Like the proud people at Maker's Mark distilleries, I was unwilling to dilute my content here at the Dept. just to satisfy demand. Although it has been a long time between postings, and I know that I am retired and should be posting something far more often since I have loads of time and something to say about everything, I didn't want to throw any old thing together.
Then I thought, Oh hell. If I wait for something erudite or wonderful, it might be April before I hit Publish again.
So in my severe and advanced state of Seasonal Affective Disorder, I have brought together this Flotsam And Jetsam from my winter-numbed brain, encased as it is in polar fleece and cat hair.
=*= How Hard Is It? A few days ago, the Walgreens near me, which is astonishingly busy at all hours of the day, advertised this on its electronic sign: WHOPPING COUGH SHOTS. This is the same store that I called regularly to correct when it advertised DEODERANT. You have the label! Look at it!
Similarly, the Catholic church has been running a recruiting ad in our area. Sponsored by the diocese, it features a woman who has decided to return to the faith. At the end of the ad, it had a graphic that included the phrase "at your Catholic CHRUCH." That ad ran with that misspelled graphic for weeks. I went to the website to contact them and tell them--as a polite and helpful person--but there was nowhere to do it. The ad on the website had been corrected. Eventually, it got corrected on air. Boy, first the Catholics' proofreader quits, then the Pope. They can't catch a break!
=*= Will You Visit Me At The Home? My sister Susan, my mom St. Patsy, and I had another game night Saturday night. It was a marathon, and let me tell you why. It's because we are old and pathetic women. Naturally, we had to play THE GAME. (Memory Game, the nostalgic wayback machine Susan bought for $50 on Ebay that is like Concentration.) Well, Susan, whose memory is sharp, was distracted because she had one teenager due home from work on a snowy night and the other at home entertaining two friends; I have Menopause Mind and am working through a bit of stress at the moment; and St. Patsy is 82.5 and on some new pain meds for her hip. St. Patsy turned over one, same card ON EVERY SINGLE TURN. And she was surprised every single time. I kept forgetting where one of a pair was as soon as it was turned back over. Only Susan was drinking. And she won.
=*= I Hope They Donate Their Bodies To Science. While I was cowering under a fleece blanket in my fleece pants and fleece slippers, some yahoo on television was blathering about Cleveland winter weather. All I heard was "blah blah blah Well, what do you expect in Cleveland in February? But I love the snow!" and then I picked up my space heater and heaved it at the tv. Okay, so I didn't do that last part, but what I did do is start in on a rant about People Who Say They Love Snow (aka People Who Are Stupid/People Who Shouldn't Be Allowed To Speak Aloud/People Who Make Me Forget That I Am Against Assault Rifle Ownership). People Who Love Snow are also These People, then:
1. People Who Love Shovelling
2. People Who Love Sitting In Traffic Due To Slippery/Snow-Covered Highways
3. People Who Love Cleaning Off Snowy Windshields
4. People Who Love Walking Like Penguins On Icy Surfaces
5. People Who Love Hideous Looking Salt-Marked Cars, Shoes, Pants, Coats
6. People Who Love Wearing Bulky Garments
7. People Who Love Dry Skin And Hair
8. People Who Love Chapped Lips
9. People Who Love Getting Bundled Up To Simply Take Out Trash
10. People Who Are Sadists And Masochists, Obviously
I got spoiled last winter, The Winter That Never Was. This year, I feel put-upon and ill-used. And all those other negative, hyphenated adjectives. And crabby! Really, really crabby. So, commiserate with me in Comments, and don't you dare try to Cheer Me Up. Let's crank around first. You know me: Right now, I just need to wallow.