We had an awesome Christmas!

Everyone behaved, including me. I was able to keep the bitchiness to a minimum and I actually enjoyed myself a lot. I ate way too much food, drank way too much wine, and danced in front of the Christmas tree with my husband and daughter (the dancing actually preceded the wine if you can believe that one!).

I’ve already been to Old Navy and Target to help relieve them of their surplus holiday inventory, and will spend the rest of the day organizing my daughter’s new toys.

We had a hugely fun holiday. I hope you all did too.

…how fucked up are your bran-ches?

Call us tree huggers, but every year we purposely choose some poor mutant tree that would otherwise find itself alone in the lot on Christmas Eve. We search for the most wretched looking thing we can find, bring it home and hang elegant blue, silver, and lavender glass ornaments on it. This year was no exception and we had every intention of giving it a good home. But…well…

Let’s start with the Christmas gifts sitting under it. When it comes to gift wrapping, I have no patience or pride in workwomanship. I used to try to make the gifts look nice, but they always come out looking like I wrapped them with my feet. I’ve given up. It’s what’s under the paper that matters, right? Of course it is.

If my substandard wrapping isn’t enough, the dog has been nosing through the gifts and partially unwrapping them. The cat never did seek help for his ribbon fetish, so anything in a bag with ribbon handles has either had them totally chewed off or munched full of little kitty teeth holes and is stiff from his frothy saliva/stomach bile. “Merry Christmas, here’s your spitty bag.”

My daughter has been hanging random things she finds around the house on it. There’s a pair of kid’s sunglasses, a rubber band, a piece of gimp with a single wooden bead on it, a square of toilet paper (unused of course), gold and silver bangle bracelets, a shoelace with 2 pieces of dried ziti dangling from it, an empty container of Italian Seasoning, Mrs. Potato Head’s purse, and an assortment of paper Hello Kitty ornaments she got out of a book my sister-in-law gave her.

In what is most certainly a suicide attempt, it stopped drinking sometime last week and now it’s so dried out that if you even think about looking at it, the needles rain down upon the mutant gifts. When Santa comes tonight, he’ll probably shriek in horror and be all ass and elbow right back up that chimney. I can’t say I blame him.

Merry Christmas everyone!

Everyone else is talking about the Spearses, so I’m chucking in my 2 cents too.

Hmm…it seems that Brit’s mom raised two trashy little Bubble Yum chewing freaks!

I think it was really short-sighted for them to have suspended the publication of her parenting book though. With all the advice out there on what to do, I think we could have used an example of how NOT to raise daughters. You know, for the sake of comparison. Dr. Brazelton, for example, might tell us to encourage abstinence, self respect, and/or safe sex practices. Lynne Spears teaches the bend and fluff with full color illustrations. It’s just nice to have options is all I’m saying.

Good news though, Jamie and her babydaddy met in church. Well, praise be! They’ll have Jesus there to guide them! I’m wondering why Jesus didn’t guide them to the condom store…

More good news: Access Hollywood reports that “Ms. Spears is a devout Christian with a spotless reputation.” Fantastic! Call me old fashioned, but getting knocked up at 16 is hardly demonstrative of devout Christian values and a spotless reputation. But what the hell do I know? I waited until I was educated, married, and 30 years old before I got knocked up.

Oh, and I can’t weigh in about the Spearses without mentioning that Brit just made the worst dressed list. Again. This is another head scratcher since I don’t think we’ve actually seen Britney dressed in a long, long, time–if ever. We’ve seen the girls, we’ve seen her “special purpose,” we’ve seen everything but clothing. And didn’t I see something about them photoshopping her head onto someone else’s body because all of those Caramel Macchiatos with extra whipped cream are catching up with her? The poor dear can’t find any clothing to fit her is what’s the problem. Won’t someone please take Britney shopping?

All negativity aside though, I have to say I’m glad for all the Spears drama. It’s loads of good old fashioned trailer park fun, and without it I wouldn’t have had anything to write about today.

No, I’m not talking about the “dream catchers” my husband leaves around the house for me to find.

This is an actual ad for Vanity Fair napkins. Here’s the stereotypical All-American thirtysomething couple sitting at a table looking at each other like they’re about to have 10 minutes of hot and wild missionary sex with the lights turned off.

And the ad reads:

The {he’s-still-a-great-date} napkin.

The kids are at your Mom’s. The napkin is Vanity Fair. Soft. Thick. And so good looking. Just like the guy across the table.

I’m not even fucking kidding you.


Remember the movie Crazy People when they hired a bunch of lunatics to write advertisements and taglines?

Jaguar: For men who want hand jobs.

This is:

Vanity Fair napkins: We’ll help you mop up afterward.