I would like to officially nominate "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" as the creepiest holiday song ever. Have you listened to this song? I mean, I've known it for years. It's one of those songs that you just run around singing under your breath without realizing it until fellow shoppers start giving you strange looks and you remember that you can't carry a tune in a bucket and you probably shouldn't sing out loud in public anyway, even if you happen to be Kelly Clarkson.
But, the other day, as I was happily singing along, I actually heard what I was singing. The gist of the story is that this little boy sneaks downstairs to try and catch a glimpse of Santa, and what to his wandering eye appears instead is dearest Mommy playing slap and tickle with old Father Christmas. Now, any normal child would of course be traumatized by the sight of Mommy making out with the old fat man who breaks and enters once a year to deliver presents (possibly a guilt offering, I now realize). In the real world, such a scenario would stun and horrify the child, resulting in a Madonna-whore complex the likes of which the world has never seen, one that will haunt every future relationship this poor child will ever have, and the years and years of ensuing therapy go without saying. But in the song, the child doesn't react with the appropriate revulsion. Of course not. No, instead he thinks, "Wow, that's really funny. Ya know what would be funnier? If Dad caught 'em! God, that would be a laugh riot." What kind of child thinks the only thing funnier than Mommy cheating on Daddy would be if Daddy caught her? Seriously. That is some sick shit right there. We may be a tad late with the therapy. Snuggle down with that story on this lovely Christmas Eve. And have yourself a merry little Christmas now.
Ok, so I have the attention span of a drunken gnat.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Friday, December 19, 2008
The Un-Chick-fil-A'd Life Is Not Worth Living
One of the great disadvantages of chucking everything and moving to beautiful Oregon (ok, so maybe a general announcement of, "Hey, I'm moving to Oregon—write if you get work," is not chucking everything, but whatever) has been the complete and utter absence of the glory that is Chick-fil-A. My arrival in the Beaver State (shut it) seems to have been timed almost exactly with the closure of the Lloyd Center CFA, the only one in the state. I weep.
And shortly thereafter, the Chick-fil-A in DFW airport was replaced with a Hebrew National. Please. A hot dog stand. I was devastated. Picture, if you will, a 30-something woman bubbling over with the excitement of a 7-year-old on Christmas morning as she sprints through the airport in a quest for the perfection that is the Chick-fil-A sandwich—a perfection that has been denied for months now. Imagine her as she arrives in the food court and giddily beelines for where she knows the beauty of that red and white beacon shines forth, only to pull up short when she sees in its stead a hideous red, blue, and yellow monstrosity hawking kosher hot dogs. Envision the precise moment that her inner 7-year-old realizes that Santa has taken a wrong turn at Albuquerque and the only thing waiting under the tree is the giant hairball that Felix has so thoughtfully horked up. A little piece of me died in the DFW airport that day.
Anyway, the gist of the matter is that CFA sandwiches have sadly become a rarity in my life. I have even sunk so low as e-mailing CFA HQ asking if there were any plans to license a franchise in the area—no dice. It's a bleak future. So I accept alternatives. Recently, McDonald's has come out with their own version of this sandwich. It ain't the same, but it'll do. I may or may not have eaten them three days in a row on occasion. (Yep, it's a shocker that I gained seven pounds in one week. However did that happen?) So, please, Chick-fil-A, consider this a combination open love letter and a desperate plea imploring you to once again bless this great state with the perfect chicken sandwich. I'm pretty sure I could keep you profitable even if you had no other customers—and we both know that ain't gonna happen. Bless us, I beg of you. A location in a county featuring cheese, trees, and ocean breeze would be ideal. Thank you for your consideration.
And shortly thereafter, the Chick-fil-A in DFW airport was replaced with a Hebrew National. Please. A hot dog stand. I was devastated. Picture, if you will, a 30-something woman bubbling over with the excitement of a 7-year-old on Christmas morning as she sprints through the airport in a quest for the perfection that is the Chick-fil-A sandwich—a perfection that has been denied for months now. Imagine her as she arrives in the food court and giddily beelines for where she knows the beauty of that red and white beacon shines forth, only to pull up short when she sees in its stead a hideous red, blue, and yellow monstrosity hawking kosher hot dogs. Envision the precise moment that her inner 7-year-old realizes that Santa has taken a wrong turn at Albuquerque and the only thing waiting under the tree is the giant hairball that Felix has so thoughtfully horked up. A little piece of me died in the DFW airport that day.
