now, none of these things that were "done" or not "done" to me were meant to be hurtful or were malicious in any way. Different time, different ways. That's all it was. I mean, I was also told if I didn't come inside from playing when called, the "gypsies" would steal me and sell me into "white slavery". WTF is that???? Never happened, though.

I was constantly on the lookout for caravans of evil, slobbering hyena laughing people in the shadows wearing stylish scarves dashingly around their hips or neck. I never, ever saw them, which is unfortunate because that would be some interesting shit. They could be really nice. They might invite me in for a delicious slice of pecan pie. Maybe they would put ice cream on top, but maybe they had no freezer since they are in those old fashioned wagons like the fortune teller in the Wizard of Oz.

AWWW, man. Damn. These people on COPS that have all SORTS of drugs and shit...they searched their gross nasty car...and of course they have Whataburger and Dairy Queen bags and trash in there. I sear to GOD, y'all. Most people here aren't like that. Some are, but you know. Different stroke and all that. When I say "here", I mean here in Texas. We have this wondrous place to eat called "Whataburger". It is a heaven you may never have experienced if you don't live in the Great State of Texas. (That made me sound like a raging assclown. I wanted to say it like an old timey politician, and it damn sure made me sound like an assclown old time politician. THAT mystery is solved.) Plus, who the hell asked me to tell me about the most wondrous television program ever? Nobody, that's who. No damned body.

Here's the deal: I am a goddamned AWESOME writer. No, I'm not manic right now. There is something I pretty much always am confident about. I can write my ass off. I don't always do it, because I am busy hiding from the world and attempting to hold a normal job and have a normal life and family. The problem is...I start out writing and it's sort of stilted...tight like a tendon or something. After a few paragraphs, I hit my stride and I start sounding more like me. Not some idiot who is bemoaning her mental illness..I guess this is truly a first world problem.

My communication on here or social media or whatever frequently disappears because I can't type and hide under the covers at the same time. You can't be catatonic or howling in terror and sadness and still be able to make any sense. Yeah. First world. I am hiding in my nice, comfortable bed with nice, clean linens on it and a water pillow for my neck. What the hell? I'm not laying on the dirt floor of a hut with flies on my mouth. That is horrible.

I wonder, are those poor souls ever just PISSED off? Are they ever depressed? Happy? Or, are they just so focused on staying ALIVE and keeping their babies alive that they feel nothing? THAT just drug my ass way down. See? Now I'll focus on that and then mistreated animals and abused children and I want to just not live in this worthless world. (I changed that from an exclamation mark to a period because I am a notorious abuser of punctuation.)

But damn, I don't appreciate them playing really sad songs as they show the children or animals. I am fired up as hell already. You don't need to play horrifically sad music to go along with the shivering dog in the wooden crate in the snow with a chain around his neck. I can see that it is astonishing evil. I can. BUT, I have watched it very carefully, and some of those dogs and cats could just be on someone's couch or something. There is like a shitzhu or however you spell it. Anyhow, there is one and it looks way better groomed than my dogs. My dogs are assholes. Shitheads, if you will.

The shitheads also roll around in filth for no real damned reason. Two of them like to just piss like freakin' damned fountains in my house, when they know good and goddamned well that they are housetrained. Shit, our dogs live for EVER. My Westie, aka the Filth Magnet who has the yawning pit of death of a mouth is 15 years old. My Sheltie aka: the Dumb One is about 12 and my Yorkie aka Ewok is 10. Who has dogs that old? WE do! Our Golden was 17 years old when we had to put her down because she had cancer. Our other sheltie was 19 goddamned years old! Ungrateful little doggies. I love their goofy doggie selves. Plus? The Yorkie, the only girl...GETS SHIT DONE.


Dogs are the best. Nothing is better. They are innocent and happy (usually, unless some asshat who is itchin for a one way trip to hell when they die gets a hold of them)and they want to play play play and run run run and if you are my Westie, BITE THE SHIT OUT OF MOM'S HAND EVERY TIME SHE GETS NEAR YOU. Thankfully, his rabies are up to date. He is a raging maniac. We can't take him to the groomer's because NONE OF THEM IN OUR TOWN WILL TAKE HIM. He is notorious. I have to take him to this vet who also has a groomer in his office and he can sedate my dog before he is groomed. I am not sure I like that, so we haven't ACTUALLY done that, yet. Judging from the last mauling I suffered because I dared to attempt to comb him GENTLY AS FUCK and cut his claws, we will have to do that. Otherwise, he gets so stressed his nose bleeds. Maybe we'll leave him alone since he is so old, but he is so unsanitary! It's not good for him! I'm all conflicted, now.

