NOW EVEN I DON'T KNOW WHAT SHE'S TALKING ABOUT.

My mom can't come to the blog right now.  She's slumped on her closet floor, clutching all of her Notre Dame sweatshirts, sobbing, ranting, shaking her fist at the sky, and breathing into a paper bag.  At first I figured that this was just another Wednesday and tried to avoid her entire mess of a self, but once she got on the telephone and started hollering at Aunt Chrissy, I couldn't help but overhear.

God only knows what's got the old lady on a roll THIS time, but I think it has something to do with a news story regarding a Notre Dame football player.  And from the limited amount I could decipher in between rants, I think something must have happened to this particular football player that has caused my Mo-ther to feel it necessary to holler (while very red faced and spitting slightly, I might add)...."YOU $#*($& WITH THE BULL, YOU GET THE HORNS!!!!  MEET THE HORNS!!!! RISE UP, NOTRE DAME NATION, AND CALL UPON OUR BELOVED BVM TO RALLY BEHIND OUR FAVORED SON AND SHAKE DOWN THE THUNDER UNTIL THERE IS NOTHING LEFT BUT FEAR AND TREMBLING AND RETRIBUTION".

At least that's how I think it went, anyway.  I was too busy trying to make sure that my crazyass mo-ther didn't knock over the Christmas tree as she was flailing about while trying to tell Aunt Chrissy all about the fierceness with which the Notre Dame family protects its own, and how she hopes that the resulting exposure of all of this mess will finally convince people that Facebook and Twitter are the devil and how nobody in their right freakin mind would ever use a computer -- ever -- and then I think this is when my Aunt Chrissy pointed out the fact that if it weren't for the computer, Mo-ther would be holed up in a cave somewhere with nothing to do but wring her hands while painting to do lists on the walls.

I'm as sensitive as the next pup, but somebody needs to intervene here and explain to my mom that she simply does not have enough time in her day to right the wrongs of the entire world.  And she most certainly cannot right the wrongs of the entire world while simultaneously trying to care for me in the manner to which I've become accustomed.

OK.  Enough about that.  Lots of new stuff to report here from Chez Outraged Spinster.  Mom got two (!) new pairs of glasses today and from what I gather they have some kind of fancypants lenses in them called "progressive high definition".  All I know is that Mo-ther is now able to see clearly both far away and up close, so we should be able archive the several hundred pairs of plastic magnifiers that she's hoarded from the Walgreens.

She also came home with a lovely new painting for the bedroom, so methinks that post-Christmas decorating will be much easier this year.  You see, when the Christmas decorations go up, Mom has to find someplace to put her big ass pear picture that normally hangs over the fireplace.  And this place is usually the bedroom wall, just next to the big ass sleigh bed.  When that picture comes down and goes back into the living room, we have months and months and months of kvetching over the lack of "pretty" in the bedroom, and Aunt Chrissy and I are subjected to endless hours of decorating and then re-decorating and then un-decorating until Mo-ther finally gives up and just falls on the floor in a heap.

But I think she might be on the right track.  Finally.

I'm envisioning all white bedding and some lovely drapes.  Maybe sheer, with a little hint of whimsy?  Whatever she does in there will definitely be an improvement, and I'm promising myself that I won't point out that it took her ten full years of living in this house to get to this point.

That's the report for now, dear friends.  If you're inclined to do so, please pray that things calm down around here soon.  I'm not sure how much more of the hysterics I can take, and God knows if I pack up my little valise and hit the bricks, the old lady will be left to her own devices.

Until we meet again, I remain your loyal and devoted friends.

With much love from your pal,
Stewey