Anyway, the gist of the matter is that CFA sandwiches have sadly become a rarity in my life. I have even sunk so low as e-mailing CFA HQ asking if there were any plans to license a franchise in the area—no dice. It's a bleak future. So I accept alternatives. Recently, McDonald's has come out with their own version of this sandwich. It ain't the same, but it'll do. I may or may not have eaten them three days in a row on occasion. (Yep, it's a shocker that I gained seven pounds in one week. However did that happen?) So, please, Chick-fil-A, consider this a combination open love letter and a desperate plea imploring you to once again bless this great state with the perfect chicken sandwich. I'm pretty sure I could keep you profitable even if you had no other customers—and we both know that ain't gonna happen. Bless us, I beg of you. A location in a county featuring cheese, trees, and ocean breeze would be ideal. Thank you for your consideration.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Tag-errific
Thanks to Creth, I don't actually have to think of a topic this time. And there was much rejoicing. We'll pretend like we don't remember that post I started last week and quickly lost interest in.
1. Egg nog or hot chocolate?
Hot chocolate. With Bailey's.
2. Does Santa wrap presents or just sit them under the tree?
Santa used to just put them under the tree, but baby bro was (is) a brat and always peeked and Santa had to start wrapping them.
3. Colored lights on tree/house or white?
White.
4. Do you hang mistletoe?
I used to. I wonder why I quit.
5. When do you put your decorations up?
We get the tree the day after Thanksgiving and then decorate in fits and starts as the urge strikes. Then the boxes sit around for a few more weeks. They've yet to be taken back downstairs this year.
6. What is your favorite holiday dish (excluding dessert)?
I can't decide. We don't do Christmas dinner, but we have chips and dips and all manner of yummy snacky-type foods on Christmas Eve and then eat the leftovers all day long on Christmas Day. I love it all.
7. Favorite holiday memory as a child?
Picking out our tree at the tree farm with the hayrides and petting zoo and cookies and cider and tree shaker and baler.
8. When and how did you learn the truth about Santa?
Quite late and reluctantly. I was not interested in giving up a good thing.
9. Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve?
In MY family, we open them all on Christmas Eve except the Santa presents. J won't let me open ANYTHING early. Spoilsport.
10. How do you decorate your Christmas tree?
With lights and ornaments. Duh. Ok, fine, with red, gold, white, silver, and a bit of green.
11. Snow! Love it or dread it?
Not my fave. I like to watch it, but I don't like to deal with it.
12. Can you ice skate?
If by ice skate, you mean creep around the rink very wobbly-like and then bitch about my sore ankles for days, then yes.
13. Do you remember your favorite gift?
Bratty baby bro climbed a tree and filled up a paper grocery sack with mistletoe for me. It was sweet.
14. What's the most important thing about the holidays for you?
Peace, joy, and love.
15. What is your favorite holiday dessert?
Layered pecan pie. And by layered, we're talking a layer of cream cheese. Heaven on a plate, my friend.
16. What is your favorite holiday tradition?
Socializing with good friends/family and food on Christmas Eve.
17. What tops your tree?
A star! A star goes on top of the tree. There'll be no angels with Christmas tree enemas in this house.
18. Which do you prefer, giving or receiving?
Both.
19. What is your favorite Christmas song?
Olivia Olson's (NOT Mariah "Needless Vocal Frippery" Carey's) version of "All I Want for Christmas is You" from Love Actually. The girl was 10!
20. Candy Canes! Yuck or Yum?
Yuck. Me no likey the peppermint. Or any mint, for that matter.
21. What do you want for Christmas?
I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.
If you're reading this, consider yourself tagged. I don't think there are quite five of you and I don't want to embarrass myself. Any further.
1. Egg nog or hot chocolate?
Hot chocolate. With Bailey's.
