Setting Yourself Up For Failure

or how I resolve to avoid the sticky web of resolutions this year...

Okay, so I was never big on resolutions. Very few are ever kept past...I don't know... January 3rd and it just seems like another soulless, societally dictated action whose entire purpose is intended to make you feel like a total loser by the end of the year since you haven't accomplished SQUAT except the realization that you're just one huge Asshat.

Ooo...I like that word, "asshat". That word reminds me of this guy at work who uses the term "like ass" to describe pretty much anything that is vile and disgusting. You know, like, "OMG! That smells like ASS!" or "Wow...that tastes like ASS." or "That show sucked like ASS." which doesn't even make sense, but..whatever. The question remains, exactly how much ass has he smelled or sampled to make him such an expert? No, wait. Don't reeeeeeally want to know. Really. No thank you.

Moving on...

So this year instead of making a list of serious resolutions I should actually keep, I'm choosing to make a list of resolutions I have no chance in Hell of keeping. Sort of a reverse psychology resolution list. This way at the end of the year my lack of ambition will actually be an accomplishment for which I can take pride. Get it? It's kinda like that game "I Never" we used to play at parties. You make a declaration that is actually true, but you put the phrase "I Never" before it and everyone else has to raise their hand if they also did the same stupid thing, and then take a drink. (of course it was a drinking game. we were in our 20s. sha!) For example, someone might say "I never smoked pot" or "I never threw up on your shoes" or "I never motorboated your girlfriend's naked breasts while you were passed out on the couch" ...and that's when the fistfight would start...and the party would be over.

So here goes. I "resolve" to...

1. stop swearing in f*cking general, and at work in f*cking particular.

2. stop using the phrase "that's what she said"

3. stop buying shoes

4. pay a bit more attention at work (well, okay, this one I probably should actually do)

5. stop chewing my lip and/or nails

6. stop using the phrase "in your pants" after titles (i.e. Big Bang Theory... in your pants)

7. start acting more lady like (snort! yeah, right! who would recognize me?)

8. write more entertaining blogs

9. end the dirty talk with my co-workers

and finally...

10. quit obsessing over my fantasy husband, Rhett Miller AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! SNORT!

I couldn't even keep a straight face for that one. Like that would EVER happen without the aid of a twelve-step program! Pa-Lease!!?!

Anyway, best wishes to all for an economically upturned, top-shelf liquor laced, resolution free new year filled with more of the folks you love and adore and far less of those who give you shit.

And just because it's the end of the year and I can, here's one of my favorite tunes from the Rhett concert at Hoboken. So bite me.

Bits And Pieces  

or random thoughts from an untidy mind 

Non-Sequitur #1:

Okay, so over the last week, several of my work friends have been saying all these nice things to me...about me. You know things like how much they appreciate my sense of humor, how they admire the way I relate to my co-workers and make our PTL guests feel at home, how I'm "always upbeat and fun to be around"...

Seriously. 

Like just today I had lunch with a bud who's hoping to retire early next year. He wanted me to know how much he appreciated all I'd done for him and how much he enjoyed working with me. 

While it's always lovely to know people care about you and don't think you suck to be around, I have to wonder...do I have a brain tumor (or as Arnold Schwarzenegger would say...tumah) or some other such ailment I don't know about? Really. What's up with this?

Non-Sequitur #2:

Okay, so let me start out by saying I'm not a buxom lass. Pretty average, truth be told. Anyway, we have this medicine cabinet with two doors, the larger of which is three times the size of the smaller one. I open this larger door at least...I don't know...seven times a day. Last night when I went to close the door, it was like my right boob suddenly became possessed by Pam Anderson's plastic surgeon, magically expanded to twice its size and leapt forward to get caught in the door. 

Damn!?

Kinda like one of those squeezy stress toys where the eyes pop out, except it was a mammary magnification. Weird. 

Non-Sequitur #3:

So I was reading FU, Penguin yesterday, opened the comments and stumbled upon an entry from another blogger FU, FU Penguin. It's a blog where the animals pictured in the original FU, Penguin trash talk back. You can check it out here. You may also notice it is a new listing on my sidebar. Naturally, I fell in love with this site and became a follower...because excessive  swearing and absurdity is apparently how I roll these days. 

