Merry Christmas

I feel like I just told the world to f*** off or something equally as rude by the title of my blog. "Merry Christmas" is apparently the new four letter word because not everyone celebrates Christmas. (Oh crap, like I didn't realize that there are different religions and people who didn't believe in Jesus in the world even though I have the internet! I missed THAT memo!).

Well, not everyone takes a summer vacation either but we tend to ask how people are spending their summer. Not everyone gets a March Break but we usually ask about that too.

Get over it. Seriously, those who are religious are not stuffing a Christmas tree up your butt sideways saying "Worship or I'll holy war you" when they say "Merry Christmas." They're trying to be nice. Being nice- a new idea. Try it by biting your tongue and saying "Oh thanks! Happy Holidays!" (See, no one's forcing you to say merry Christmas...not even the underpaid cashier at Walmart who accidentally let a Christmas slip out).

You may or may not celebrate Christmas but screw 'politically correct' and say what you want. One of your rights is freedom of speech. That's right, you're allowed to say "Merry Christmas" and if anyone decides to be a Grinch about it, that Christmas tree may very well go up their ass (pointy end first).

Cat are smarter than humans

I woke up this morning and said, "Oh shit" not because it was a bad morning but because my cat, a senior at the ripe old age of 10 or so, missed the litter box completely. As I began to clean it up, I realized I'm my cat's slave.

I work for free, without so much as a thank you. Instead of being loving and gracious, Madame Cat decided to watch and , in my opinion, critique my work of cleaning, spraying and scrubbing. After my hands were washed, she demanded I give her attention and a back massage.

She is fed and when out of food, only needs to scream (aka meow) for more...NOW! She sits and demands treats, doesn't get punished even when she does something wrong and is waited on hand and foot.

I crawl to drag her out from under the chair at times...I'm positive she believes I am worshiping her. She doesn't earn her keep as she would run from a rodent...she eats, sleeps, poops, and occasionally allows her adoring subjects to look upon her lovingly. Her hair is brushed, she never cleans a toilet and is routinely fed without having to prepare the nibbles or do dishes.

Forget being a lawyer, my goal in life is to be a house-cat.

What I want to say

I've been trying to write for the past ten minutes so instead of writing a bunch of blogs about topics that don't make sense, here's a glimpse into my thoughts for the night:

-I hate that our friendship has changed and I wish I could take it all back sometimes but I can't put my life on hold for this. I'm always unsure if you're just busy or ignoring me. I hate this uncertainty.

-I hope you know what you're doing because your decisions hurt a lot of people. I wish you the best of luck in your future.

-I miss hanging out with you. Wanna bake cupcakes?

-You're getting cupcakes for Christmas!!!! (I am terrible at secrets but you don't know who you are so it's still a secret).

-Hopefully you guys realize how much it takes to go to the front of the class and explain my work.

-I hope you're having fun over there and sincerely hope you're safe and enjoying time with your family.

-I am home for the holidays. Get it? I'm on vacation. Do NOT talk to me about my job. Thank you.

-Christmas is the season in which I truly believe that people are still good-souls.

The realization that I'm not the EIC today

I am home. On Grand Manan. Far away from Residence. I'm not being asked about the paper, an article, or anything regarding 'The Baron.' This might not seem like much but to me, it means I can drop my responsibilities for a bit and just relax. I don't need to be constantly concerned with being "Samantha Tinker- Editor in Chief"...today, I'm just Sam.

It dawned on me as I threw on a pair of sweatpants, a tank top and sports bra as I decided to have a very chill day. I grabbed a shower, threw my hair up in a ponytail and didn't even bother with makeup. I'll be honest though...this feeling of just being able to relax is good for about a week but after that, it becomes a bit boring. I like being able to dress up and go out. I like having a reason to throw on some dress pants or a cute top. I love my heels, my short skirts, my little red dress...oh, I love that little red dress.

Here, it's usually easier to wear sweats and a sweater because there are two huge dogs who love to shed on me, a cat who looks more like a poof ball, chickens to feed and goodness knows what else.

Here's to just being Sam today...it's a good feeling.

The Christmas Cookie Conundrum

I don't understand why I bother to make christmas cookies. I sincerely hate baking and don't even like sugar cookies. Here's why Christmas cookies should be laced with something to make my life easier:

-Trying to remember who has what allergy. Dad is allergic to nuts but not peanut butter, mom is allergic to mushrooms (not that they matter in Christmas cookies). Then there is soy, dairy, and apparently certain fruits...and if you mess up, you've put your friend or family member in the hospital with an Epi-pen in their hip. Merry Christmas, hope you survive!

-Following a recipe. Seriously, cooking is easy. Add a dash of this, a smidge of that, and taste constantly...baking is about texture and the right amount. I have the attention span of a chipmunk and yes, shiny things distract me. I hate following a recipe mostly because I tend to mess it up.

-Decorating the cookies...so after eating the batter (which is pretty yummy) and taste testing icing until my tummy hurts, I have to actually decorate the cookies. By this time, all I can smell is sugar, my stomach is lurching and I remind myself that I do, indeed, like these people.

-Packaging the cookies- After I iced them, sprinkled them and made them look pretty, I throw them in a tin or on a plate hoping they will still look pretty when I deliver them...nope, never works out. The cookies look like a first grade project gone horribly wrong. My inner four year old is on crack.

Anyways, I'm going to head out and start to cook.