Wrappin' up my holiday

Christmas was fun this year. I hesitate to celebrate Christmas, because I am not a Christian, don't ever go to church & don't believe that little 8 pound 6 ounce baby Jesus came to be on this day. But yet I celebrate it. Cuz the lights on the tree are purdy.

Much like I celebrate Halloween. What's the REAL significance of Halloween to anyone anymore? Nuthin but candy, costumes and smoke machines. That's Christmas to me, candy, costumes and smoke machines, with a little eggnog thrown in.

Mainly, I just like being nice to people, taking time with family and giving hugs not drugs.

So that's Christmas to me - hugs - not drugs.

Anyway - about a week ago I was fretting over what to give my kookie mother. She's kookie. People try and be nice and say she isn't, but she is. Sweet as all get out, but kookie.

So what to get kookie mama? I realized her old beat up car needed a cd player. I realized this when she said "My old beat up car needs a cd player." And a light bulb went on. "Hey," I thought, "why don't I get kookie mama a cd player for her car?"

So that's what I did. But I realized after wrapping it and sitting under the pagan Christmas tree with my smoke machine that I couldn't just GIVE her a cd player that would still need to be installed. She would have nothing to show for the day. That's lame.

So King of Annaland and I devised a plan.

We made kookie mama come out early on Christmas Eve and told her we had plans for her at 3pm that day.

Then when she got to our house, I told her the plans had fallen through and that we would just have to sit around the house and watch old Christmas movies and drink for the rest of the night.

She was bummed and got even more kookie, but whilst we sat drowning ourselves in rum laced eggnog - King of Annaland made the pretend trip to the grocery store - where in all actuality we had stolen her car keys, her car and he had taken it to the local mega electronics store to get the player installed.

So Christmas morning kookie mama opens her gift. Kookie mama is kookie enough NOT to understand WHAT the hell this technological crap in a box actually IS and we lead her outside and TA DA - SURPRISE - You have a CD player already installed in your car!

Yippee!

Kookie mama cried.

Turns out - she's selling the car.

Merry Christmas.

Funerals

Note to my husband:

Af far as I know, you are not supposed to show up fashionably late to funerals.

Yep. I am pretty sure that they aren't a time for making an entrance.

I think, in fact, there is a rule written somewhere that if you do show up late to a funeral, people can legally call you a prick forever.

Yeah, I think I have read that somewhere.

Not used to this

What the hell? Why is it cold? I don't understand? I. Don't. Understand. Cold. Weather.

It's December for chrissake! IT should be 65-70. That's my winter cold temp window.

This is wrong man. Totally wrong. Sumthins' up. This is inhumane. It's horrible. This morning my husband had to go to the gym in sweats. NOT his favorite shorts. Oh the humanity.

It's got to be like 50 degrees! Send help! We will be rationing our food. Possible burning furniture and huddling for warmth in an ice cave in our back yard.

Help please. I don't think I can take these sub 60 degree temperatures for much longer. The human body can hold out for only so long. I had to even wear long sleeve shirts yesterday. What the hell?!

This is insane.

I luv my bitch.

Can I just say I love my dog. Both of them actually, but today I wish to celebrate all that is Lulu.

She is trained. Super duper trained. She is not a bolter. Not a jumper. Not a anything but crazy and a 4 x 4 chewer. Other than that - she's pretty spiffy.

Yesterday I was working and I got home to my husband tearing down our front bathroom and passing to and fro through our front door. We leave our doors open all the time and the dogs won't usually think of steppin' out.

With that said, they WILL leave if you aren't at least paying attention to them. They are dogs after all.

So that is what happened evidently. I had been gone for hours, my husband had been working for hours with our front door wide open and two dogs just hanging out with him.

By the time I get home, we have only one dog. The other, our friendly biter Lulu had decided to take a stroll through the neighbor hood. We estimate she had been free to run as far as she could for two hours at the least when I noted that we were 1 dog down in the den.

So I call my husband a fucktard and walk calmly up front. Because I KNOW she is not far. It's a physical impossibility that she is gone. She is just too good of a dog for that.

I walk out front to our sidewalk and see no pooch either direction. I let out 1 minor holler for her.

DONE.

She comes running like a bat outta hell ( and I mean I think her top speed was hit at that moment) she was FLYING from 8 houses down IMMEDIATELY upon hearing me call her and runs right up to me, stops and sits in front of me.

I swear to God, I have trained her well. If only I could get her to take out the trash, I would be golden.

I am the dog whisperer.

Fuckity Fuck Fuck Fuck

Nice title eh?

Life has kicked me in the panties. Like totally. I have neglected my beloved blog. As a wise man / wise ass recently noted: there are blond curly haired tumble weeds blowing through the voided space that is my blog.

Need to dust off the entries and add another dose of sarcasm to the system.

So here goes:

I am at war with my cell phone. Not cell service. No no. Let me make certain you understand - it is without a doubt my cell phone that is out to get me. It hates me. It is cursed and wants nothing more than to see that it has pushed me over the edge of sanity where I scream at it to it's face (because, yes - it has one) in a very public and blatant break down of temper and common sense for every one to see in the middle of our largest mall while blog mommies stare at me with shock and dismay as I swear in front of their children & pet Shitsu's while they are sitting in line to see the Atkins afflicted Santa and I walk by in a pissed off & frustrated haze.

I. AM. AT. WAR. WITH. MY. CELL. PHONE. I don't know why, but it hates me. It hates me big. Maybe it's from over use. I dunno. But it has decided to make my life a living hell.

This afternoon, I had had enough. I was in my car when my phone decided to go all possessed on me again and it took every ounce of strength I had to not simply stop my car on the side of the road, calmly get out, place my phone in the middle of the side walk, open my trunk, pull out my car jack and smash the bastard phone to smithereens.

I have tried other phones, but the problem is, it's the phones soul that hates me. If I switch phones, the evil soul of my phone follows me to the new phone and the terror begins again.

It's like a cheesy horror flick.

I swear. I sat alone in my house and my phone has whispered evil thoughts to me from other rooms. Like the weird voices you hear in the jungle on Lost when the Others used to appear. Really. It's like that. I bet if my phone had arms it would find a way to torment me with sharp objects after it had backed me into a corner. Oh, I guess it would have to have legs too. Yeah, if my cell phone had arms and legs, it would totally attack me in my sleep. My cell phone is evil and possessed and wants to send me over the edge.

Because - as you can tell from this post, CLEARLY I am not.

TO MY EVIL CELL PHONE - if you are reading this. I hate you. I hope you die. Fucker.