It's cool, like margarine is butter...

Close, but not quite right.

Nevertheless, this post is mostly just to inform you that there will be a sudden and drastic lack of posting for the next few weeks. I am leaving to Washington to hang out with my sister and her family....and purposefully am leaving the laptop home. I figure if I am going to spend money to go visit, then I'm going to visit...with real people, not blog people.

I'm sure you'll manage.

All I want for Christmas is.......you

...you awesome piece of utilitarian furniture. I hear angels singing the praise of such an inspiring and totally cool piece of furniture. I don't just want you. I need you. I just can't quit you and your multipurpose manufacturing.

If you love me, you will buy it for me. If you love me a LOT, you will buy me my own house to put it in. You decide.

Feliz Has Been Robbed From My Navidad

My high school experience can pretty much be described as, A Tale of Two Personalities. I was the funny fat kid who made friends easily, was quick with a self deprecating joke and masterful at diffusing tension with clever banter and wit. On the flip side, I was completely content to blend into the background. Eager to please, but happy to not be noticed. I have always been more of a spectator than a participant. A vocal, clever spectator, but a spectator nonetheless. My sister was the cheerleader, I was the stat girl.  That might explain why, to this day, I could put name to face of about  90% of the students that I graduated with. I'm a freaking Rainman with names and faces.I don't know what the percentage would be in reverse. But considering how many times I have had to explain who I am to people that I have known for years, I doubt that it would be very high. 

All of that nonsense is mostly just a tangent...on with the story!

Every year during Christmas, my high school Spanish teacher would drag us around to various classrooms and offices while caroling en español. This drummed up some very conflicting emotions in my angst ridden high school heart. On the one hand, I would rather die than make a fool of myself shakin' it like a white girl, singing stupid songs in a language that I didn't understand and certainly didn't speak very well.  On the other hand, I was all about participating enough to ensure that I held onto my spot as Ms Rocca's favorite student. (Did I mention that I was a huge nerd?)

Like the true geek that I am, I scoured our 'set list' and devised a plan to participate my little corazón out, and still manage to save some face with my peers.  It was obvious that the most requested and best preformed song in our repertoire would be, José Feliciano's "Feliz Navidad."  All I had to do was convince Ms Rocca to let me shake the maracas and belt out the standard mariachi band "AAAhhhhhaaaa." If I could lock down the parts that are meant to be funny, I was off the hook for any naturally occurring teenage humiliation.  I don't want to pat myself on the back or anything, but this plan was nothing short of a stroke of genius. And since I really was her favorite student (of all time) it wasn't that hard to convince her that I was BORN for those two parts.

We practiced our canciones all month long and totally rocked it. I shook the hell out of my maracas, literally, and timed my "AAAhhhaaaaa" just perfectly.


(1:17 that was ALL ME!)
It's been seventeen a few years since freshman Spanish, but every Christmas when I hear that familiar refrain, I get a little excited. I shake my imaginary maracas and shout out my "AAAhhhhaaaa" like I am the long lost blue eyed member of Los Lobos.

But this year....something bad happened. I was driving home from work listening to the radio, and after just two or three notes, I knew what was coming. I bopped and hummed along, waiting for my big part. AND. IT. NEVER. CAME. Sure the maracas were there, but what good are maracas without a little "AAAhhhhhhaaa!"

I don't know what Spanish speaking Scrooge thought that it was okay to rip out the hear and soul of a classic Christmas cancion.....but I am certain that my heart has shrunk at least two sizes. And I bet Ms Rocca will be pissed when she hears about this!

The Funk of Forty Thousand Years

So Natalie Portman has gone from Padame, to Anne Boleyn, and now to Elizabeth Bennet? I am not sure how I feel about this.  I do love Ms Portman, and heaven knows I do love Pride and Prejudice. But for some reason, I have not been able to get my mind around this zombie, seamonster, business. I am all for any excuse to get kids to read....but is this the way? Why mess with the classics? Have all the good stories already been told? Are we doomed to a life of watered down distortions and half-rate retellings?

