And? I bought rocks. Some other things too. But yes, rocks. There were plenty of things I wanted but I didn’t have a way to get them home. Using Mitt Romney as inspiration, I suppose I could have strapped a chair to the top of the car but I didn’t want that to come back and bite me in the ass should I run for office one day. And, it is a pretty big ass chair:

I'm a writer...I like stuff with words and letters.

 And I found the aforementioned rocks.  I like to do crafty things and needed rocks for some terrariums I am working on PLUS they had lightweight faux rocks covered in moss which now means I don’t have to cover real rocks in moss. I’m pretty excited about it.

Most of all? I can’t WAIT for J to be loading up the trunk and to innocently lift the rock bag and say, “what on earth do you have in here-rocks?” Mainly so I can say, “exactly” and collapse in giggles.

One thing I noticed while we were driving around neighborhoods and shopping centers was the large amount of random women hanging out on the street. I was telling J that I didn’t know they had such a problem with prostitutes up here but at least they were dressed sensibly.

Me: I just can’t believe how many hookers were standing around everywhere I went but they were all bundled up and dressed for the cold weather so that’s good.
J: What do you mean hookers were everywhere?
Me: We’d see them all over, just standing on the side of the road-I guess it’s not true they just work corners.
J: And you were around shopping centers and neighborhoods?
Me: Yes, I guess high traffic areas are good for business.
J: (laughing uncontrollably) Those aren’t hookers, they were waiting for buses.

And that’s how unfamiliar with public transportation I am. I couldn’t grasp that people would be waiting for buses and assumed they were all hookers. Wearing scarves and coats in the middle of the day.  Since my town doesn’t really have buses, prostitution seemed the next likely step.

One day I will remember to share my story about a previous trip to Baltimore where I had a conversation about shoes with a working girl, a man with his face wrapped in Saran Wrap wanted to box me for money, a nation of Islam man tried to give me pies and a newspaper and I stumbled onto a protest by militant Hari Krishnas…

The most recent time was several years ago at a Gap in Birmingham when I called an employee gay and the manager said we don’t allow that kind of talk. Despite the fact that the employee had said to me he was “a big old fag” and agreed with me that yes, jeans should not be cut so low that your clitoris hangs out. The Gap is not as hip and understanding as they would like you to believe. The employee was not at ALL offended and probably would have defended me had he not been collapsed in giggles in the fitting room next to a mountain of unsuitable, clitoris exposing jeans.

The time before that I was kicked out of a country western bar in Huntsville while I was in college and my sister was in high school and dating a boy I liked to call Rodeo Bob. This was the kind of bar they let teenagers go to and I got in trouble for (barely) underage drinking. (How else do you make a country western bar with old people line dancing and 16 year olds thinking they’re cool bearable?) I’m pleased as spiked punch to say she broke up with him not too long after as, hi we called him Rodeo Bob TO HIS FACE and he was clueless. He actually thought he was going to be invited to my wedding-the first one at any rate. I am sure by the second he had given up any delusions or I would hope so as I never liked him in the first place. (My sister should have listened to me. She should also set up a blog.)

Regardless, I am fairly certain we may be well on our way to being kicked out of the hotel we are currently inhabiting. I love hotel life. I work in the morning, screw off on the internet, ride the stationary bike, get in the hot tub and schedule my activities around what time the hotel puts out the fresh cookies and what time the manager’s reception with free wine starts. I could totally live in a hotel. They have people to change your sheets. If they just had someone to come blowdry my hair I wouldn’t have to want a sister-wife anymore. They even have people to DRIVE me places-if I wasn’t so much of a control freak I could stand to schedule the courtesy shuttle.

Last night I had to miss the free cookies and wine because I was hiding from a super annoying person and, no, I am not married to him. I should see if they will deliver to my room…

This hotel also has a fish pond which bratchild loves. Also? Children will do anything for money. This is important to know going into this.

