dailydiatribes

I was asked yesterday what my new year's resolutions were and I answered honestly that I never make them.  I lack follow through of any sort, so why set myself up for failure?  Really, I never give anything up for Lent and I never make New Year's resolutions.  I don't see any reason to add to my general sense of failure.

It was a long, weird year.  I started this blog, which has been a wonderful gift for me.  I have always enjoyed the absurd and this blog has connected me to others who share my appreciation.  It's unfortunate that I tend to provide most of the absurdities, but at least I am in touch with my inner stooge.  There is no denial going on here; I am a goober and I know it. 

I lost one of my dearest friends this year, a woman who had honed the art of sarcasm to a fine edge.  She was tormented by demons all the years I knew her, but she was able to laugh about it.  No matter how dark her circumstances, she could always pull out a one liner and make herself laugh.  I hope she is at peace now.  I miss her every day and, as it always is after a loss, I regret I didn't tell her enough how special she was to me. 

Tim and I made the very difficult decision to change the path of our children's education and we took them out of parochial school and enrolled them in public school.  This may go down in the history of our family as the single best decision we made as parents.  They are thriving and well and doing better than ever.  I think it was much harder on me than anyone else, since catholic school was all a part of my plan.  Evidently, however, it was not God's plan for our family, and I am glad Tim and I were able to listen to Him.

I can't really think of anything else this year, other than I learned a lot about friendships and how to be a friend and how to better appreciate my friends. I am so incredibly blessed to have a wonderful group of people who love me in spite of the fact that I occasionally fall down in public for no apparent reason.  I can't imagine my life without my friends and I hope I never have to experience it! 

At this writing, Auburn has just won the Cotton Bowl......War Eagle!!!!!!!!!  What kind of damn team name is Cornhuskers anyway???  Their fans had wedges of corn on their heads!!  Ok, granted my husband and son watch football games with wedges of cheddar on their heads, but that's kind of cute and kitschy.  Corn is not cute, it's just embarrassing!!  Anways, we husked their corn and we are kings of cotton and life is good!! 

Here's wishing you all a happy and prosperous new year!!!

Except that I am not actually a hypochondriac.  A hypochondriac seeks medical attention for the various disorders he or she contracts.  I have a medical anxiety disorder.  I diagnosed myself in Renee's waiting room last week when I was waiting for Anna to be diagnosed with the flea.  I read it in a magazine and it actually made perfect sense.  A person with this disorder worries about getting different diseases, but does not clog up the system trying to get diagnosed with them.  She quietly worries about her impending death from Ebola Virus at home, sobbbing softly in the bathroom as she waits for the hemmorrhaging to start.  Renee concurred with my diagnosis, so there you go.

I tell you all this so you will know why I thought I was going to die last night.  I have not been sleeping well, so last night, I popped two Advil Pm and settled down for a long winter's nap.  I was lying there, warm and comfy, listening to my heart beat go lub dub lub dub...etc.  Suddenly it went lub dub thunk.  This did not set well with me, but I decided to ignore it and so I snuggled in a little deeper.  Then it happened again...lub dub lub dub thunk.  I shifted into full panic mode, alert and ready to wake Tim so he could call the ambulance.  But the good thing about just having the medical anxiety disorder is you can talk yourself down.  I reminded myself I had talked to Renee about these episodes.  She said Harvey, her husband and also a physician, always told his patients to cut back caffeine.  I'm not going to die, I kept repeating quietly.  Finally, I changed position and they stopped.

But it did get me thinking about my funeral.  I decided I better put my wishes in black and white so when I finally go to the great physician in the sky to pester Him with all my medical complaints you will all know how to send me on my way.  I'm not asking much, but there are a few specific requests I have.  One of my favorite movies growing up was "Imitation of Life", the remake, with Lana Turner and Juanita Moore.  It's about a white woman and a black woman and their daughters.  Only both the daughters are white, and the white daughter of the black woman, a genetic throwback to a light skinned ancestor, hates her mother for being black.  The Juanita Moore character is very comfortable in her skin and she loves her daughter through everything.  At the end, when she dies, she has very specific funeral wishes, including her coffin being pulled to the cemetery by a team of white horses, while a brass band plays along behind mournfully.  Her daughter charges the funeral procession and throws herself on the coffin, too late to tell her mother how much she loves her.   