Checking out the list of nine followers on FU, FU Penguin, I stumbled upon a blogger whose name piqued my interest, Hey Lola. Turns out she's a pretty hilarious and clever writer. Hey, anyone who's subtitle is "It's just chaos" has got to be fun, right? Well, she is. I'm following her, too. You can find her in the sidebar as well. 

You know, between Hey Lola, Hola Isabel and Innocent Bystander, I'm starting to feel pretty inadequate in this whole blogging arena. Perhaps I should stop searching out better bloggers before I end up in the corner, tucked in a fetal position, rocking myself back and forth crying out for the comfort of my blue blankey. As someone's boozy Mom might say, "Oh Honey! Pull down your skirt. Your insecurity is showing." 

Ah, but then again, who the hell reads this shit anyway.

Friday Photo #7 

or what's on top of your tree?

Every year my Card Club pals and I exchange hideous crap in a Yankee Swap. This beauty has been passed  around for years. After much liquor, merriment and mayhem at this year's soiree, we decided to leave our mark on our host, Duckie's Christmas tree. Kinda makes you in want to sing Silver Bells doesn't it?

Severed Head...

Severed Head...

Staring at me from my tree top.

Oh My God! Who's the knob?

You've ruined my Christmas day.

Tis The Season

in which I reflect on the blessings in my life

2008 started off inauspiciously.

Geo, my love, found himself on the receiving end of pink slip. His studio decided to downsize, and without warning we went from DINKs to SINKs. Unlike other times, however, he received a severance package as well as unemployment. Shocked by the sudden down turn in our fortune and a little depressed, he was still able to restart his free lance business, keep our coffers afloat and spend some quality time with me. We even got to go away to New York for his birthday in the Spring.

He has since been hired by a another graphics firm. I'm happy to say they love him and treat him very well indeed. It's nice to see him get the respect he deserves. His spirit is a lot lighter these days. What was at first perceived as a hardship has turned out to be a huge blessing and the cosmic kick in the ass he needed to move forward.

Our families are healthy and doing well. We had a scare with my brother-in-law this year. At first it looked like he may have a cancerous tumor in his lung, but miraculously the spot disappeared. The kids in our family are thriving in college and growing up nicely. My Mom, Big Mar is still kicking around at the ripe old age of 87. She's slowing a bit, but her mind is still sharp. She and her girlfriends still get together for cards every month. Now if we could only get her to wear her hearing aid....

We got to spend a lot of quality time with our friends this year. Our buds Doug and Bill both turned 50 this year. We were lucky enough to celebrate this milestone with each of them. Doug's wife threw a great party for him in February. 

Bill's was celebrated on the golf course at Seven Springs in September. Apparently 50-year-old white men can still jump :D

Old friends returned from living abroad to settle in as our neighbors. Now most of my favorite people live within walking distance. I even got to reconnect with an old friend, Nancy, who I haven't seen in nearly 30 years. It was as though we were never apart.

Our social life was completely filled with monthly wine tastings, baseball games, hockey games, dinners, weekends away with the gals, Broadway plays, Arts Festivals, neighborhood bar crawls, dinner and cocktails on the deck and lots and lots of music.

We got to spend another memorable evening at a house concert with the incomparable Francis Dunnery...

and cultivated a renewed interest in Old 97's from their free summer concert performance which grew into a full-on obsession (okay, only I obsess) by the time they returned in October (chronicled here, if you care to subject yourself to my frenzy), and capped it off with a spectacular Rhett Miller solo gig in Hoboken (a Christmas present to myself).

And I finally got off my lazy ass and started writing a blog. 

I was kinda nervous about putting my writings out there for public consumption, you know, because I might really, really suck at it. But I have to say I'm enjoying the process immensely. I appreciate all the support from my friends and family who read this daily or just from time to time. And for the two or three readers who have no personal connection to me, thanks. I hope to continue to earn your following. 

But by far my biggest blessing this year (and every other year) is Geo's presence in my life. His irrefutable love, support and encouragement is what propels me forward, keeps me on track and makes life on this crazy blue planet worthwhile. 

May your Christmas be filled with the love and laughter of family and friends. 

What Do You Get The Person With Everything?

Pete's delicious Schweddy Balls, of course! 

