So it would appear that the holidays are truly upon us, or, as I like to call it, the season wherein we all flirt with poverty to praise the Baby Jesus. I’m constantly asked what I want for Christmas, but since Obama is about to take office and I just bought some sweet new boots, I’m really out of suggestions. How about the Nobel for literature? That would be nice and also easy to wrap.
I struggle annually with whether or not to buy a tree. My parents were anti-tree. They also didn’t let us believe in Santa Claus, so draw whatever conclusions you would like. It might explain my apathy in general towards the season, though I do hold a tender spot in my heart for spiked egg-nog. Shocking, I know.
But back to the tree. I was drinking the café au lait that my manservant delivered to the foot of my bed this morning and pondering what to do about Christmas foliage. Being of the eco-sort, I’ve never loved the ritual of bringing in a tree only to watch it slowly die over the course of the month (see above: parents, anti-tree). But on the other hand, I like the idea of making one’s house festive for the season (see: adoration of shiny things). I also LOVE stringing lights. LOVE it. I cannot explain this, as it’s everyone’s least favorite job, but I will gladly come over and do it for you.
Last year, I solved this dilemma by purchasing two small, living trees with the intent of, keeping them alive! And then using them again next year! And they will become our family trees! Alas, I didn’t take into account the fact that I’m unable to keep anything that is supposed to grow, thriving (see: why I do not have children). Seriously. I have killed cactus. Cacti? It’s embarrassing, but also something I have accepted about myself. Unaccountably, I have two plants that my mother gave me that have survived two years of wanton neglect, interspersed by frantic watering when I remember that they are there. Everything flourishes under my mothers care, and I belive the plants live in fear of her coming over and berating them for not living up to her standards. Grow! She says. And things do. She is scary.
This year, I decided to do some research regarding fake trees. YES. FAKE. I know, I know…my house won’t smell like Christmas! And it’s not the same blah blah BLAH. But guess what? I don’t have to water the damn thing or vacuum up dropping needles or eventually deal with hauling it out to the curb where all of the other dead trees end up after New Years. I am a SCROOGE, whatever (see: things I know to be true). Anyhoo, after trotting through several stores yesterday, I found a DARLING one. So cute. It’s a wee bit Charlie Brown’ish, but in a good way, so tonight, I will deck the halls, or at least my living room, and be happy in the knowledge that when New Years comes around, I can just put this puppy in a bag and haul it out next year for round #2 (see: German Efficiency™).
I am a vessel of holiday cheer, ‘tis true.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
At least she waxes
I just put up that new photo of Kylie and realized that it gives you a clear view up her ass. Why I didn’t notice this before is beyond me…it could have had something to do with not being able to get iPhoto open and then being distracted by a chocolate turkey that I found sitting on the counter that suddenly needed my attention. Because if there is a chocolate turkey, and it is past Thanksgiving, one must attend! And also eat! Which I did, and now I have a tummy ache and a photo that portrays the dog version of a money shot. But will I change it? NO! Because iPhoto is still being cranky and now I must go and search for Tums.
So be patient, and just enjoy the rest of the picture. The pretty trees! The mountains in the background! The big, blue sky! And the knowledge that at the end of this particular hike, we were rewarded with margaritas of such strength, of such mind bending properties that I woke up in the backseat of a strange car with my underwear around my ears and “John 3:16” written in pink lipstick on my forehead. Fa la la la LA!
Anyhoo, I’ll do my best to get a different, less offensive photo up by weeks end so that you don’t have to read my blog with one finger covering my dogs butt. Because that can’t be ergonomically correct or good for your neck. Never say I don’t think of my dear readers first.
UPDATE: You'll note our fair pup is now trotting along the beach, backside safely in the shadows. You're welcome.
So be patient, and just enjoy the rest of the picture. The pretty trees! The mountains in the background! The big, blue sky! And the knowledge that at the end of this particular hike, we were rewarded with margaritas of such strength, of such mind bending properties that I woke up in the backseat of a strange car with my underwear around my ears and “John 3:16” written in pink lipstick on my forehead. Fa la la la LA!