Ok, I know that's asking a bit much, but it's a start.  Seriously, let's start with the outfit.  Why on earth does everyone insist in dressing the deceased in a dress, heels and pearls??  Good lord, who wants to be that uncomfortable for eternity?  No, I want to be buried in a brand new, crisp pair of Hanes Her Way sweatpants, ash grey, purchased from Wal-Mart of course.  Let the Walton gang profit from me one final time!  Please make sure I am wearing giant granny panties, because if I bloat in the after life, I want to be comfy.  I want to be wearing low cut socks and a really nice pair of New Balance tennis shoes.  On top, I would like to wear my Titanic t-shirt, because it's my favorite.  I bought it in Gatlinburg at the museum where we saw a traveling Titanic exhibit.  I reckon my passing will be as big a disaster for everyone as the Titanic was, if not actually more significant. 

Please make sure I am arranged so I only have one chin.  Don't let them cake a lot of makeup on my face.  I don't wear a lot now, so why on earth would I want to go to the great beyond with pancake makeup??  Of course I want an open casket.  I want everyone to get one final look at me.  Maybe someone could be up there taking pictures; get your picture taken with Jen one final time.  I know my friends would be lined up to have it done.  It could be a fundraiser to help defray the funeral costs.

I do NOT want flowers.  You all know how much I loathe growing things!!  At the Winn Dixie, they sell bouquets made out of chocolate bars.  Nothing says I love you and I'm sorry you're gone like a bouquet of Snickers.  I am not opposed to cash contributions either, to help defray the costs of the funeral.  Maybe a box for donations could be placed next to the coffin and people could drop in money as they come up to pay their last respects.

In ancient times, Egyptians loaded up the coffin with things for the deceased to take with them on the journey.  I would like my coffin loaded up with cheetos, sunflower seeds, mallomars and Harlequin romances.  I would also like two dozen Cadbury creme eggs, several bags of Hershey kisses, some nacho cheese doritos (not cool ranch because you can never get rid of that taste!!!) and chips and salsa from Hacienda.  Make sure you tell the cute guy at the register that I have passed because I am sure he will want to come and pay his final respects.  I guess you could stick some pictures of my family in there, but I am worried they will continue to fight through eternity.  I would like to rest in peace, so maybe not.  Do stick in the entire five seasons of Sex and the City.

For the service,  I DO NOT WANT A HOMILY!!  Instead, I would like to have a sort of open mike night, where everyone takes turns coming up and relating their favorite stories about me.  I'll take the good with the bad, so if the people at OLV who hate me want to come up and take potshots, that's fine too.  I can handle it.  There can be selected readings from my blog, with people taking turns reading their favorite passages.  Try to leave out the ones about farting, though, since that's inappropriate in church.  I do not want the choir to sing.  Josh can play his trumpet and then please play a selection of Weird Al's greatest hits.  He really is my favorite musical artist.  At the end of the service, though, feel free to play Barry Mannilow's "Can't Smile Without You" just to wring a few more tears from the audience.

Bury me near Jenny so we can spend eternity together, making fun of all the other dead people in the cemetery.  But make sure I am in a spot where I can have a massive headstone, preferably one etched with a large picture of me.  Let everyone know who they've missed out on meeting!  No cutesy verses on it, please.  Instead, I would like a pithy quote from Mark Twain or Oscar Wilde, or Robin Williams.  No flowers at the cemetery, just more chocolate.

For the obituary, please refer to the blog for inspiration.  A full page may be needed to actually cover all of my accomplishments, such as "she managed to eat lunch at every restaurant in the greater metropolitan area" and "she always knew which gas stations in Birmingham had the cleanest restrooms."  I am not sure who to designate as the author; I guess Roseanna since she tends to make less spelling errors than the rest of you.  But it can be a collaborative effort if it needs to be. Just promise me you'll use Spell Check!!  I can't bear to think of the world reading about my dearth.

Ok, hope this helps.  I can pray tonight with a clear conscience:  Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the lord my soul to keep, If I should die before I wake, the funeral arrangements I won't have to make. 

I hate Santa Claus.  Apparently, when Santa does his shopping, he gets a bit overwhelmed by all the festive displays and loses his common sense.  He brings joy to children with his thoughtful gifts, and eternal pain and damnation to the parents.  Some of my fondest holiday memories as a child are of my father getting drunk and swearing, while he tried to put Christmas toys together.  I am proud to carry on that tradition.

Mysterious are the forces that move him to pick certain gifts over others.  For example, Santa, in a fit of nostalgia brought on by Josh's advancing age, decided to bring Josh a toy for Christmas.  But not just any toy.  That Santa is such a joker, may he rot in hell! No, he brought Josh the Nerf Dart tag set, reasoning it was a toy that would appeal to a boy of any age.  Freakin' Santa Claus!