2. Does Santa wrap presents or just sit them under the tree?
Santa used to just put them under the tree, but baby bro was (is) a brat and always peeked and Santa had to start wrapping them.
3. Colored lights on tree/house or white?
White.
4. Do you hang mistletoe?
I used to. I wonder why I quit.
5. When do you put your decorations up?
We get the tree the day after Thanksgiving and then decorate in fits and starts as the urge strikes. Then the boxes sit around for a few more weeks. They've yet to be taken back downstairs this year.
6. What is your favorite holiday dish (excluding dessert)?
I can't decide. We don't do Christmas dinner, but we have chips and dips and all manner of yummy snacky-type foods on Christmas Eve and then eat the leftovers all day long on Christmas Day. I love it all.
7. Favorite holiday memory as a child?
Picking out our tree at the tree farm with the hayrides and petting zoo and cookies and cider and tree shaker and baler.
8. When and how did you learn the truth about Santa?
Quite late and reluctantly. I was not interested in giving up a good thing.
9. Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve?
In MY family, we open them all on Christmas Eve except the Santa presents. J won't let me open ANYTHING early. Spoilsport.
10. How do you decorate your Christmas tree?
With lights and ornaments. Duh. Ok, fine, with red, gold, white, silver, and a bit of green.
11. Snow! Love it or dread it?
Not my fave. I like to watch it, but I don't like to deal with it.
12. Can you ice skate?
If by ice skate, you mean creep around the rink very wobbly-like and then bitch about my sore ankles for days, then yes.
13. Do you remember your favorite gift?
Bratty baby bro climbed a tree and filled up a paper grocery sack with mistletoe for me. It was sweet.
14. What's the most important thing about the holidays for you?
Peace, joy, and love.
15. What is your favorite holiday dessert?
Layered pecan pie. And by layered, we're talking a layer of cream cheese. Heaven on a plate, my friend.
16. What is your favorite holiday tradition?
Socializing with good friends/family and food on Christmas Eve.
17. What tops your tree?
A star! A star goes on top of the tree. There'll be no angels with Christmas tree enemas in this house.
18. Which do you prefer, giving or receiving?
Both.
19. What is your favorite Christmas song?
Olivia Olson's (NOT Mariah "Needless Vocal Frippery" Carey's) version of "All I Want for Christmas is You" from Love Actually. The girl was 10!
20. Candy Canes! Yuck or Yum?
Yuck. Me no likey the peppermint. Or any mint, for that matter.
21. What do you want for Christmas?
I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.
If you're reading this, consider yourself tagged. I don't think there are quite five of you and I don't want to embarrass myself. Any further.
Monday, December 8, 2008
A Pound a Day!
No, this is not some amazing new weight-loss program offering impossibly fantastic results. No, no. This is what I supposedly gained over Thanksgiving week. Seven pounds. In one week. I didn't even think this was physically possible. I mean, come on. There's just no way. Theoretically, I reject this number. I'm telling myself it was fluids. Repeatedly. It's the only way I can handle the strain. I have, however, still walked around all week mentally reciting, "Seven, seven, seven, seven," and not in the good way.
On a positive note, because of the constant chorus of sevens, I have been slightly more conscious this week of the calories I've shoved into my mouth. But I did go to a party Saturday night where the table was almost audibly groaning with food and I didn't do so well at ye olde self-restraint. Quelle surprise. But, tomorrow's the big day. Weigh-in day. I'm thinking an eight-pound loss would be nice. I know that this isn't realistically achievable, but I'm thinking this pendulum ought to swing both ways. If it doesn't, someone, somewhere—and I'll let you know who just as soon as I figure that out—will be getting a very strongly worded letter.
On a positive note, because of the constant chorus of sevens, I have been slightly more conscious this week of the calories I've shoved into my mouth. But I did go to a party Saturday night where the table was almost audibly groaning with food and I didn't do so well at ye olde self-restraint. Quelle surprise. But, tomorrow's the big day. Weigh-in day. I'm thinking an eight-pound loss would be nice. I know that this isn't realistically achievable, but I'm thinking this pendulum ought to swing both ways. If it doesn't, someone, somewhere—and I'll let you know who just as soon as I figure that out—will be getting a very strongly worded letter.
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