J: I will give you $10 if you can catch one of those fish.
Bratchild: Really? I totally will.
J: Really. Catch a fish and I will give you the cash.
Bratchild: general squeals of excitement.
Me: You know she’s totally going to fall in the pond trying to catch a fish with her bare hands.
J: Uh, yeah. She’s going to have to get in the pond to catch the fish. That’s kind of the point.
Me: We’re totally going to get kicked out of this hotel.
J: And it will be well worth it…and the ten dollars.

Stay tuned…the fish are circling like they know something is up.

 How does my spellcheck not recognize sister-wife and bratchild at this point in time? My phone totally does. Plus, it can text predict Nordstrom for me…

Prior to the end of the year, a friend invited me to the Madison Mega-Marathon; an event I promptly ignored because yuck sports, see above, and yuck sweating. But then I looked at it and realized it was a reading marathon-so no sweating and no ridiculous sports bras or ugly shoes. And today I realized there are prizes so…competitive reading? I am all over that.

At 35, oh jeebus when did I turn 35? Right. Last week. More on that later. Anyhoo-I still am all about prizes and bribes totally work on me as well.

Since January 1, I have read The Family Fang, Fiction Ruined My Family, Beautiful People, Water for Elephants and am working my way through Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me?

I enjoyed The Family Fang-it wasn’t as funny as I had hoped but I enjoyed it. It’s the tale of a family where the parents are ridiculous and create “art” which is basically chaos in public places. I manage to do that most times when I leave the house…I just never knew I could call it art and apply for grants. Already today I called a kid an f-ing idiot because he was using lemon tongs to pick melted ice out of the bowl of lemons instead of using a scoop and getting ice from the giant receptacle marked “ice.” Also? He was blocking my access to my first diet coke of the morning which makes me stabby.

Fiction Ruined My Family is a memoir and, also not as funny as I expected/hoped. Of course, since the title talks about a ruined family and it’s all about alcoholism and dysfunctional families, I’m not super sure why I expected it to be a laugh a minute but I did. And it wasn’t. And it made me question my desire to be a writer and convinced me F. Scott Fitzgerald was a total asshat and made me love The Great Gatsby a little less.

Beautiful People was an easy read by a British author I like named Wendy Holden. That’s about all I can say about it. Funny, easy, don’t really have to think. Good for the beach or cold gray days inside.

Water for Elephants is a book I fought reading because I couldn’t take a book seriously that was made into a movie starring a vampire and Reese Witherspoon and animal stories make me cry and I am scared of clowns. (This is true-I almost had a complete breakdown watching Bambi–why is it a kids movie–and Free Willy.) But I read it anyways and I just adored it-mainly because there weren’t so many clowns.

Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me is hilarious. I picked it because Amazon kept shoving it in my face. Having never seen The Office, the fact that the author wrote for the show or was on the show or something wasn’t exactly a glowing recommendation. BUT so far, I love it and have been laughing out loud. Sometimes Amazon knows me so well. Of course, Amazon also keeps recommending Crafting With Cat Hair and in light of my extreme cat allergy, I don’t think I will be picking it up. I am also questioning what I have possibly searched for to create this recommendation. (Dog lovers don’t despair-you’re not left out of the crazy craft craze. Pick up Knitting With Dog Hair: Better a Sweater from a Dog You Know and Love than a Sheep You’ll Never Meet.)

Sidenote: it totally pisses me off when Kindle books are more expensive than the actual book. And I have to get a library card to be eligible for prizes.

What have you read lately?

Some of you may remember how an NYC shower stole my right nipple at Blogher 2010. BUT my issues with shower curtains go way back. For as long as I can remember-I have had a fear of shower curtains. Think about it…nothing good ever happens that involves a shower curtain. They can hide scary clowns, mass murderers, slugs. In movies, there’s no hot love scenes involving shower curtains-it’s all stabby and blood spray and bodies being wrapped up in them and kill rooms being partitioned off with cheap ones.

As I have mentioned before, when J and I were dating he lived in a condo with cursed shower curtains. (The curtains themselves were not cursed, they were cursing ME as I was trying to appear mostly normal.) I grew up, as all people should, with glass shower doors. I had shower curtains in my dorm rooms in college which was okay because a. we drank too much to be scared of a shower curtain and b. everyone knows no scary movies are EVER set in colleges or dorm rooms. He kept closing them to let them “dry” or something equally ridiculous and I kept opening them because hi-Norman Bates. I finally broke down and told him I was terrified of shower curtains and him closing them was making me unable to pee. Because I would hate for Freddy Krueger to leap out and slash me when I am sitting on the toilet…sleeping I guess since didn’t he only kill people in their dreams?