Josh tore the wrapping paper off and shouted for joy when he beheld his new weapon of mass destruction.  I hope that Hans Blix guy doesn't come knocking on our door...  Josh immediately loaded it up and "accidentally" shot me in the face.  I managed to contain my urge to ram the darts up his nose and mildly advised him to take it outdoors so nothing (meaning his limbs) would get broken.  Ahh, the precious ego of a 13 year old boy, he ignored me and made the colossal error of shooting his daddy twenty minutes later.  Needless to say, Daddy made sure the dart tag was relegated to the outdoors.

But 13 year old boys are fragile creatures, and relevant information does not stay in their tiny little brains for very long, and an hour later, he was in the house, shooting his sister.  The dart tag was confiscated and put away.  He has since earned it back and it has been taken away again.  It may mysteriously disappear, along with that stupid turtle, which is still taking up space in my house.

Josh also got Monopoly and we played it tonight.  Funny thing about Monopoly, it stays with you forever.  I was spouting out rent amounts without even looking at the cards.  We played for an hour and finally declared a draw, because he had all the property but I had all the money.  I hate Monopoly because there is no  end to it.  It drags on for hours and hours, sucking the life out of you slowly and inexorably.  I know some people get a charge from owning all the property and fulfilling their slum lord fantasies, but that has never been my shtick.  I prefer a nice game of Trouble; who doesn't love the Pop'oMatic dice?  And there is a clear winner in Trouble; no messy counting of assets to see who the king of capitalism is!

Another toy delivered by the heinous freak in red is the hot pink Barbie karaoke guitar.  It comes with a headset so your little princess can belt out lyrics while she strums along a merry tune at an earsplitting volume.  Occasionally, if the princess gets her mouth to close to the mike, you get earsplitting feedback.  This toy is truly delightful; it has a cartridge that plugs into the guitar and plays lyrics to three different songs.  Anna sings them over and over again.  What joy, what fun!  I can't wait for the batteries to die.

A great gift to give a five year old girl is a set of Polly Pockets.  These are tiny dolls invented by minions of Satan to drive people away from Christianity.  It works in this way:  the dolls have miniature rubber clothes that no one under the age of 30 can put on the doll so grown ups are forced to wrestle the tiny, uncooperative clothes onto the her.  She smiles placidly, as the grown up growls and curses and the five year old dances around impatiently, waiting for Polly to don her next dominatrix outfit.  By the time the clothing is finally put on, the grown up has renounced God and has turned to drink as a sort of saviour.  The step is repeated over and over, because, as every parent knows, Polly cannot wear the same outfit for more than five minutes.  It just isn't done.  The best part is her shoes, which are nearly microscopic.  One needs trifocals to put them on Polly's dainty little feet.  Trifocals and a triple scotch!

One other gift Anna got that I must mention is an assortment of Littlest Pet Shop bobble head animals.  Why she is so taken with these creepy little pets, with their big goggle eyes and their heads bouncing around on wobbly necks is beyond me.  I think they look like something from an X Files episode, some sort of evil house pets that drank toxic toilet bowl water and mutated into bobble heads.  I know Mulder and Scully would be scratching their heads, trying to figure out how to eradicate the menaces before they reproduce.  Alas, they would be too late, since they have invaded McDonald's and are this month's Happy Meal toy offering. 

But nothing, and I know I have diatribed on this topic before, but it bears repeating, nothing matches the twist ties for sheer, profanity inducing rage.  I swear, they get more and more complicated with every new batch of toys.  Pretty soon toys will be riveted in place with steel rivets and one will need a blowtorch to remove Barbie and her magical companions from their protective packaging!!

I am ready to put Christmas behind me.  Ready to pour the eggnog down the sink, stuff the tinsel in the garbage and stuff the inflatable Santa in his box until next year.  I am ready to reclaim my living space from Polly Pocket and Barbie and Littlest Pet Shop bobble head animals.  Thank goodness Christmas only comes once a year. 

Now that my blogs are in print form, where I can page through them at my leisure, I realize I have been remiss in some of my threads.  A prime example is the circles of Hell; I listed five and then stopped.  But today, I discovered the sixth circle and I am going to share it with you.  The Sixth Circle of Hell is the McDonald's Playland or any indoor playland where children, food, and plastic tube slides come together.  Now I realize Chuck E Cheese was the second circle, but I believe I am right in saying Chuck E. Cheese, with it's large, animatronic demons stands alone.  McDonald's is a separate hell in its own right.  

I don't care where the playplace is, whether it's at McDonald's or Chick Fil A or Burger King, they all stink.  They all have an odor reminscent of urine, mold and sweaty feet, with overtones of poo.  You feel unclean the moment you step through the doors and the idea of your children playing there makes you shudder.  Yet you go, because it is an opportunity to sit down, visit with another mother or to simply read the paper.  You also go because it is a rite of passage every parent must endure.