It's Christmas Eve. Enjoy this SNL classic. I never get tired of this! (Sorry about the advert at the top.)

Last Minute Christmas Goodies 

or ummmm...thanks? 

Okay so, Netscape.aol is our default home page on Safari. The other day they had a list of the wierdest gifts to give this holiday season. I must admit...I agree. Here are some of my favorites. Remember, these are all actual products available for purchase. Really. I kid you not.

Anti-Monkey Butt Powder. I thought we humans were evolved far enough not to smell of monkey butt, but hey. Whatever. This powder claims to "keep a certain region dry and smelling fresh". Wait there's more, it claims to take care of that dicey dilemma "whether you ride motorcycles or horses, play sports or just sit on your big, fat buttocks all day". It's long lasting, too. Sold!

Not for you, well maybe this will suit your fancy.

Subtle-Butt, another derriere directive is a disposable deodorizer which eliminates gas smells with the latest space-aged antimicrobial carbon technology. Don't you just love technology. You simply attach Subtle-Butt to your underwear and..Voila! you are free to pass gas until your heart's content and no one will be the wiser. "It's great for use in crowds or after a particularly gassy meal." Now that's a claim we all might want test. It comes in packs of five saving graces...and two Hail Marys.

But I think my favorite is this gem.

That's right. Chicken Poop Lip Balm, because nothing says "Kiss Me!!" more than a set of luscious lips lined with fecal matter. Not just any fecal matter...eco-friendly, free range fecal matter. Available at Walgreens.

Happy shopping.

"This Is What Christmas Is All About, Charlie Brown"

or how I spent my week trying to get my Christmas spirit back

Okay, so I've been in a real funk the last couple of weeks. Totally devoid of any sort of Christmas cheer. Normally I'm the kind of person who really gets into the whole spirit of the season. You know, like obnoxiously upbeat and in your face with all the happiness and good cheer...baking and decorating and buying lots o' stuff for others and generally overly enthusiastic.

But this year for some reason, the Christmas crunch season pissed me off. I really didn't give a shit. I did everything half-assed. Seriously. The decorations were half up...the empty space where the tree should be, mocked me...Geo hadn't finished painting this year's card...I hadn't even wrapped anything even though I had three soirees in one week to attend requiring wrapped packages. And yet I really, REALLY didn't care if any of it was finished. Not like me AT ALL.

I couldn't even stand to be near myself.

My recovery effort began on Thursday. Our hip, local public radio station, WYEP (the very best station in the whole-wide-world I might add--now downstreaming on the web, check it out) held its first ever Holiday Hootenanny Members Appreciation party. They had cookies, cocktails and a band named "Silver and Gold" comprised of members from about eight or nine local bands to play Christmas music.

It was great fun. They covered all sorts of festive songs...from classics like Silver Bells and Sleigh Ride to less traditional fare like the Kinks' Father Christmas and Bruce's Santa Claus is Coming to Town. They even had a couple (she about two hours from giving birth, swilling a pseudo Cosmo and "smoking" a cig, him wielding a martini shaker) sing the boozy duet Baby It's Cold Outside. The evening ended with a rousing rendition of Do They Know It's Christmas replete with audience participation.

The place was jammed. My sister and I were in the middle of this mixed-age pack, singing, dancing and clapping our hands even though hardly anyone else was joining in. That's one of the things I love about being my age...I get to ignore the dominant practices of public decorum. If I feel like singing along and dancing down the aisle to what's playing in the grocery store, I do it. It's all about lightening the hell up and having fun.

On the ride home, I actually started to feel a little bit better.

Friday was all about doing the Christmas lunch/presents thing with my dear KD Twisted Sisters. We convened at Beets' house, ate tons of tasty chow and polished off a huge bottle of champagne in our Mimosas. The tunes were festive, the gossip juicy, the liquor flowing. I was definitely starting to come around, but not quite there yet.

Saturday was a two-fer. Lunch and holiday shenanigans with my Card Club pals (for the record, we don't play cards--we eat, drink and go on vacation. we don't need no stinking cards). We do this crazy Yankee swap where you find the most hideous thing in your house, wrap it up all purty-like and then fight over them. It's great fun. Mood feeling lighter, but still a ways to go.