The world is just too messed up and terrible. My dog gets nosebleeds from STRESS when we try to lovingly brush him or hold him. He's never been abused or hit. He flinches when I try to pet him. I don't know WHAT THE HELL IS UP WITH MY DOG! I hate the world.

Only..you know what? My brilliant, amazing precious children are in this world, and that makes up for all the shit whirling around. I can still laugh at funny shit. I can still read and go to places that aren't here. I can hug them, hear them, watch them and be so very proud and love them so much I just want to bite the shit out of something. (is that not normal? I feel the need to bite stuff when my emotions are really high one way or the other. Just bite the living shit out of something.)

Okay. Review: I'm mentally ill. Your suspicions were correct. Congrats, Sherlock. I am SO mentally ill. Like REALLY REALLY. I'm now fascinated with gypsies. I want one of those old timey wagons. I hate people who hurt animals or children or really ANYONE. There is no need for pain, especially against such innocent beings. I love COPS. My dogs are crazed demons. The world sucks ass. My kids are by far the ONLY thing that gives me hope for the human race. I'm sure there is more, but damn. It was a long ride, here. I'm exhausted. If you know me, I don't even want to discuss this, ok? Don't judge my ass or I'll have a major big problem with you and who KNOWS what my unhinged mind will tell me to do? I know I wouldn't want to find out if I was you. That's for sure.

Mom, Dad...should you read this..NO you didn't do anything to hurt me or anything wrong, for the love of God. Seriously! You have GOT to settle the hell down. Oh, I'm sorry for the cuss words. I have a filthy mouth. I'm sorry. You had nothing to do with it. I love you both. You did nothing wrong. Oh shit. Goddamn it. They are going to lose their damned minds. I LOVE YOU BOTH! OKAY? JESUS!

Wednesday, December 2, 2015

Regular old post. No Festivus

So, Wally has flat out lost whatever mind he had. Yesterday, he decided he could do as he damned well pleased WITHOUT HIS CANE. I was tired of fighting, Tyler was freaking out because if Wally falls, it will be the hospital again. So, he managed to get out there, and drag a rake one handed. Made a big assed mess is what he did. He still thinks he can use the chainsaw and reciprocating saw. Every doctor and therapist has told him, "NO!" Eff them. He knows better.

He says I cannot have a new dryer. This is going to be a major point of contention. Pretty major. We are watching the news about the San Bernardino active shooter. I swear to God, earlier, I was outside HANGING UP CLOTHES ON THE STUPID, PIONEER CLOTHESLINE, and I heard 1. Sirens; 2. Pistol shots. Pop pop pop.....pop pop. Hmmmmm...it was coming from the direction of the high school. Thank god my kids have all graduated. Anyhow, I think "Oh, I'm being overly dramatic like everyone says....it's nothing..." POPPOPPOPPOPPOP.........(VERY DEEP MUFFLED) ratatatatatatatatatataat. Not a pistol. An sutomatic rifle. I know what shots sound like. It was not like a nail gun, it wasn't from Ft. Hood, although since it was cold and rainy, they sent troops out in the field to bomb the hell out of it. Our house sort of jumps off the ground all the time. We don't even notice anymore, so this that I was hearing, was definitely not that. Then, I hear: sirens. More sirens. Time: 1:2something. Kids out..coming back from lunch maybe? I don't know the times. I just stay away anytime near 4:00. You can't get down the street when they are dismissed. Anyhow, I heard the pistol shots further away...down towards a convenience store, our vet, and a trailer park. I came in, told Wally, turned on the news and found out about San Bernardino. Nothing about here, so who knows what I heard.

Oooohhh...WARNING: THIS IS ABOUT TO TURN INTO A RANT, AND I DIDN'T PLAN IT. Don't blame me.

I am in favor of the 2nd amendment. I shoot, my husband shoots, my kids shoot. I have been shooting since I was a wee tiny girl. My Daddy is from remote West Texas, and naturally, you take your kids out and train them with a .22 rifle. We did that several times. I grew up around guns. We lived in the actual...LITERAL (you know I hate that word being used incorrectly), however, LITERALLY IN THE MIDDLE OF A PLACE CALLED NOWHERE. You shoot. Kids carry pocket knives all the time. Not to kill people, but because it's a tool. I have two scars on my right thigh and knee where I shut my knife wrong. Who cares? I didn't even say anything. I sure as hell didn't run and cry.


Anyhow, back to guns. I am pretty damned good. I have a 9mm that is just mine. I love it. It's a Smith & Wesson 639. Stainless and I am used to it. We have probably, seriously, no exaggeration, probably close to 20 guns that we shoot regularly. Some are very large weapons that even shooting ranges won't let us shoot. I promise....I guarantee...that if someone in that building had been able to carry a gun...this would have been much less serious. Here, you never know if someone is carrying, so you best behave. If there is a sign saying you cannot even bring in concealed carry with license, then you aren't supposed to. Who knows you have it, though? (Not condoning that, it's ILLEGAL.) Anyhow...if people were able to conceal carry everywhere, there would be a shit ton less of these damned ridiculous horrific situations. Who goes into a place that serves people with developmental disabilities???? What the hell? Really. If I had been there, and had a gun...at least ONE would be dead.