A little bit about my day and how we came to be at the Playland:  Today is Wylie Willis's 6th birthday.  Wylie is the very dearest, bosom companion of the demon goddess called Anna.  So we agreed to meet in Hell...um, I mean, McDonald's, to let the young lovers frolic and cavort while we sat and bemoaned the wretched holiday break that brought us there in the first place. 

But before we went, I took Josh over to his friend Kelsey's house, so I wouldn't have to contend with him hulking around the playplace, sulking and/or tackling the younger children to amuse himself.  The trip to Kelsey's house was in itself a mini Hell.  Josh has recently discovered that he can send Anna into a fury by whispering the word "monkey" to her.  From the moment we got into the car until the moment we pulled into Kelsey's driveway, he would look back over his shoulder at her, smile and then say "monkey".  The screams of agony that followed each monkey were truly ear splitting.  I am not sure why the word "monkey" makes her so crazy, but she's five and eats dirt, so who knows?  All I know is it was one of the longest 15 minute rides of my life.  I could not wait to get rid of my son.  I may not pick him up again.

After we ejected him from the car, the monkey and I went on to Kohl's to pick up a gift for Prince Wylie.  Some of my constant readers may remember an earlier entry where I described various inappropriate birthday gifts one could give to children.  Well, Anna picked a doozy today.  We wandered through the toy aisle, and nothing captured her fancy.  And then she saw it:  pushed way back on a shelf, obviously not belonging in the toy department, was, well, a monkey, in a raincoat, wearing silk boxer shorts with hearts on them.  On his chest was a large red heart emblazoned with the words "you make me bananas".  When you pushed his foot, his hips gyrated and he sang the "Move It" song from Madagascar (I like to move it move, you like to move it move it....).  Anna was enthralled and nothing else would do for Wylie.  As a matter of fact, as she gyrated to the music down the aisle toward the cash register, she looked at me and said "Mommy, you must buy this for my birthday!"  Please, please, don't all rush out today and get her one!!

We paid and headed to McDonalds, with me having never really looked at this thing we had purchased, other than to note it was cheaper than the $40 Diego toy she originally wanted to buy for Wylie.  We got in to the restaurant, and she clamored for him to open it.  It was opened and set on the table and she pushed the foot proudly.  That was when I read the package....the advertising on the box read "it sings, it dances, it FLASHES a surprise...."  Yes, dear reader, I am afraid I bought a Flashing Pervert Monkey for a 6 year old's birthday present!  Once he was out of the box, one could clearly see that, as the monkey was gyrating his hips, he was gradually opening his raincoat so everyone could get a peek at his boxers!!!  Thank God he didn't drop the boxers to show everyone his banana!!!!!  I was mortified, but thank goodness it was Kiki and she has a sense of humor!!

After I got over the shock of having purchased a pornographic toy for a six year old boy, I settled down to eat my happy meal.  This being the week of Christmas break, the play land was pretty full.  There was one little tyke there, very cute, with a wild mop of dark curly hair. She was probably around 4 or 5.  Well, she was cute until she came over to the table where our children were sitting, and started eating their french fries.  Melissa, one of the moms with us, tried to shoo her away and she looked at Melissa and growled "Noooooooooo" in a very scary voice.

It was readily apparent there was something wrong with the child, so we chose to ignore her.  I would hazard a guess that she was autistic, since she was not really articulate and was in her own world, not really interacting with any of the other children.  So there we were, sitting at a table positioned right next to the playplace and I look up and she IS LICKING THE FLOOR OF THE PLAYPLACE!!!!  Yep, something not quite right about that child!!!!!! 

Now here is why I consider these places to be hell; it's not the kids, it's the parents who don't watch them.  It seems to me most parents use these places as a giant playpen.  They assume their children are confined within four walls, so therefore they do not have to watch them.  I don't care how confined my kids are, my eyes are ALWAYS on them!!!  Unfortunately, many other parents do not demonstrate this same courtesy.  They assume their children are little angels and could never do anything wrong, so there is no need to watch them.  I contend that children are capable of great evil and must be watched constantly because you never know when they are going to spit on another child or take a bite out of someone, or just take another kid down with a good old fashioned body slam!!  So I watch my kids.

The father of this little girl was across the room, in a corner, where he could not see her cleaing the nasty, e-coli infested floor of the play place with her tongue.  She started at one wall, then she moved to the mesh and tongued her way all around the interior.  It was the most disgusting thing I have ever seen, yet strangely compelling.  Like passing the site of a train wreck with body parts strewn all around, it was impossible to look away from the horror.  She seemed most taken with the area just inside the tube that connected to the area that was formerly a ball pit.  Apparently it must have been good and salty there from all those sweaty feet. 