Part deux was a Caroling party with the neighbors. We've done this for the last several years now. We drink a little, parade around the neighborhood singing tidings of comfort and joy (to the discomfort of most folks) then return for some noshing and more liquid lubrication.

As an ex-Catholic, we rarely ever sang more than one verse of any song. I don't know..maybe it's some kind of concerted effort to get the folks out of church ASAP, but we just never sang other verses. So anyway, we're at a house singing Hark the Herald Angels Sing, when we get to the second verse:

Late in time behold him come

Offspring of the Virgin womb

Veiled in flesh the Godhead...WHAT?!?

What the?! What are we singing? Is this for real? These are really the lyrics? No wonder we only sang the first verse. That's somewhat disturbing. Let's never speak of it again.

As we were pondering what the heck that all meant, I heard someone behind me. There was a young man sneaking out of a dark car and running as though he was being chased by wolves into an equally dark house where upon he slammed the door with such force it shook the picture window. I swear he thought we were zombies come to munch on his brains, that's how much he did NOT want us to sing in front of his house.

Naturally we sang in front of his house.

We launched into Deck the Halls, in tune I might add. The door opened wide. A different, larger shadowy figure stood in the doorway.  

"Deck the Halls with Bows of Holly.. Fa La La La La  La La La--"

SLAM!!

He actually slammed the door on us. Seriously. What's up with that?

So we kept singing.

The door opened about six inches...

SLAM!!

I laughed so hard, I tinkled a little in my pants. Still we kept singing. We finished one song, sang another then bid Capt'n Curmudgeon a Merry freakin' Christmas.

And that my friends, is what restored the sparkle to my tarnished Holiday spirit.

Sure the friends, carols and liquor consumption certainly helped...a lot. But it was the outrageousness of that singular slamming door that put the bounce back in my step, the life in my lagging elan. I'm back, BABY!

So a tip of the hat to you, my cantankerous neighbor. For you have shown me the true meaning of Christmas. Humor.

Friday Photo #6 

recession? what recession?

There is this little house tucked away between two commercial buildings in the South Side whose owners feel compelled to completely cover it from top to bottom for each holiday. Christmas is kinda their High Holy Season. I'm not kidding. As you can see every inch of this puppy is draped in lights, Santas and blow-up crap. You can actually see it glowing when you drive by. It's a spectacle. Yes, but it is also my "guilty pleasure" spectacle. Every year I'm amazed by how much more is added. When I walked by last night, I swear I could hear the electric meter whirring like a chopper. 

To the owners, I salute you and your balls to flip the super finger at the crippled economy. Eat this recession. 

The big mystery is...where the hell do they store this sh*t?

The Funniest Blog EVER!! 

or damn! why didn't i think of that? 

So Geo subscribes to this newsletter called Very Short List. It's a one pager that seeks out and shares some of the hottest and hippest stuff on the internet. Last week they featured the absolutely funniest blog EVER. 

It's called Fuck You, Penguin. He (I'm assuming it's written by a guy) finds a picture of an animal and just goes off on it. It's brilliant! So brilliant I wish I'd have thought of it first, but I could never be as clever and snarky to do these wild critters justice. 

I have become a devout follower. The verve with which he skewers these animals makes me laugh out loud daily. There is a direct link in the sidebar to join this dark side. Submit. Submit.

FU Penguin, whoever you are, I bow to your creative genius. Bravo, sir. Bravo.

"The Horrors...The Horrors..." 

or Christmas in the Suburbs ain't what it used to be (a dark tale)

Okay, so usually people move from the city limits to the suburbs for a sense of safety. Sure they'll tell you it's because the schools are better or there's more lawn space or the air is cleaner, but in reality it's because the burbs are perceived as gun-free safety zone. That and basically a lot of white people are afraid of folks of ACBW...any color but white. 

We live in the suburbs because we both grew up in boroughs outside the city line. It's what we know. And for the most part it's a quiet, peaceful existence. Okay so the burbs are not immune to the occasional whack-job, hillbilly-like neighbor who insists on storing every broken appliance on his porch because "he'll get to it later" or some random act of teenage mischief. But for the most part it's safe enough to not have forty locks on the front door. Or so I thought...