Anyhoo, I’ll do my best to get a different, less offensive photo up by weeks end so that you don’t have to read my blog with one finger covering my dogs butt. Because that can’t be ergonomically correct or good for your neck. Never say I don’t think of my dear readers first.
UPDATE: You'll note our fair pup is now trotting along the beach, backside safely in the shadows. You're welcome.
Monday, December 1, 2008
This website makes your booty go POW!
I spent the weekend allowing my intestines to recover from the gluttony that was Thanksgiving and losing a Scrabble game to Mike. Online, no less, because I made it my mission not to wear pants this weekend, which would, of course, prevent me from leaving the house. Oh evil waistband! How the turkey I consumed doth protest against your unyielding tightness!
But by Sunday evening, hunger returned and so I went to the fridge, which only offered a yawning abyss of emptiness and a small jar of mustard. Seeking sustenance, I hauled on some pants and left for the market. It was a quick trip – I picked up the necessary items and headed for the register. On my way, I noticed that the new In Style was out with Heidi Klum on the cover. Heidi! With her pretty hair and teeth and German-ness! She says auf widersehen, I say ausgezeichnet!
Anyhoo, I marched on to the check out line only to hear “HEY LADY HEY LADY!” being hollered behind me. I turned to see a small, Chinese man running after me, waving a piece of paper that happened to be a subscription card…you know the kind that fall all over your kitchen floor when you’re opening a new magazine? I hate those things. “YOU DROP THIS!” he said, I think making up for his accent with volume. “Thank you” I said, taking the card and putting it back into the magazine. I smiled and turned to go, but he wasn’t finished.
“YOU HAVE NICE SEAT!” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“NICE SEAT. YOU KNOW, BOTTOM!”
“What?” I was perplexed and also, without thinking, clutched at my ass.
“IT ROUND AND NICE!” at which he turned to the side and made a half circle around his own butt, making the shape of a rear whose largess I hope to never mimic. “IT GO POW!” he continued, pumping his small fist into the air.
I was at a loss. If, in fact, my booty did go pow, I wouldn’t expect an elderly Chinese man to sing its praises in the middle of the dry cereal aisle. But, you know, I’ll take what I can get. “Thanks!” I said. “I guess I’ll keep doing my squats!” He laughed, clearly not understanding what I meant and left.
But now I know what to ask when I’m trying on jeans. It’s not about your butt looking big but if it, indeed, goes POW! How much better will that make pants shopping? Am I right? You’re welcome!
But by Sunday evening, hunger returned and so I went to the fridge, which only offered a yawning abyss of emptiness and a small jar of mustard. Seeking sustenance, I hauled on some pants and left for the market. It was a quick trip – I picked up the necessary items and headed for the register. On my way, I noticed that the new In Style was out with Heidi Klum on the cover. Heidi! With her pretty hair and teeth and German-ness! She says auf widersehen, I say ausgezeichnet!
Anyhoo, I marched on to the check out line only to hear “HEY LADY HEY LADY!” being hollered behind me. I turned to see a small, Chinese man running after me, waving a piece of paper that happened to be a subscription card…you know the kind that fall all over your kitchen floor when you’re opening a new magazine? I hate those things. “YOU DROP THIS!” he said, I think making up for his accent with volume. “Thank you” I said, taking the card and putting it back into the magazine. I smiled and turned to go, but he wasn’t finished.
“YOU HAVE NICE SEAT!” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“NICE SEAT. YOU KNOW, BOTTOM!”
“What?” I was perplexed and also, without thinking, clutched at my ass.
“IT ROUND AND NICE!” at which he turned to the side and made a half circle around his own butt, making the shape of a rear whose largess I hope to never mimic. “IT GO POW!” he continued, pumping his small fist into the air.
I was at a loss. If, in fact, my booty did go pow, I wouldn’t expect an elderly Chinese man to sing its praises in the middle of the dry cereal aisle. But, you know, I’ll take what I can get. “Thanks!” I said. “I guess I’ll keep doing my squats!” He laughed, clearly not understanding what I meant and left.
But now I know what to ask when I’m trying on jeans. It’s not about your butt looking big but if it, indeed, goes POW! How much better will that make pants shopping? Am I right? You’re welcome!
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