I was already feeling a bit ill and then the licker started grabbing her bottom.  By now, Kiki, Melissa and I were staring openly, making no pretense of our horror.  She started at her crotch and then worked her hand backward, checking for heaven only knows what!!  It was when she started taking her pants down that we had had enough.  Yes, right there in front of us, she started to pull them down and there was no doubt in anyone's mind that she was going to make a sacrifice to the gods of the playland, in log form of course!!

Well, Kiki sprang up and bolted across the room for the father.  Melissa started telling the little girl no again (Melissa is so brave, having already been growled at by the child once!) and I just stared uselessly, my jaw hanging open.  The father rushed over, ushered her out of the ball pit and took her to the bathroom to do her business.  He offered no apologies and did not acknowledge us.  They were gone for about five minutes, and then she was back again for more licking.  Then she came back for more fries from our table.  That time her dad saw her and he came over and grabbed her, again with no apologies.  I understand she had a problem, but it would have been polite for him to have acknowledged that to us.  But nothing.    

We left shortly after that.  Once you've been mooned by a four year old, there really isn't anything left, is there?  We went our separate ways, all of us wondering how long it would take before the little tyke started with the explosive, hemmorraghic diarrhea that is the obvious result of licking the floor of the McDonald's Playland for twenty minutes.  I just hope she does it at home and not in the restaurant.

So that concludes the 6th circle of hell.  To recap, the 6th circle is any playplace attached to a fast food restaurant and filled with nasty children and their rude parents who don't supervise them.  It's going to be hard to come up with a 7th circle to top this one, but I will!! 

I thought I would fill in the remaining blanks of Christmas, so you can get the full experience.  We attended the 4:00 church service, otherwise known as the Black Mass, otherwise known as the Children's Mass, on Sunday.  We went to his debacle so Josh could provide musical accompaniment on his trumpet.  We argued all the way there, like the loving family we are.  Tim was screaming at Abby, Anna was screaming at everyone and I was screaming silently in my head, wondering why I didn't have my tubes tied at birth!

At church, we settled into a pew.  The demon goddess immediately flew into a frenzy because she had to sit next to Abby.  As soon as Abby realized Anna did not want to sit by her, she became rooted in place and no amount of persuasion or death threats could persuade her to move.  In between mewling about how she didn't want to sit by Abby, Anna keened because I had not packed a bag of 387 different activities for her to do.

It finally got so bad, I yanked her up, dragged her out of the church and into the cry room.  She became so defiant and my blood pressure went up so high, I finally pulled her into the bathroom and spanked her, something I seldom do and something I really need to do daily.  We went back out into the cry room, where she started the "I'm hungry, I'm really really hungry, I'm so hungry" chant that never fails to drive me crazy.

Abby came and stuck her head in and I told her to go away, I was dealing with Anna.  Five minutes later, Tim came in and started acting like a complete jerk because he did not want to be at that particular mass.  He was so bad, I ended up crying.  So there I was, on Christmas eve, crying in the cry room, Anna whining on my lap, Abby out in the church by herself, and thinking it all sounds a lot like a bad country song.

Well, fortunately, Anna fell asleep.  Unfortunately, she weighs 57 pounds, and within ten minutes, I had lost all feeling in my but*tocks (in the style of Forrest Gump).  I then worried for the rest of the service that I was going to have to have a cheek surgically removed because of lack of circulation. It was excruciating, but given a choice of a whiney child or less buttock, I was more than happy to sacrifice a cheek!! 

I think it is a sin, though, to sit through a church service and contemplate dismembering your husband.  Especially on Christmas eve.  I really wanted to dismember him alive, cutting off each limb one by one, while he writhed in agony.  Yes, it really was a bad night!! 

We got home, put the kids to bed wrapped the presents, blah blah blah.  Got my wonderful gift Christmas morning, called and canceled the appointment with the divorce lawyer, and put my chainsaw back in the garage.  I made the rather colossal mistake of giving Josh a Nerf Dart Tag set, reasoning he still needed to receive the occasional toy for Christmas.  I realized this was a mistake when he ambushed me and shot me in the cheek with a dart.  He shot Tim 30 minutes later.  The dart tag is now residing in my bedroom with little hope of being reconciled with its owner.

But the highlight of the day had to be when my father called me on my cell phone as I was heading to Movie Gallery to return some movies.  He called in a panic because when they returned to their hotel, my stepmother went out to walk the dog, stepped off the sidewalk, fell in a ditch and broke her leg.  He was trying to find the hospital and he was lost and he wanted me to take him to the hospital.

Now by this point in the day, I was completely exhausted, coughing my lungs up and ready to crawl into bed and die.  Luckily I managed to talk him into finding the hospital on his own so I didn't have to go hang out in the ER for hours.  I feel sure had I gone, they would have ended up admitting me to the psych ward because I would have lost my mind!!