Today I was driving a mere street away from my humble domicile when I stumbled upon this most horrible crime scene. 

The carnage was so vast Law and Order could use it for one of their "ripped from the headlines" episodes if they could stop retching at the sight of such senseless devastation. What could possess someone to slaughter so many innocent seasonal icons? 

Have they no soul? 

To stab Frosty in the back and leave him to aspirate in a plot of soggy grass. That's just cold, Dawg! 

He's just trying to make the young folk smile, is all. He's made of snow, not blow. And how about his two little buddies...using Stewie Griffin to crack their skulls, and then just toss him on the heap like an old discarded shoe. He may be diabolical, but Stewie's just a baby! What the ef?

And what about Cool Yule Santa? He delivers hopes and dreams to all the tiny boys and girls. What could he have been doing to warrant such an attack? 

Look at his smile. He was obviously enjoying himself when he got whacked...hey, wait a minute. What's that pink thing spread out over "Santa's trap door"? Is that... Is that a--HOOKER? Was CY Santa sampling the Hos? 

Holy Crap!?! 

What the hell? Did my sleepy little hamlet suddenly turn into freaking Blue Velvet?! Eww Eww..is that a severed ear in the grassy knoll? Could these beloved characters have been involved in some unspeakable explicit activities? Here?

Maybe I was all wrong. Maybe I didn't stumble on to a deathly tableau of innocent bystanders. Maybe what I discovered was forced penance from the shimmering blade of justice wielded by a most unlikely source...

Don't mess with Rigid Righteous Santa. That Dude is tough. Ho Ho Ho, mother plucker.

(maybe we should consider moving to the city)

Dude, Where The Ef Are My Videos?!?

or stupid stupid technology 

Okay, so I've returned from vacation with a small problem...well a couple small problems actually. 

For some reason I have not been able to sleep (fall asleep, stay asleep, go back to sleep) for like...four days now. 

What the ef is that about? 

It's not like I've been hammered every night, my alcohol-soaked brain unable to ascertain the need for a nocturnal sleep pattern. Nor have I been having night sweats or some other such "transition years" hideous side effect, no doubt created by the Man to continue the long-suffering of us gals. (I'm not bitter.) My brain just.. will.. not.. SHUT UP!! I'm at the end of my sad, flacid, dangling rope. (which is not to be confused with the much maligned dangling participle, or equally maligned dingly dangs of prior posting) If either case were true, at least there would be a place to start looking for a remedy to my current malady. As it stands, I'm left pleading for sweet release from my higher power. Perhaps I need to wear sexier PJs to attract said deity's attention. 

Moving on...

My other Issue Du Jour is technology related. Namely, iPhoto is toying with me. Mocking my misfortune of being hatched in an era when black and white TVs were all the rage, phones had rotary dials and communications were written on papyrus, sent via slave-driven river barges. Okay...we actually had ponies. 

Anyhoo, last Friday night Geo and I caught the King-Of-All-My-Thangs, Rhett Miller at Maxwell's in Hoboken. Fabulous concert! You sure get your money's worth from this charming fellow. He ripped through 21 songs in a little under 90 minutes. Standing on my perch a mere six feet away, I recorded about four songs in their entirety and a handful of smaller bits of fun banter. I didn't tape more because quite honestly I just wanted to enjoy the show and sing--LOUDLY, which frankly should not be preserved on any tape unless you need to scare away dingos or something.

 I jumped on the computer, my friend (HA!) to upload the photos (including this one of me and the blue-eyed wonder) and the videos ranging from :24 to 4:18. 

tic toc tic toc tic toc 

Ah, done. But wait a minute... Where are the longer videos? What the? 

I tried to load again. Surely there was some sort of disturbance in the matrix during the transfer or something.

tic toc tic toc tic toc  ...infinity

Still no longer videos have imported. They're still on the card. I can see and hear them play through the camera! What the ef?! 

Stupid Stupid Computer!!!!!

*Sigh*  Of course there is no "help" section in iPhoto. I've spent hours caught, knee deep, in the quagmire of Apple "support" and YouTube tutorials. All to no avail. 

In the words of Charlie Brown, "AAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!?!" 

I think I've aged 10 years this afternoon alone. Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi! You're the only one who can save me now. 