My husband is absolutely POSITIVE that we will have to defend our HOMESTEAD...WTF? I know, it's the Homestead Exemption, but still... He is sure we will all have to defend the ole homestead from a tribe of government agents. He's POSITIVE. We must be ready. Nobody cares and we don't listen and find him insane. Fear not. After his stroke, he can't do it. Whew.

My point, and I do have one this time, is that these effed up individuals need to be terrified to go into any place because they won't know who the hell could have a gun and be more than ready to shoot them dead in a hot second. I know California is not a very gun friendly state. Imagine if it was. Let's face it. Criminals are going to get guns. They aren't going to do it legally, more than likely. We get ours from gun dealers. We have inherited guns. We lock them securely with biometric safes.

24 years ago, our town was the genial host to what ended up being a huge mass shooting. A major insane person from the next town over decided to ruin many people's lives. He drove from his town to ours, decided to crash his car through the windows of a cafeteria called Luby's. It was either Boss' day or Secretary's day. I can't remember. It was full. They nutjob got our of his car or truck or whatever and proceeded to shoot people calmly and cooly. He targeted women. (He had problems with the ladies. Idiot. It was probably because he was BATSHIT crazy.)

My husband had to respond to that, along with state troopers, the rest of our city's PD, EMS, Firefighters...other town's PDs. It was a horrible horrible scene. Many of the people who were shot had guns in their cars. Had they been able to conceal carry, that man wouldn't have been able to do this. My husband's partner shot the fool. Then the fool shot himself. Before he was shot, he hollered, "I have hostages!". My husband's partner yelled back, "No you don't!" and shot him. None of these brave but idiot fools, (including my husband) had their vests on. FOOLS! My husband's partner was using a state trooper's car as cover and reached in and got a vest off the seat. FOOLS! My husband always wore his vest after that, and I had a big sign on the door telling him to wear it. ANYHOW...., they had the highway shut down and helicopters there to take wounded to a large hospital nearby. (The same hospital Wally was in after his stroke.) However, 23 people died that day. In a restaurant in the middle of the day. The man was not connected to the restaurant in any way. He was simply some crazy person who snapped and went and killed many innocent people. Had he known someone could and probably would have a gun, no way, Jose. In Texas, you can pretty well assume more than one or two people will be armed. Had it been so then, many people would have lived.

How did I get on this subject? I try to stay away from decisive issues on here. So..yeah. FAIL.

The press just asked the police chief of San Bernardino what the gunmen used. I just yelled: "GUNS!" Jeez.

With that, I bid you A DOO. (a student of mine used to close all of his writings with that. Awesome.)

Tuesday, December 1, 2015


Happy Whatever, everyone! I do not like this time of year, so I wish all of you a theft free holiday. I figure that is pretty nice and very generic. So there. That is what I wish you.

This is our yearly holiday letter that I started a few years ago in answer to all of the "Holiday Update" letters we get from people instead of a nice, normal card. So, here we go.

I hope you all have had a lovely year! We sure haven't! Well, we are all alive. I suppose that is as much as anyone can ask, really.

I have no Christmas/Hanukkah wish-list. I hope nobody I know does, either. Why? Nobody is getting a damned thing this year. Why? We have no dollars. Why? Well, because the stock market ain't so swell, and lo and behold, Wally had a stroke on September 21st. HIS BIRTHDAY, by the way. What is the Universe telling us? Nothing good, that's for sure. So, after they got him to the hospital, he had a second stroke. Airlifted to another hospital. ICU for a week or so, then acute care for a few weeks. Then a rehab hospital for several weeks. Now home with continued physical therapy. He cannot work, drive, do anything manual and needs help with many other tasks. It infuriates him. What infuriates us is that he thinks he can do things such as cut down a tree with a chainsaw which he attempted to do, with no functioning right arm, hand and very little mobility in the right leg. He stumped out there with his cane, and drug a chainsaw. He wouldn't listen to me, at all. Of course, he couldn't do that. Tyler did it. Then Wally insisted it get thrown in the backyard.

Meanwhile, my dryer died. Of course it did. What a delight. Especially since it's been raining for a week, and I have had to be a pioneer woman. I have had to put up a clothes line and hang up clothes with clothespins, (which I thought were for art projects at school...not work.) and it's cold. My stuff isn't drying. I need a new dryer. Wally is content to not get one. I am not content, so there will have to be something done. Guess what it will be? A dryer. That's what.

