Below is a copy of an email sent to the Kennedy Space Center Gift Shop.  After sending that email, I took a better look at the book and found the book to also be damaged because of lousy packaging.  Yes, they got a second email because of that.  Don’t try to call them.  You get a voicemail that says leave a message.  You have to wonder if maybe they fail to launch a lot of the right things.  Oh, as for the book I wanted.  In paperback it was actually $6.00 cheaper.
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I recently ordered the paperback book The Darkest Dark published in 2018, what I got was the hardback book published 2016.  I could have ordered that book for nearly $4.00 cheaper on Amazon Prime if that had been the one I wanted.  It wasn’t.  Now I have to decide whether to return the book you sent and try to get the one I actually want somewhere else or keep the one you sent me.
Here’s the problem.  I ordered this book for my grandson for his birthday and that happens to be this Saturday.  The other problem is that by the time I pack this damn book up and return it the shipping fee will cost more than the difference in the price of the book.  Nice work.
Time of my next blog:
07/25/2019
Please be watching for it at cathypacematthews.com, I’m sure you’ll find it most interesting.
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Please don’t get me wrong, I have always been supportive of our space program.  When I was young, when it was still unheard of for a girl to even think of going into space, I wanted to be an astronaut.  So, for me to be this upset with anything to do with the program and anything affiliated with it is no small matter.  Now my grandson wants to be an astronaut so I was trying to be a good grandmother and get him something that I thought would be fun and interesting for him.
The Kennedy Space Center deals with some of the most complicated, thought-intensive, dangerous procedures launching things into space, but they not only can’t get the right item out the door they are incapable of appropriately packing something to get it across a couple of states safely?
Humm…

 Lately I haven’t found a lot of things funny.  Sad, crappy, scary, even confusing, but not funny.
I’m a person who can usually find something funny in almost anything, but lately, no.  Now is this because of me or is it the rest of the world that’s gone to Hell in a hand-basket and refuses to entertain me anymore.  I go for the second one personally.  I just thought of an old lady tumbling down the steps and it gave me a chuckle.  I pictured myself as that old lady, that part was sad, but yet, I had managed to amuse myself.
I can manage to amuse my daughter when I stump my toe.  No matter how bad it might be, damn, I could knock the thing off, and she would still probably find it amusing.  Not because she finds me hurting myself funny, at least I hope not, but because of the way I respond when that happens.
No, I don’t jerk my leg of the injured toe up in my hands hopping around on one foot, can you imagine the deadly ramifications of that action, nor do I plop down in the nearest location to nurse and whine over the injured appendage.  I also do not expel a long line of expletives in a loud cackling voice or spill out shrieking noises of pain.  I simply go ow in a low monotone manner and keep going as if nothing has happened.  I don’t care how bad it might be, that is always the response.  Seriously, I could probably knock off the whole damn toe and the result would be no different.  Hey, I’ve jammed the damn thing and that was still the response.  Now you know why my daughter finds it amusing.
What’s not amusing is why I usually have this happen to me on such a regular basis.  My dear hubby leaves toe mines all over the house.  Don’t ask me why, maybe he is trying to take me out one toe at a time.  What can I say, I’m Diabetic, so it could be a thing?  I also remember that I have in some way addressed this issue before, but from a different perspective and for different reasons.
No, the problem is definitely you guys, or at least some of you.
Below is a list of things I don’t find funny. I do find them sad, scary, and horrible.

1. “Your car is faster than mine, I don’t like that.”  Bang, you’re dead.
2. “You disrespected me; I don’t like that.”  Bang, you’re dead.
3. “You don’t believe the same things I do; I don’t like that.”  Bang, you’re dead.
4. “My other classmates are going to school and learning something, I don’t like that.” Bang, bang, bang, a whole bunch of you are dead.
5. “You didn’t get my dinner right; I don’t like that.”  Slap, punch, stab, you’re dead.
6. “This very small child won’t shut up; I don’t like that.”  I can’t even finish that one.

So, think about this a minute.  If me accidentally hurting myself is the only thing I can find amusing these days…you should consider all the things I’m finding sad, crappy, scary, and confusing.  Let’s start finding ways to try and stop these things instead of all of us bickering over all the stupid shit in this country?

   To say this past week has been a bit of a challenge is the understatement of the millennium.  Four emergency room visits, no not me, emotional meltdowns, again not me, me spending a good deal of time babysitting from one to three children four days this past week, and a five-year-old’s birthday party.  Added to this I’ve got a project that I’ve been trying to get finished for two weeks now and It’s just not happening.
To give you an idea of what I mean, I was going to write this then go to work on that when my hubby steps through the back door, when I say through the back door I mean out of it not in, and says, “I’m home.”  Really?  My husband has to be at work at six in the morning so I thought I would have at least four or five hours to work on this project, it is a very important project, before he would walk through the door this afternoon.
No, that isn’t happening now.  If my husband is up and moving about the house I can’t work.  He is a distraction.  He doesn’t mean to be, but he is.  I had everything set up on our deck out back and of course with him being home he will be running in and out that back door.  That’s a big distraction in and of itself.  Part of what he’ll be doing while running in and out of that back door is working on a lawn mower that belongs to our youngest daughter.  That will be a great big distraction. The icing on the cake will be our five-month-old puppy who is already the size of a small elephant who when it is just me and her is a little angel, but with daddy home, she turns into a little hoodlum.  That can end with me pulling my hair out.
What it boils down to people is I’m sinking here, and I don’t know how to tread these waters little on swim in them.  HELP!
So now I will take another twenty to thirty minutes to load up my stuff, move it all back inside and call it a day.  Actually, I’m thinking of parking my little, OK, not so little, butt in my car and heading for regions unknown, where I will spend the day hiding from my family.  Yes, I have a cell phone but that doesn’t mean I have to answer it.
If you never hear from me again that means I have disappeared into the nether regions of some distant parallel universe and I like it there.  Actually, if you don’t hear from me, call the police because I’m lost.