Ideas, anyone?

New-ish Song

No time for a proper post today, but thought I'd share this video recorded in Rhett's dining room. Many thanks to Oscar Wednesday. Enjoy!

I promise I'll stop obsessing soon... 

(RMCC: three days!)

The Meaning Of This Particular Christmas 

according to Geo and Murray

So I was out running errands today and got caught in the pre-Christmas shopping madness happening this time of year. Fortunately I was able to skirt around most of the crowds in the stores by knowing exactly what item I needed as well as it's exact location. Otherwise I would still be trapped in the quagmire (giggity giggity) of hypnotized, Zombie shoppers--which would have no doubt rendered me completely irritated and in an unfestive mood.

It got me thinking...there isn't a whole lot of time between Thanksgiving and Christmas yet the entire Western Culture insists on wasting nearly every minute standing in lines, fighting for the latest electronic gaming system and generally stressing out over whether 300 gifts are enough.

The way I see it, the real gift is your kindness towards others...your humor to lift a store clerk's spirit when she's having a bad day...your time to just be there for someone whether you know them or not. Sometimes all it takes is sitting next to a stranger on a random bench and letting them talk. Sometimes listening can be the greatest gift you can give somebody. That's what it's all about, Charlie Brown.

You know my one brother-in-law teases my side of the family for always talking to strangers when we're out. Why not? What else are you going to do while you're waiting in long check out lines, waiting for the bus or hanging out in an airport--get your bowels in an uproar? No thanks. I'd rather talk to people. Everybody has an interesting story.

Besides, we all have waaaaay too much crap.

In this spirit, Geo and I decided this year to do away with most of our material gift giving. Instead we're going to donate the money to charities like Kiva.org (a micro financing organization for third world countries--also listed on my side bar) and Heiffer International (to buy livestock for villages), as well as local charities like the food bank and my church which does a lot of great community work. 

I know what you're thinking...Wha?!? She of the potty-mouth and lewd remarks goes to church? Yes. I have a strong spiritual side. Jesus loves me warts and all. It's in his contract. :D

Other than buying for the five youngsters in our family, we're going to hang out with friends and family during this festive season and be thankful for having them in our lives. Plus, we've started a new tradition where we each find the most hideous thing imaginable in our homes, wrap it up all purty-like and fight over them in a Yankee Swap. It is HI-LARIOUS!! The best part is when the games are all said and done, you can just throw it in the trash without any guilt. 

Helping those less fortunate during these difficult economic times AND guilt free gift tossing, combined with several cocktails and holiday pudding shots...makes for a Happy Holiday indeed.

(Rhett Miller Concert Countdown: 4 days!!)

The Best Non-Reality Reality Show

another fabulous end to the Amazing Race

Oh Man! Tonight was the last episode of the CBS's Amazing Race. For the record, I don't watch reality shows. I think they are stupid and reward the worst of human behavior. I'm talking about you Survivor. However, the Amazing Race is the only legitimate, truly engrossing "reality" show on TV. It's a shame to taint (she said taint) it by calling it a reality show. There are no popularity games or scheming alliances between contestants to bump participants. The objective is purely this, the first team to cross the ultimate finish line wins a million bucks. That's it. 

Along the way the eleven teams travel to different (US friendly) countries, perform some local tasks and traditions via detours or road blocks, and race to each pit stop in an attempt not to be last avoiding elimination. 

Inevitably I get attached to one or two teams. This time around I was routing for the mother/ son team of Toni and Dallas and brother/sister team of Nick and Star. Sadly Toni and Dallas didn't make it to the final three, but Nick and Star were still in the hunt. 

Tonight's episode had me completely, freaking tense!! 

The editors are masters at creating suspense--cutting back and forth between the teams that were neck and neck so you couldn't tell who was ahead; using music to heighten the tension. Crickey! I was totally on the edge of the couch! In the end, it was a taxi race to the finish with Nick and Star the winners. 

I got so involved I actually teared up a bit. I know. I am so lame. But I love when the better team (physically and karmicly) gets rewarded. Although I have to admit, they kinda gave off a creepy "Angelina Jolie-kissing-on-her-icky-brother" vibe in the final hour. 

Eewwwwww. 