Today he called me at 8:00 in the morning, raising me from a Nyquil induced haze because he needed me to come and help him get Sheila (my stepmom) into the car so they could drive home and get her broken leg set.  I did not have time to take a shower or brush my teeth; I had to get up, shake off the Nyquil and go.  I arrive in time to help her stand up and use her walker to shuffle out to the car.  I felt really badly for her; she broke her left leg and sprained her right ankle and that pretty well sucks for anyone, but especially on Christmas day!!  I got her in the car and watched them drive away and then I passed out on the sidewalk, overcome by my tuberculosis.

Ok, no, I really didn't pass out, but it would have been the perfect ending to our perfect, Rockwellian holiday!!  I just wonder how we can top it next year!!

Finally, a minute to myself!!  Since my earlier writing, my in-laws have been here and then my parents came.  It must be true about Christmas, when they say the lion shall lie down with the lamb, because they were all in the same house for three hours and it was very pleasant.  No one stabbed anyone else with a meat fork and all in all, they were most cordial to one another.

The living room looks like a dirty bomb from Toy's R' Us exploded; little, devil twist ties litter the floor; pieces of cardboard stamped with cartoon characters festoon the chairs; and wrapping paper is everywhere.  It will take a week to clean it all up!!  I cooked breakfast and a late lunch, so no one better ask me for food.  I am going to take a hot bath.

Because I have meningitis.  I am sure it is meningitis, because my neck hurts.  Yes, I can touch my chin to my chest, and I don't have a fever, but still, it could be meningitis.  I am hoping it is, because then I can go to the hospital and hang out and have my own TV and someone will bring me meals on a tray.  Yes, all in all, what I really want for Christmas is meningitis.  Usually, when my neck hurts because I think I have meningitis, it hurts because I have tried to touch my chin to my chest so often, I strained the muscles in my neck.  Whatever.  It still could be meningitis, and you will all be very sorry if I die and you don't have my blog to read anymore.

If it's not meningitis, it's almost certainly pneumonia.  I have a deep, hacking cough and my back hurts when I cough.  So that could be pneumonia.  It could be allergies, but you don't get hospitalized for those.  I am looking for a hospitalization so I can get some rest from the hectic holiday season.  Are you reading this Renee???  I need orders written!!

I guess I will try treating this symptomatically, with a hot bath, a glass of wine, and two Nyquil.  If you don't hear from me tomorrow, check ICU at Brookwood; I'll probably be there in an oxygen tent.  I just hope I can operate the remote control from inside my tent!

Merry Christmas!!  I don't know about your house, but mine sounds like an isolation ward in a TB hospital.  Yes, we are all coughing and hacking and, to change it up a bit, the demon goddess has developed some sort of rash on her face.  Ho ho ho!!

We were up until midnight, wrapping gifts, a chore which I despise.  About half the people I know don't wrap, but I think that most of the fun of Christmas is tearing the paper off to see what you got!  So Tim and I sat up, watched White Christmas, which is our favorite Christmas movie, and wrapped gifts until we were both ready to scream.

At 2:30 this morning, Anna arrived in our bedroom, clutching a candy cane and insisting she had heard something.  What she probably heard was our exhausted snores, but Tim just pulled her into our bed and told her to go back to sleep.  I then had to leave, because the candy cane wrapper was making so much noise. 

At 6:30, I woke up to all kinds of noise.  Our radio was belting out Christmas music and Josh was watching Sports Center on ESPN.  It was a deafening cacophony, sort of like a group of hockey players singing Wagner.  I got up and made coffee for Tim, then the girls got up and then the wrapping paper flew.  It's so sad to me that it took five hours to wrap the gifts and it took less than 30 minutes for them to unwrap the gifts.

The kids racked up this year.  Josh got a camera, Abby got enough A & F clothes to soothe her inner designer clothing beast, and Anna got a new bike, complete with a basket.  I got a very nice roasting oven, a couple of cookbooks and some weird little plates Tim bought from our recpetionist's kid, who was selling crap for a school fundraiser.

I was plugging along, realizing this was probably it for me.  No "December to Remember" here; no Lexus in the garage, no 2 carat diamond upgrade, nothing really exciting.  But there was one box left to open, nicely wrapped, one Tim obviously had not wrapped.  I was really expecting it to be the Magic Macrame Machine or the new edition of "537 Spam Recipes You Haven't Tried", but when I opened the box, I actually cried.

