Why is it that the people with the most criticism and complaints and whines are also the people who leave no contact information?  Are they afraid someone will challenge them?  Or are they just the kind of people who hit and run in all aspects of their lives?

 

Am I the only person who has ever wondered about that?

 

It seems to me that if a person comments on the internet, that person should also be ON the internet, if that makes any sense.  Otherwise, they’re just crashing the party.

 

Can anybody also tell me why I take such comments so seriously?  I mean, really?  Most people just sigh or laugh or take it in stride, but me?  I almost always feel as if I’ve been mown down by a faceless hit and run driver who laughs and gives me the finger as he or she drives away in their over-large vehicle with the license plate so mud-spattered that it’s illegible.. 

 

I suppose I could set my comments so people who have something to say but don’t want anyone to know who said it couldn’t say it but I refuse to do it, at least not yet.  Most people really do have something productive to say and I appreciate them and their comments very, very much. And people who say negative things but aren’t afraid or ashamed to tell me who they are, are welcome, too.  I love a fair fight.   But people who say negative things without giving their name or contact information?  There are many words but I’ll just use this one:  Cowards.

 

Anonymous commenters are cowards.  And people who give you a false name and fake contact information are cowards AND liars.

 

And now back to our regularly scheduled program:  Christmas has arrived in my house, and even though there will be very few presents this year, the house is beautiful and I’m having company tonight and next weekend I’m hosting the largest family reunion in the history of the world, the kind where I have to clean more than the three main rooms because there will be so many people, they’ll have to spread out over the whole house.

 

I’m not sure this has ever been done, at least, not all at once.

 

And the day after that, I’m going to Indianapolis to see what my Tumorless Sister has been doing all this rehearsing for.  I can’t wait; her productions are always fantastic and she says that this year her students are, most of them, “professional quality.”  Tumorless, herself, is a professional, so if she says that, I know this show will be great.  Hey, Tumorless, wotcher doin’ after the show?

 

You know those cartoons where a kid gets out your vaccuum cleaner and runs it without a bag?  You know how it sprays crud all over the walls and all over the books in the bookshelves and you have to get down on the floor and pick it out of all the crevices in the jukebox and the tv/vcr/dvd stuff?  Sigh.  Me neither.

 

I’m not going to tell you about the garage.  No sense all of us being depressed.

 

If “Desperate Housewives” was really a reality show, it would tell me how to deal with these things without going postal.  But frankly?  I kind of enjoy the postal part, too.

 

I have not done one single bit of  Christmas shopping.  Not one single bit.

 

But I did make cookies last night.