I Want To Be A Snow Bird When I Grow Up

or I think Old Man Winter just grabbed my ass?!

Okay so, every year my work buds, Beets, Jude, Suzette and I trek up to the outlet shops about one hour or so North of here to lunch and shop for Christmas. The funny thing is one of us will see something we like and the other will like it too, so we buy it for each other. Right there. In front of each other. We dutifully take the "surprise" gift home, wrap it and exchange it at the Christmas luncheon. Silly, yes. But it's what girls do. 

Anywho, we always end up in the Mecca of gutchie stores, Jockey. There's always some sort of sale in which we have to pull all of our purchases together to take advantage of the discount. Plus we are highly entertained by the men's section displays. Seriously. The photos are outrageously...endowed. 

These boys are packing some major heat. (salutes ...Major Heat-ala How I Met Your Mother) It's like they've got armadillos in their briefs. There was one display that had four styles of briefs, one of which was called the "Paco". I kid you not. Paco. So naturally, our phrase of the day became, "How's your 'taco', Paco?" Yeah, okay you probably had to be there, but trust me it was hilarious. Another girl thang. But I digress...

So I drop off Suzette and realize we were charged for some other chippies gutchie supply. I call them, explain the situation but have to drive all the way back up the next day to have my unmentionables sorted out, so to speak. No big whoop. 

So I drag my sorry ass out of bed at bloody 7am--I'm on vacation mind you--drive up North in record speed, singing (badly) to Old 97's the entire way. (That's my not-so-secret passion...singing loudly in the car. It's like the verbal equivalent of Elaine Benis dancing. I'm sure I look like I'm having a seizure.) Ten minutes later I'm back in the car heading South to pick up Suzette for another round of shopping at Macy's.  

Three hours later, with many gifts in hand including a fabulous Pea coat and shirt bought for each other (again with the girl gift thing--it's an illness in need of a twelve-step program), the weather had turned decidedly unpleasant. The roads were covered with snow that didn't seem too ominous until my ride home.  I passed three tow trucks cleaning up accident messes. 

What the ef?! Did Armageddon strike while we were buying baubles? It really didn't look that bad. Until I got to our hill. 

We live at the bottom of a steep hill. I'm talking like 60 degrees. Okay it's not, but it certainly seems so especially in bad weather. There is absolutely no way around it. You have to go straight up to get out, and straight down to get in. (that's what she said)  There was a Cadillac in front of me on the descent. I stopped near the top to allow further distance between us, you know,  just in case. I threw the car in the lowest gear and started down. Next thing I know I'm starting to slide. Now I live in Urban Suburbia which means roads are tight and there are always cars parked on one side of the street. 

Holy crap! I was not stopping or slowing down. 

Stupid Stupid Ice!! The only course of action was the curb.

BANG!!

Poor Rita. (Yes, we name our cars.) We limped around the corner into the driveway. I fully expected to see a trail of car blood trickling from her front tire teeth. Fortunately there was no visible damage, but one thing was abundantly clear. 

My tires SUCK!! 

Now I have to spend all of Monday at the tire store dropping several hundred bucks we don't have. Joy. It's only December 7th, for ef's sake. *sigh*  Well, at least I'll be able to finish my book.

Seriously, I am totally going to be  a crazy-asssed Northern Snow Bird when I grow up. Screw this weather.

(Rhett Miller Concert Countdown: 5 days!!) 

No News Is Good News

or seven reasons why I love being on vacation...

7. ignoring all local newscasts

6. staying up as late as I want

5. waking up at 5am, mentally flipping the clock the bird and falling back into a satisfying sleep

4. actually eating dinner any time in the evening instead of old-fart "early bird" time

3. sitting down and consuming one of Geo's scrumptious breakfast scramblets...together!

2. having that extra cocktail (or three) after spending a lovely day with Geo

1. shutting off that damn, obnoxiously LOUD alarm clock for one entire, glorious week!! 

(Note: the Hub and I are heading east Tuesday for some sibling bonding time and shopping in NYC. While we're out there we're making a stop in Hoboken to see...RHETT MILLER!!! at Maxwell's. I'm waaaay too excited! Say a little prayer for Geo. He's going to need some extra tolerance (and a huge vat of Salty Dogs) to make it through the evening. :D)