The Boy Terror makes me nervous.

It's no secret that Boy Terror is a bit.....odd.  Different.  Unique!  That's a better word.  He's unique.  This is the list I found yesterday on my grocery list pad (spelling is NOT his specialty):

full grocery bags   8
swich'es                29
pet's                     82
dog toy's              9
stocking's             15
door's                  16
dish'es                  231
                            462

After I stopped twitching (I'm an English teacher by training.  The misuse of the apostrophe killed several of my brain cells) I asked a few clarifying questions.
Apparently, we do have 29 light switches in the house.  The 82 pets boggled me, until he reminded me about the Tryops.  I guess there are 80???  I asked him if he really did count all the dishes, but he just estimated.  And then, assuming there were plenty of other things in the house, he doubled his biggest number and declared "There are 462 things in this house!"

Is it time to call a professional yet????

Dave

On November 26th, a very dear friend of ours passed away.  Dave and my husband were friends for 25 years.  Dave was the best man in our wedding, and we were honored to be the attendants at his.  You never expect to lose a friend this early in life.  I feel ripped off, and cheated.  I want just one more day to tell him how much he meant to me, and how sad life will be without his smile.  Even when we fought, when we tormented each other, and when I said "I'm not speaking to you anymore!" I always knew Dave would be there for me.
Dave wasn't the sort to want a funeral service of any kind, so last night his friends and family gathered to laugh, cry, and tell stories.  We raised toasts of tequlia shots to Dave, and took comfort in each other.
There is no way to describe my sadness.  I know Dave would be completely pissed off at me for crying, so I'll try to remember his big laugh, contagious smile, and crazy sense of humor.

Going postal

Apparently there is a very good reason why I should NOT be allowed to interact with the general public.  I have lost my "niceness".  In my defense, it's been a horrible week.  I'll talk about that another day...

SO.  I went to the post office last night to pick up a parcel.  (The stupid parcel was not even for ME.  Ugh.)  There were kazillion people in line, since it's December now, and every single person in the city MUST mail tacky crap to every relative they've ever met.  No problem.  I knew there would be a line.  I was patient.  I waited, and smiled, and did not punch the man behind me who had no sense of personal space.  I also did not have a completely innappropriate conversation on my cell phone, like that other woman.  Seriously, was there no other moment in her day when she could have told "Shannon" all about her beer diarrhea???  ANYWAY.....
When I got to the front of the line, I smiled like a decent human being, and said to the postal clerk "Hi!  How are you?  I'm just here to pick up a parcel."  She said "Other than being overworked and underpaid, I'm FINE."
Hmmmm.  Not  quite what I was expecting.  I didn't have an answer ready for that.  So I made the mistake of just saying whatever the hell popped into my mind.  That is NEVER a good idea.  My mind needs a heavy duty filter between my thoughts and my mouth. 
"I guess, in this economy, the best you can do is just be grateful you HAVE a job..."

Not the thing to say if you want smiles with your service.  Not at all.