ANYWAYS-so today I showered, look at me go and it’s not even noon, and my shower actively tried to kill me. Instead of cleaning up the water that managed to spray into the cabinets and out into the hall, I am doing what most people would do by blogging about it.

Of course, the shower waits to plot my demise until I have conditioner in my hair and soap all over my body so I can’t even evade it’s traps until AFTER I have rinsed off which is pretty hard when the water is shooting with rocket-like force at your ceiling instead of at your body.

I failed to mention-in the process of exploding the little handle sprayer thing you see there landed firmly on my head until I could flail at it and fling it out of the shower where it landed next to me, now drenched, In Style magazine. (I get bored drying my hair and need reading material to make it bearable.) I’m not too bummed out about this particular issue being soaked as I find Drew Barrymore annoying.

So now, the bathroom is ever so slightly filled with water, as are the cabinets, the ceiling is soaked and the carpet in the hall is wet. But I am clean. And sent the following text to J: we need a new shower head.

Next time somebody gives me crap about staying in pajamas all day I am referring them here.

Other than that, I have been in a bit of a funkity funk because a. Christmas is over and that always gives me the sads and b. my sister moved to Virginia. More on that later as I do not want to tear up and cry off my just applied Latisse.

In other news, Taylor Lautner came out today:

Okay, the cover is a TOTAL fake but unfortunately people didn’t realize it until after attractive gay men everywhere started having flash mobs of happy dances-shirtless, natch and 50-year-old women hung themselves en masse from their “Team Jacob” t-shirts. What? It tickled me. Since it turns out that him being gay isn’t to blame for he and Kristin Stewart’s awful chemistry in the Twilight Saga, we’ll have to assume it’s just because she’s plain awful and constantly looks like something smells bad.

In other random things that tickled me today, J and I took Clifford to Pet Smart for a bath. While waiting for him to dry, we perused the store and came across pet moss balls. I honestly think this is one of the very best things I’ve ever seen and really enjoyed how some of them were stationary, some of them were bouncing about like tumbleweeds and some were, we choose to believe, mating. I mean, how else do you get baby balls of moss?

The very very very BEST part of this, which you could read for yourself if my photo wasn’t so awful, is that for  experience level they are marked “beginner.” How hard can it be to keep alive a wad of moss that’s submerged in water? Is it like a test? If your moss balls live for three months, you can move up to a goldfish?

Annndddd…that’s pretty much all I have for today. I’m sitting here in fleecy polka dot pj’s and a tiara which is helping to lift my spirits but think I’ll head to bed before it’s Friday, I mean Thursday.

What’s tickled you lately?

I was sitting on the couch in pj’s and he was lounging about in his boxers and a tee when I decided I needed ice cream and NyQuil. He had just poured himself a root beer and rum which I think sounds awful but he swears it’s delicious and what they drank as youngsters growing up outside New Orleans. He tried to convince me I needed NyQuil PLUS a rum and root beer so maybe his Christmas miracle was going to be me sleeping for three days.

Obviously, he needed to be the one to go to the store. However, after whining that I was bored I decided to go with him and asked him to drive me around the neighborhood to “look at the Christmas lights that piss me off.” He donned his kilt and off we went. Though he says since he kept on his boxers, that makes it a skirt.

Yes, this is how J dresses for grocery runs and Christmas light looking.

Now I should say that much like sparkles, I have never met a Christmas light I didn’t like. When it comes to glitter and Christmas lights, you can never have too many. That being said, there are some lights that are too tacky even for me.

The number one house that pisses me off is this one. They didn’t start decorating until after we did and when we went and bought our 15 foot Santa, these assholes bought two. THERE IS ONLY ONE SANTA ALLOWED PER YARD. Everyone knows that.

See? TWO identical big ass Santas. They even put one in the backyard. I think these jackasses have like eight Santas.

 Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE that people in the neighborhood decorate and we have LOTS of people that do. But there are some basic rules such as the numero uno aforementioned one Santa per yard. It’s confusing to people. I like my lights to be tacky…but I also want them to have a story. Everyone knows there’s only one real Santa so why junk up your yard with scary ones that are coming out of an RV or an outhouse or, God forbid, dangling limply and dead like from an inflatable chimney. Get it together people.

I also abide by the decorating commandment that Nativity scenes and secular decorations should be separate. I generally use my driveway as a divider but the powers that be in charge of power, aka J, over-ruled me this year.

But I firmly, FIRMLY stand by the time-honored tradition that beach-themed shit is not Christmasy. I don’t want to see a lit palm tree or a pig in a Santa hat (okay not beachy but not Christmasy either) That’s why these neighbors drive me insane. They can’t decide if they want to surf or ski…I mean stick their tongues to metal poles. (Totally combined “Jerry Maguire” AND “A Christmas Story”)

Even my camera refused to properly focus on this nonsense. In case you can’t tell what you’re looking at, let’s review. It’s a flamingo in a Santa hat, a palm tree, and inflatable Christmas Story leg lamp and on the left hiding behind the tree, and rightly so, is Santa and Rudolph at the beach in swim trunks and shades. Oh my eyes. God bless us every one.

What are your decorating commandments?

I’m just pleased as punch that the talent show is so long that they can’t use it as a way to trick us parents into attending PTA meetings since they hold it in the morning for TWO DAYS prior to Christmas break. Bratchild twirls and sings in the school chorus and since she was selected for a solo-that meant I got to attend both days. Merry Christmas to me.

I should go ahead and say that since I was born in 1977 that makes me a child of the 80′s. In the 80′s we were pretty loose with our definition of the word talent and talent could even be used to qualify lip sycning. To the point where there was a tv show dedicated to the “talent” of lip syncing. It was called “Puttin’ on the Hits.” I am not making this up.

Now I am of the opinion that just because someone wants to do something, it doesn’t mean they are good at it. I also stand by the belief that you shouldn’t get a trophy just for showing up and if you want to be good at something you should practice. Therefore, if you want to be in the talent show, you should have a talent. I was a little annoyed when the choir teacher, who held solo auditions,  ended up dividing the solos so several people sang six words. I think it was because so many people auditioned and she’d rather have four soloists and ten people with hurt feelings than one soloist and thirteen people with hurt feelings. That’s about all I can figure anyways.

But the lack of auditioning was apparent everywhere else. Look, I am super easily amused and I am all about kids having a good time and acting like, well, kids BUT if your child gets up there and stands and doesn’t do anything and is obviously miserable-why would you make them do that? Better yet-if your child is murdering a violin-why wouldn’t you say let’s maybe wait a year and practice some more rather than letting them get on stage and do a bad job?

On the other hand, the enforcement of real, practiced talents would take a lot of the joy from the occasion. I, for one, almost peed on myself when a little boy “made it rain.” He danced to a rap song and at the end, threw handfuls upon handfuls of fake money into the crowd which sent the kindergarteners into a riot-they didn’t know it wasn’t real money. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen three teachers try to stop a bunch of six-year olds in their pursuit of free money.

It also would obliterate these kind of conversations:

Me: I can’t believe that bouncing a ball is a talent. Just because I can’t do it doesn’t make it a talent.
J: It’s called dribbling. Some people pay lots of money for it. They’re called the NBA.
Me: Still…
J: I know it’s not as sparkly as things you like but it is a talent.

But, seriously, how are the kids not terrified of the ball of fire hurtling towards the North Pole?

Does your school do talent shows?

My sister SWEARS up and down that she has made these for Christmas before. I don’t remember them but that could be due to too many Christmas morning mimosas (I take mine without the orange juice) or because I was having severe food texture/touching issues that particular day.

Regardless, they are yummy and delicious and everyone says they are super easy and that even I could make them with a rolling-pin or a food processor. My first challenge being I don’t think we own a rolling-pin OR a food processor.