Inside was a book; 12 books to be precise.  The front cover is pink and there is a very disgusted looking woman looking out, holding a pencil to her lips.  The title is "My Life My Blog...Volume 1" by Jennifer Brunner.  My husband, my dear sweet husband, whom I have slandered many times in these pages, HAD MY WHOLE BLOG BOUND AND COVERED FOR ME!!!!  Words cannot even describe how that makes me feel....he really pulled a big one here.  Of course I didn't have the heart to tell him I sold the blog to buy hiking poles for his upcoming trip, which he canceled so he could publish the blog...no just kidding!!

Seriously, this book is massive!!!  It's almost 300 pages and every comment is included.  I had no idea I had written so much during the last year.  It was funny to look at it and see how I started with short posts and now I've worked up to three page rants!!  Anyway, I am going to be selling them for $19.95 (no tax) because this is how I will fund my shopping habits!!  I will only charge $5 extra for autographs.  I know you will all be lining up for copies, but rest assured, I can get more if they are needed.

I have to personally thank Cathy and Kristy (sp???) at Minute Man Press for the hours they worked making my special gift possible.  I can't even imagine how painful it must have been to assemble the ravings of a mad woman into a bound edition!!  I also have to thank my beloved Teensy for her part in the drama.  She actually led Tim to the site!!

So call for you copy now; operators are standing by.  And if you call right now, we'll add a copy of "War and Peace" absolutely free.  So call now!!!

I got this site from another blog and it's fun.  My title is Viscountess Jennifer the Carnivorous of Fritterton on the Marshes

Go to this site:  http://www.masquerademaskarts.com/memes/peculiartitle.php

I would love to see how everyone else is titled...I find mine very appropriate

Why can I not get rid of this freakin' green text box????

Ring out the bells, sound the trumpets, let angels sing on high....my tree is decorated!!!!!!!!!!!!  I am blessed to have such good friends; Judy Ryan and Marianne Vetrano came over to visit last night and ended up helping me decorate the tree!!  It's over!!  I can sleep the sleep of the righteous tomorrow night because Santa Clause is coming to town!!

They were over because Don was visiting with the girls and Leon and Tim R. wanted to come and see him.  They braved the "flea" to do it!  So we ate and drank and decorated and had a good time.  There was only one small accident, involving me naturally.

You are all familiar with the old adage "act your age, not your shoe size" and we all should live by it.  My shoe size is 7 1/2.  I always tell Kiki that her skinny little butt can get big again, but my feet will always be little!!  So ha!  Anyway, the youngest Gardino is 7 and I decided to chase her around the house last night and I got a little over zealous.

It was her fault though.  The little twit took an absolutely awful picture of me with Hannah Ryan's cell phone and I was only trying to get my revenge.  I did catch her and I hung her upside down for a minute, then I let her go.  We were in the kitchen and I was leaning against the island, talking to the other adults, and Sarah kept walking by and kicking me.  Unfortunately, on one of her passes, she kicked me when I had my weight on my left leg, the leg which contains my bad knee.  The bad knee with the kneecap that gets bored staying in one place for too long, so it occasionally wanders over to other parts of my leg to check out the action.

She kicked me and I went down like a ton of bricks, because my kneecap went left and my leg went straight. I can only imagine how funny it looked, because one second I was talking to everyone and the next, I was on the floor, writhing in agony.  Sadly, I am not even exaggerating.  It hurt so much I thought I was going to vomit up all the fudge I had eaten.  Not that it would have been necessarily a bad thing, but still, I try never to puke in front of friends, no matter how close we are!

What made it really funny was they all thought I was kidding.  Because I had been acting like a seven year old, all the adults assumed I had fallen to tease Sarah.  How they didn't hear the crunch my knee made is beyond me!!  So there I am writhing on the floor, and all the adults are staring at me as if I've lost my mind.  Hannah, dear sweet Hannah, was the only one who truly realized the scope of my pain, because as she observed later, "you were in the fetal position and keening".  Usually a good indication that someone is in pain, not screwing around!

Finally, they realized I was actually in pain, and they were trying to help me get up off the floor.  Judy helpfully offered to let me bite her husband's arm until the pain passed.  I thought that was really sweet of her, but I declined, because his arms are pretty hairy.  Finally, after about five minutes on the floor, I pulled myself up and hobbled over to a chair.  They all continued to stare at me; I guess they were hoping I would do another trick, but I was done for the night.

This morning, I jumped on the treadmill and did a slightly scaled down workout, and now it feels much better.  I have to work it out or it swells into a grapefruit.  But I have learned my lesson and I will act 37, not 7. 

One more little tidbit, before I go.  Nancy called and it seems one of our neighbors will be getting "the December to remember".  That's right, one street over, a lucky lady whose name is, and I am NOT making this up, SNOOKIE, is getting a new Lexus.  It's parked in her neighbor's garage.  Nancy asked me if Andy had hidden her gift in our garage, and I told her yep, he brought that set of Ginsu knives over ages ago.

