Sorry for the lateness in posting awards, but the fam and I went out for a birthday dinner, and then I came home and spent all my birthday money online, ordering crafting stuff.
Many thanks to all for the warm birthday wishes. Y'all make me feel better just by being here.
Now, on to what you all came for -- the spectacular floor show! Uh.... I mean the awards!
In our Whine of Substance category, our winner is Uccellina, whose precious progeny scared entire *decades* off Daddy's lifespan by appearing not to breathe. As if having a poor, sick little one isn't enough, now your husband's a quivering pile of Jell-o. Well, at least he's a parent who cares -- you could have the other end of the spectrum, God forbid.
In our Elevated Risk of Mullet award for best use of beverage-spewing wordsmithery, the award goes to the ever-hilarious Gary (otherwise known as Dr. Corndog) for the following: "Anti-whine: the boys have actually been behaving semi-respectably. My last nerve remains remarkably unjumped upon at this point." May I borrow those boys to demonstrate proper behavior to my boys in my class? Because my last nerve was jumped on, kicked down the hall, put in time out, severed and the shreds thrown to the four corners of the globe about a week ago. Sorry you're flying solo for the interim, Gary, but I know you're a great dad, so you'll do fine.
In the Old Skool category, Margalit wins for bringing the bodily fluids, even though the fluid is animal instead of human. The cat is insistent that its litter box is beneath Margalit's bed, necessitating the sleeping on the couch. Niiiice. Add in the verbally abusive son, and I'm sure tears are in there somewhere.
In a double-whammy decision, margalit also racks up another WW statuette in the "Friends? Who Needs 'Em?" category for friends who know that her family was running low on groceries and money, but still got a case of the ass-chap when they declined the invitation to the "bring your own sushi" party. Sorry that things are so tight right now, and sorry your friend's an asshat.
In my patented "Morton's Salt" award, the winner is Purple Kangaroo, whose tale of the doctor who desperately needs some bedside manner is angry-making in the extreme. You'd think, with your history, she'd have a little more of a clue by now. I hope you get your appointment, and the referral you need. I also hope good days are headed your way, and soon.
Honorable mentions go out to Kathy A., whose daughter lost her ATM card and needs mom to bail her out, and to Sue for back-to-work woes, moving woes, and a bouquet of flowers to her lovely husband, Pillar, for putting up with the crankiness.
Thanks to all who whined this week, and hope all your fall days are blustery in a good way!