Let's see...news from the rest of the year. January started off normally. No big whup. (There is a video on Youtube you must watch from a lady who is insane. She talks about boycotting Bath and Body Works. Her name is AzAngela or something like that. Just search for Angela/Bath and Body works rant. You'll be glad you did.) She says, "No big whup". While chomping gum.

February came, kicked my butt and left. Thanks, February. (My birthday is in February, and every year, February insists on making me another year older. February can suck it.) Valentine's Day came and went. Basically, this means my class had their Valentine's party, got sugared all up and sent home with their parents. No big whup.

March. Hmmm...SPRING BREAK! No big whup. We did nothing. I worked on something for work. THE.WHOLE.TIME. Morning, noon and night. Big fun. I did not enjoy it. For those of you who did go somewhere and had fun, well good for you. I went to Paris on Spring Break a few years ago. Have you done that? Yes? Did you get into a street riot? No? Then I win.

April. Tyler turned 19. Impossible. However, happen it did. My niece turned 16. She now drives. Stay off the roads.
April is not a good month with the exception of those two birthdays. We have had horrid things happen in April, and I don't like it.

May. My nephew turned 15. Good lord. Where does the time go? IT GOES AWAY. IT NEVER COMES BACK AND WE GET OLD,SICK, UNATTRACTIVE, AND DIE. That's what.

June. School got out for Summer. NOW THAT IS GOOD STUFF THERE. What did I do? I had a pretty bad breakdown and stayed in bed a good portion of the summer. Seriously. It was fairly horrid. I don't usually tell about these things, but that is seriously what I did all summer.

July. Bed

August. Bed and return to school.

September. Wally turned 62, Jack turned 23, and Kira turned 24. Wally had two strokes. We have racked up an unreasonable amount of medical bills, which luckily are all paid by our insurance. I don't know about the life flight. They keep sending me bills for...get this...sit down....32,000 dollars. US dollars. Greenbacks. Moolah. 32,000.00. I opened the first one and just busted out laughing because let's face it: they ain't getting that money from me. I threw it away. I got a second one, which is weird since the insurance is paying and all I get are "This is not a bill" from all doctors and hospitals and rehabs and everything. I again laughed and saw that they had a thing that said they offered "convenient payment plans". I don't like that. I can't yike dat. (My niece used to say that. We all say it now.) I can't yike dat, and so I didn't and I threw it away. I took pictures of it so people would believe me. I threw away a third, too. Those people think I will or can pay that? BAHAHAHAHAH! Ignorance. I thought I might be gaining weight. Nope. Scale at hospital showed me down five pounds. Which made sense since I almost never sat down.

October. PROPERTY TAXES DUE. WALLY FREAKS OUT EVERY SINGLE SECOND OF EVERY SINGLE DAY! HELP! ALERT! ALERT!!!! THE GOVERNMENT WILL TAKE OUR HOUSE, SO WE NEED TO SET UP THE MACHINE GUN TO BE READY FOR WHEN THEY (THE GOVERNMENT...WHICH IS A SHIT TON OF PEOPLE) COME TO TAKE OUR HOUSE AND LAND. WHEN WE KILL THEM ALL, THE SWAT TEAM WILL COME, (BECAUSE THEY ALWAYS WAIT UNTIL THE WHOLE GOVERNMENT IS DEAD!) WE WILL HAVE TO KILL THEM ALL. THEN WE WILL HAVE TO HOLD OFF EVERY AUTHORITY AND PERSON. Yes. I deal with that daily. A shrink at the rehab place saw him twice and said it would take very little for him to do that. I will kill him first, so no need to worry. Guess what I did? I PAID THE DAMNED PROPERTY TAXES! CRISES AVERTED! For this year. Not one kid came to trick or treat. I thought I might be gaining weight. Nope. Scale says the same. Interesting since I haven't watched my weight and have lived on coke and coffee.

November. More at home physical and occupational therapy. Cook, clean, take blood sugar, take blood pressure, cook, do laundry, clean, grocery shop, clean, do other crap like get handicap parking, (AWESOME!) and talk to insurance people and disability people and my employer since I am on leave. Then we ate like pigs at my Mom's house. My brother was relatively pleasant. A success. No weight gain according to scale, but it redistributed or some shit. A pair of jeans of mine...they still fit fine, but I used to be able to pull them on and off without unbuttoning or unzipping them. Not now. Something is wrong. I will tell you what it is. I think I am gaining weight.

December. Today is December 1st. Who knows. My kids are going to Chicago to see their Dad and family up there. The leave as soon as school gets out and come back as late as they can to start spring semester. I see no reason to pretend to be jolly or anything. I don't like holidays. I won't have my kids. No big whup. (that cracks me up every time.)