My sister  is well aware of my cooking limitations which is what led to the following email exchange when discussing goodies for Christmas:

Me: I am going to make Oreo ball things. They are yummy Oreos mushed up with cream cheese and covered in something.That’s all I know currently.
Miss: yes, i know what Oreo balls are….I have actually made them for christmas before….actually numerous christmases….they are covered in chocolate by the way. and there is this new handy bakers chocolate bowl that you microwave and it makes it really easy to dip chocolate. you should use that if you make them. they are by the regular chocolate in the baking aisle. you will need a few of them as the bowls are not too big. and stick the Oreo ball on a toothpick to dip with.
Me:You just made that sound super hard. I didn’t know I would need accessories and stuff. So the bowl is made of chocolate?
Miss:  it is not hard. you mash up the Oreos in a big plastic bag. with a mallet. (if you had a food processor you throw them in there but i am guessing you don’t). then you mix it with softened cream cheese. after you mix the cream cheese and Oreos you roll them into balls and refrigerate them. they need to be pretty cold before you cover them in chocolate. these are really easy to make and are always a big hit. if you want me to help you i will….the chocolate bowl comes ready. you just pull the lid off and throw it in the microwave and the chocolate melts. then you dip the Oreo balls. you don’t have to make a chocolate bowl or anything. silly girl. it just makes melting chocolate easier and not have to use a double boiler or milk or anything
Me: So the bowl is MADE of chocolate? But when it melts doesn’t it make a mess. Do I just rub the balls in the puddle in the microwave?
Miss: i am going to beat you! no, it is a cardboard bowl filled with chocolate pieces…seriously…do you need me to teach you how to make these?

I think my FAVORITE part, other than my sister offering to beat me, is that she actually thought J would go for me using a mallet…or that she thought I would have any idea what a double boiler is.

I did find a recipe online for them that is actually labelled Easy Oreo Truffles. Now I just have to buy wax paper,  a mallet, baking sheets, learn how to soften cream cheese and clean out space in the refrigerator. They leave all of that out of their “easy” instructions. I figure I will get bored and just eat the bowl of malleted Oreos and non-softened cream cheese…

Anyone ever made these?

Six days till Christmas!

I digress…

Yesterday I went to TJ Maxx. Mine gets new trucks on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday and I have scooped up all sorts of fun Christmas stuff, awesome boots (that were still available on Zappos and other sites for WAY more than what I paid), Calvin Klein dresses, Martha Stewart Crafts AND Annalee elves, Santa, etc. I love them. I remember my great-grandmother and my mom having these and I just love the Christmas kitsch factor.

Now, just let me go ahead and admit that it is entirely possible I have gone to Belk in hair rollers and pj pants. It is also a distinct possibility I once wore a paint-stained sweatshirt to Walgreens…which would have been okay had I not had a strategic tiny hole directly over my right nipple. It is also possible I had a J Crew sundress slip down while I was on a plane loading my bag into the overhead bin. The last wouldn’t have been an issue had I been wearing a bra. Just call me Janet. Miss Jackson if you’re nasty.

This may help paint the picture of last night’s TJ Maxx attire. I had purchased bratchild, and myself if we are being honest, each a pair of BCBG Generation glitter ballet flats that look remarkably like my Kate Spade Charm Shoes. Except flat. And not nearly as expensive.

Since bratchild is almost as tall as I am and her feet have grown, I wasn’t sure what size to buy her. After blindfolding her with a giant scarf and not allowing her to touch anything-I quickly realized the shoes I bought her were too small.

So I raced back to TJ Maxx to exchange them…while wearing penguin print fleece pants, the aforementioned nipple hole sweatshirt (with a t-shirt underneath it), Uggs and my glasses. It was a hot look.

When I go to TJ Maxx, I try not to get buggies because I think it will lessen the amount of random shit I pick up. My sister hates going there with me when I have a cart because I toss everything I think I like into it and then sort it before I check out. It’s how I rammed an 80-year-old man in the ass with a Christmas star just last week:

After I had all this crap, and my big ass Santa, in the cart I tossed a glitter Christmas tree topped with a super pointy star on top of the whole kit and kaboodle. Let’s just say I don’t suggest bending over in TJ Maxx and with that action, I have given that man the merriest Christmas he’s had in DECADES. What can I say? I am all about spreading the Christmas cheer.

