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)

Friday Photo #5

Central Park in the spring...

Geo and I haven't been to New York City in the Spring for years. We always seem to go in December. This past April we got a chance to visit for his birthday. The park in full bloom was spectacular. It's freezing cold today. I could use a little sun...

"Balls" said the Queen

and the King laughed because he had two...

Okay, so last Saturday Suzette and I were at work sitting around pondering how unusual it is for our hairdresser's six-year-old son to love sushi AND liver and onions. The sushi I can sort of understand, but the liver and onions?! ICK! I mean it's a freaking organ, for goodness sake!?! I don't know many adults who eat that stuff let alone a six-year-old. This lead us to wonder who was the first person to look at a disgusting animal part, lick his lips and say "that big ole, two foot cow's tongue looks mighty tasty. I think I'll boil me up some of that bad boy. Mmmm MMM!" 

Which naturally lead us to the biggest food mystery of all... namely which numb nut (pun intended) gazed at the back side of a bull, spotted its stretched sack of dingly dangs hovering a mere inch above the grassy field and declared those gonads good eating? Seriously. Yeah, I know the story...cowboys out castrating calves...collecting the slimy nuts in a tin pan...yadda yadda yadda--dinner. But, come on. Have you ever seen a bowl of these tendergroins? Not pretty. 

What would possibly possess someone to want to chow down on those puppies? I realize there are few things on earth that aren't yummie deep fried, but I think I'll pass...even if they come with Jimmies.

You know, I've seen grown men cover their boys and cower at the thought of their dogs getting neutered, and yet many a man has entered prairie oyster eating contests. I don't get it. I think my system would reverse gears just watching them consume that "cowboy caviar". 

If you just have to sample these huevos del toro, there are any number of "Testicle Festivals" held throughout the West. Yes. They're actually called "Testicle Festivals". Isn't that a hoot? Eagle, Idaho boasts the world's largest Rocky Mountain Oyster feed held in June. You might want to book your reservation early. I hear the lines for the "swinging beef" get pretty long. (that's what she said!) At least people have a great sense of humor about the whole thing. Check out this logo below. This poster cracks me up!

Tired of serving the same old bacon wrap hor'dourves? This holiday season why not treat your guests to a piping hot dish of Noel Nards with this simple recipe:

2 lbs of slippery calf nuts

egg

flour

crumb mixture

Wash your nuts. Cut your nuts almost through, butterfly fashion. Dredge your nuts in flour, then egg, then crumb mixture. Deep fry your nuts until golden brown. Remove your nuts from the hot oil and place on a paper towel to remove excess oil from nuts. Dip your nuts in your favorite sauce. 

Bone Apetit!

Secondary Obsession of the Month 

or more Jeffrey Dean Morgan please 

Some of you may think I'm solely consumed by my love of all-things-Rhett, but you'd be wrong. Sure Rhett may be the King of all my Thangs right now, but there are others who get my motor running...if you know what I mean. (I love that phrase. It makes anything sound dirty.) 

Case in point is one Jeffrey Dean Morgan. If any of you are devout followers of Grey's Anatomy, JDM is familiar to you as one Denny Duquette--hunky dead guy. 

He is so manly, I could just lick his face! Seriously. Look at him... Seriously.

Those who know me well are aware of my appreciation for men. I like being around guys. I like how they look. I like how they smell. I like how they tease, and I love their bawdy sense of humor. There is no bigger aphrodisiac for me than the combination of intelligence and a roaring sense of humor. Throw in a Scottish accent or slight Southern drawl and my ovaries are quivering like an Aspen on a warm, breezy day. Mr. Morgan here is totally my type...tall, dark, handsome, gorgeous chocolate brown eyes and a Cheshire Cat grin. H-A-W-T!! For lovers of the Stephanie Plum series by Janet Evanovich...he is soooo Joe Morelli!! Hotter still.

Wait..do you hear that purr? That's my ovaries humming. Yowza!

Granted there's not enough Denny Duquette in Grey's Anatomy for my liking, being that he's dead and all. And even though this last three episode arc featuring the return of the uber-hunky dead guy is a treat for us ladies, the show has totally jumped the Happy Days shark in a big way. Come on. Even I can't suspend my belief enough to ignore the preposterous notion that he could magically take corporeal form and make love to Izzie--enthusiastically enough to make her sweat...profusely. Please. That just ain't right. Not that I'm not enjoying gazing at the boy on our drive-in-movie sized computer monitor. I am. But, please. Izzie better have a brain tumor or some other such predicament to explain this crap away. At the very least she better be lying in a broken heap on the hospital basement cement floor, drifting between life and death. 

Not that I'm going to stop watching or anything. 

As a viewer I'm owed a viable explanation. Yeah. That's it. That's my story and I'm sticking with it. Besides...Hello? Denny D is still around. I may be a bit peeved, but I'm not nuts. I mean, come on...look at him. Hey, as the blog title states..blame it on being a girl.