I hope you all have wonderful holidays!!  I will keep you posted on the insanity here!!  Merry Christmas!! 

Here is an up to the minute bulletin on how we are faring three days before Christmas, or as I like to call it, Ground Zero.

Tree:  Still not decorated

Porch Railings:  Still festooned with dead garland

Christmas Goodies:  Still not baked

Children:  On the verge of being murdered in a variety of different ways, including, but not limited to:  choking; poisoning; garroting; decapitation; bludgeoning; fed to the lions; evisceration; shaken teenager syndrome; the pout of death; the sulk of death; drawing and quartering; and some other methods not describable in these pages. 
Indeed, let Chaos Reign!!!

Anna is still sick but does not know she is sick and I am sick of listening to her whine about how she is not sick and since she is not sick she should be allowed to go play with her friends even though she will make them sick.  I am now sick....of children!!

In a desperate attempt to promote good cheer, I bundled up the little darlings and took them to a movie.  I don't have a problem with exposing complete strangers to Anna's germs, just friends.  I witnessed something most disturbing in the theater.  We got there early because we were going to see "Night at the Museum" and since it opened today, I didn't want to risk getting there and finding no tickets.  So we got into the theater twenty minutes early and sat munching our popcorn.  The girls sat at the top of the theater and Josh and I took the middle, since I am afraid of heights and I had the popcorn.  Josh had no choice but to follow me!

We had the place to ourselves for a few minutes, and then a family of several came in and sat a few rows in front of us.  Well, Dear Old Mum promptly took her shoes off and put her feet on top of the seat in front of her.  I nearly came unglued!!!!!!! The thought that my head is resting in someone's toe jam was really just too much for me today!!   And they were not cute feet.  I mean, it might have been ok had she been blessed with pretty toes, but oh no, these tootsies were terrifying!!  She had long, scary toenails, very talon-like if you want to know the truth.  The French pedicure only accentuated the ancient beast of lore look she was sporting.  I will occasionally stretch my fully shod feet out on the seat in front of me, but THE SHOES STAY ON!!!!!!  Otherwise, it is too gross to contemplate.

After the movie, the children whined and fought like caged animals all the way home.  We got in the garage and Abby and the Gardino girls, who are staying with us, promptly ran outside, sending Anna into a fresh rage.  "I want to go ouuuuuttttssssssiiiiiiddddddde!!!" she moaned in despair.  "No," I told her and then I looked at Tim and said "you deal with her," because I had to use the bathroom.  I headed for the john and heard him say "fine go outside."  This is not dealing; this is caving!!  I turned around and gave him a piece of my mind and when I came out of the bathroom, she was still howling.  Finally, I sent her to my bedroom to cool off.

Meanwhile, my brother in law appeared and he and Tim immediately started picking at each other.  Great, I have two generations of siblings squabbling in my house today!!  Tim and Bob own a lawn care business together and it is the subject of many heated arguments.  Tim has emerged as the direct descendant of Ebeneezer Scrooge and he is frequently heard to cackle late in the evening, as he hunches by candlelight over his accounts.  Today they were arguing because Bob wants to spend money and Tim doesn't want him to spend money and he owes Tim money, but doesn't have it, and Tim would cheerfully foreclose on him at Christmas and kick him out into the snow.  Or the humidity if you live in Alabama!!

Then, as if to add to my merriment, Josh came down and got into the act.  Tim asked him to get the Christmas ornaments out of the attic, thinking we might actually be able to put some on the tree today.  Josh went up and then came back down, stomping and hollering "I CAN'T GET THEM DOWN!!"  Tim asked him why and Josh hollered "BECAUSE I CAN'T SEE OVER THE TOP OF THE BOX!!!"  God deliver me from the hormonal rages of a 13 year old boy!!!!!! 

Josh then went to the pantry, having worked up an appetite from the rage, and Tim told him he could have a snack after he got the ornaments down from the attic.  "You can eat cake," Tim told him facetiously, referring to the Marie Antoinette quote.  After much fussing and Tim being very sweet and fatherly for a change, the ornaments came down the stairs and the Josh came into the kitchen, got a plate and a fork, and asked for the cake.  Of course there was no cake, poor kid.  Tim is such an ass!

Finally, I grabbed the vacuum cleaner and started vacuuming.  The noise was strangely soothing, and best of all, it drowned out everyone's noise!!  To top it all off, I have a headache, and my throat is feeling strangely scratchy.  If I get the flea, I am taking to my bed and filing a lawsuit against the manufacturerer's of the flu vaccine.  But first I am taking a looooooonnnnnnnnggggggggg winter's nap!!!