it's a ginger bread MAN you cunt

So I’m pretty much the most productive person in the world.

I did indeed get a job which I’m going to start in about an hour. I’m studying algebra so I can spend less money at school than I have to on topics unrelated to my area of study. I acquired the new Air album, Pocket Symphony (Thanks Ba-rett), which I’ve been dutifully, and happily listening to for the past couple of hours.

Yesterday was my Auntie and Uncle’s 20th anniversary. To celebrate, the Tiffers and I drove out to Leander (a.k.a. BFE) baring gifts of Elgin Sausage and flowers, and were very helpful and productive, punctuated with country music video watching (you suck Auntie!) and napping.

Diverging from the normal cooking, followed by gorging, followed by ‘vegetating in front of the boob tube’ (thank you Grandma for that delightful phrase), we had a lovely interactive evening of decorating the porch with borrowed Christmas lights, cooking up a ‘real nice’ Southern style BBQ feast, feasting on said feast, all topped off with a delectable (if I do say so myself) tres leches made by moi.

Also, my sister Melody, with whom I haven’t seen or spoken to in at least 6 months, was there, and we had a nice catching up time, and the exchange was equal and riveting, we are both very awesome in our lives as different as they are, and she was lovely, and I helped her very nominally on her English paper. Like always, we reminisced about the good old days.
And when I say the good old days, I mean the days of our adolescence when Mel would revel in torturing me in a variety of minor yet effective ways.

Por exemplo: Imagine a baby pink, satin hemmed, fuzzy blanket, under which you have slept since near infancy.
Imagine you are 13, and very interested in only yourself, writing depressed, pre-suicide/obsessed with Craig teenager poetry, and reading.
Imagine you have a sister, a mere month and two days younger than you, who is completely intolerant of your need for solitude and the pursuance of the arts, who needs attention in order to cope with the boredom of your home life situation.
What do you think follows?

Right you are. Your sister pulls tic tac size pieces of your baby pink fuzzy blanket, balls them up, sticks them, one at a time into her nostril, plugs the other nostril, and pushes her air out with such force in your direction, that the snot contaminated fuzz ball has no choice but to land somewhere on your person.
Now imagine this happening daily, multiple times, and then congratulate me on how well adjusted I am, considering.

Exemplo numero dos: Let me begin by enlightening you with some vital info about me of which you were probably unaware; I cannnot poo unless I am reading something. I will not. Even if I'm touching cloth, having to employ every gluteal muscle in order to stave off immediate pooing, I will, until I have something in my hands to read.
Sometimes this presents problems, like at restaurants or in public restrooms in general (I can't tell you how many times I've read my voter registration card, even the parts in Spanish), but I usually suss something out, even if it means resorting to counting bathroom floor tiles.

That said...

This has been going on for my entire literate life. So again, imagine you are 13, and you've just spent 45 minutes, post-defecation, unwiped and on the toilet, reading (or rereading, I should say) The Far Side Gallery 3.
Imagine that, true to form, sitting for an extended period on the blood-circulation-hindering toilet seat has, once again, rendered your legs asleep and useless. You know that as soon as you make any attempts at movement, you will be incapacitated with pins and needles, shooting and tingling throughout both of your legs.

What do you do? WHAT DO YOU DO?

You run to your bed as quickly as humanly possible, lie as still as humanly possible, and tell your meddling sister as sternly as humanly possible (considering your current predicament) that if she touches/moves you or the bed, she will suffer the consequences. The keyword being 'suffer'.
But both of you know, and acknowledge with a shared look, that you are in no position to 'administer justice'.
So in another attention getting attempt, your sister does what any turd of a sibling would do, which is to repeatedly poke your legs, whilst laughing maniacally.

I just have to say, it's not only a miracle I survived, it's a miracle I'm able to consort with this monster of a woman, and reminisce, in good humour, about those darkest of days.

So, I'm a Quack's right now, and I just eavesdropped something which I absolutely HAVE to share.
A woman, picking out baked goods with her kids, just called a ginger bread man, a GINGER BREAD PERSON!.............. TWICE!!!!!
THIS WAS CONSCIOUSLY DONE!
OH MY HOLY FUCKING GOD WHAT HAS THIS WORLD COME TO WHEN YOU THINK CHILDREN'S PERCEPTION OF GENDER EQUALITY WILL BE DAMAGED BY CALLING A 'GINGER BREAD MAN' A 'GINGER BREAD MAN'? I WANT TO VOMIT, I'M ACTUALLY DRY HEAVING, I'M SO SICK WITH POLITICAL CORRECTNESS INFECTION I THINK I'M LITERALLY GOING TO DIE! I WANT TO GO PUNCH THAT HO IN THE HEAD UNTIL SHE SCREAMS FUCK AND CUNT AND BITCH AND OTHER GENDER OFFENDING SLURS!

So fucking gay, I swear to god.

There are probably about 17 total minutes in any given year when I regret living in Austin. This took up about 3 of my annual allotment. The other 14 or so are usually reserved for August, and have to do with my cars a/c not working.