But last night? No, last night ALL I WAS GOING TO DO WAS EXCHANGE HER SHOES. Which is how I ended up in my pajamas dragging a 26″ reindeer, glitter ballet flats, a Nina Garcia book, a Martha Stewart paper puncher and a how to make silhouette craft book along with “Pride and Prejudice and Zombies” through the store.

I am that crazy old lady. At the age of 34. In case there was any doubt.

I had the reindeer tucked under my arm as his bells jingled through the store and everything else kind of stacked in one hand. For me, it was a remarkable feat of coordination. I have a huge ass Louis that could have toted some things but I didn’t want them to think I was Winona Ryder. And since I already had brought home the big ass Santa, clearly I needed the big ass reindeer.

My friends are often amazed with as much as I love fashion and sparkle just how willing I am to go places in a state of disarray. Do you dress up to go everywhere? What draws the line for you?

Like most things that are awesome, electricity is both a wonderful and a dangerous thing. That’s why J is in charge of it for Christmas. One year I blew everything and was out in a sleet storm messing with fuses and plugs and this past Halloween I electrocuted myself, mildly, while checking bulbs in the rain. That were plugged in. And on.

Sunday, I set a snowman on fire. Damn Frosty was out to get me.

This Frosty has been around as long as I can remember-my Mom will be along shortly I am sure and can tell you how long-but it never occurred to me that there might be an issue with his wiring. I noticed the other day that two of his bulbs were out-he has several and they flash and make different colors-so I chose to ignore the ones that were cracked and whatnot and bought more.

I screwed in the first replacement bulb (while he was still plugged in and merrily blinking) and was astonished when there was a snap, crackle, POP, a small flame leaping in the air and the smell of smoke. Huh, that’s weird. Not to be deterred, I proceeded to the next bulb and as I screwed it in there were significantly louder snap, crackle, pops, a larger flame and a nice little cloud of smoke. I’d like to say I made the decision to quit while things were still standing and not on fire but in reality I was out of bulbs.

I unplugged it and went out to chat with J who was on a ladder with a super long pole tossing lights up in a tree and asked him if something made flames and/or smoke and/or sounds that was bad, right? His eyes widened as he calmly replied “yes.”

I moved on to outlining the yard in lights and didn’t give it another thought until J was trying to turn on lights in the room of Frosty’s explosion, errr demise. After watching him change bulbs and check plugs and shake his head, I wondered alound if maybe the lamps were out because of the small tiny fire. And yes, Frosty had blown the fuse.

We did finish up the outside lights and it fills me with all kinds of sadness to say they are bordering on tasteful this year. J, on the other hand, is tickled pink-well as tickled and as pink as he gets. (The man has the exact same expression whether things are on fire or whether he’s having the time of his life.)

I spent Saturday watching TLC shows on Christmas light invasions, extreme lights and whatever else they showed and was amazed at these people that measure out lights to the inch, spend hours programming them to music and have had to add a million outlets and wires and stuff to power them. One couple had almost 700,00 lights. I was jealous.

Sunday, I am explaining this to J:
Me: These people had 700,000 lights. And a cherry picker and more outlets than I’ve ever seen!
J: You’re going to need another husband for that.
Me: (In my head wondering if he just okayed brother husbands) But it looks amazing. And then they said that extreme Christmas decorating is the third most dangerous occupation behind ice road trucking and crab catching. But I don’t get paid so it can’t count as an occupation.
J: I’d like to see their data on that. You know we don’t need to be extreme or hoarders or crazy anything. Unless…how about you become an extreme laundry putter awayer?
Me: I would like to have at least 50,000 lights.

I made some sort of noise and wandered off to lament my lack of gaudiness. And I’m sure J is putting a parental block on TLC as we speak, errr type.

Here is the finished result:

A very merry Christmas from Mayfield Manor and our 15 foot tall Santa:

If you need me, I’ll be calculating how many more lights we need to get to 50,000…(Christmas is 11 days away!)