Plus, the only zombies I care about....

are dancing zombies.

If You Don't Get it.....You Never Will

Twilight Years from Tom on Vimeo.

courtesy of sherpa

Have Eggs Will Travel

One could be a fluke.

Two and three could be a coincidence.

*But four is a definitely enough for a pattern.

(Watch out though, he's got a mean right hook!)

We make DANG cute babies in my family. And by 'we' I mean, of course, my siblings. There is more than just physical evidence of this. The fact that each one of them is down right hilarious, clever, and unfailingly sweet, can be proven a thousand times over, but that is a whole other Oprah.

Just so you know I'm not making unfounded claims of hilarity. Once my dad asked one of the girls if she would take care of him when he was really old and needed to live with someone. With the complete sincerity of a child she said, "I dunno grandpa, you should ask my sister. I might be busy" ha HA. So clever. So funny. And still, so sweet. Take that Grandpa and your emotional, guilt ridden warfare. Looks like immunity to the guilt trip must skip a generation. Lucky grandkids.

*My ovaries almost can't take it.

Two Gold Stars

One slightly more awesome than the other.
**click to enlarge

I hate to admit how close to home both of these blurbs hit, but in the spirit of full disclosure...

1. There are 4 (soon to be 5) Wal-Mart's within a 10-15 mile radius of my home.

2. My mom is one of the school clerks that have to hold the 'DONOT' sign. I'm not sure if she was solicited for sugary morning goodies this particular day...but you better believe this will become a long running family joke. Mark my words.

My Holiday Anti-Wish List

In case your holiday shopping is not done yet, let me just take a second or two and narrow down the field of possibilities for you. This....I do not want.

I prefer my gifts to be delivered by Santa exclusively.

I'm guessing, but I bet Jewish women can think of many other ways to light their menorahs.

I CAN'T BELIEVE THEY ARE RUNNING THESE PSA'S SERIOUSLY! Who thought up this new slice of hellish gift giving? I totally thought it was a joke or the preview of a SNL skit when I first saw it, but no. Real.

I want gifts. I like things that are shiny and sparkle. But if it comes down to it, I'd rather have livestock, or a grove of miracle trees in some foreign land where they would be needed, than a Pap smear. Anything but the silver duck. *you may or may no want to click that link, depending upon your gender.

I'd much rather have you give me a couple of goats that would serve to give milk and offspring, for generations to come, in rural villages. Or even maybe a freaking camel! I've always wanted a camel. If you're feeling feisty, I might even be down with a couple of donkey's. Donkeys and camels, totally cool...... pap-smears, not so much.

What is CBS trying to do with these PSA's? Make the holidays as awkward as humanly possible? In this case, you can't even say, "It's the thought that counts," cause QUIT THINKING ABOUT MY COOTER! Sick.

Crap No One Needs: Volume 2

Portable Scooter Luggage
My bottle of hand lotion is off limits, but this scooter is allowed to slip past the TSA?


Can't see anything going wrong with this plan. I hope these roll out just in time for the busy holiday travel season.

Amazing Grace

I am not sure what upsets me more- 1) That I am not on the next Amazing Race; or that 2) The Fictious Love of My Life appears to be running it with his newly minted millionairess girlfriend, who is not me, by the way.

Let me just say, that I would totally rock the Amazing Race. Yes, I am about to toot my own horn, but it's my blog, and I can toot what I want to. I am awesome at traveling. I am practically a savant when it comes to finding my way around airports, am like freaking Magellan when it comes to public transit, I have no problem climbing things, or throwing my body off of ledges, be they stationary or air born. And who are we kidding, I am built more like a linebacker than a ballerina, but I could do a passable job at activities requiring either skill set.

The only thing that has kept my application out of the Race is that I can't figure out the perfect person with whom I should enter. Keeping in mind that theoretically, I would like to actually have a chance of being competitive, and still both of us should come out the other side of the race physically, and emotionally unharmed. I have thought about this a lot.

Option 1- Two girlfriends- Ehhhhh I am a firm believer that this would be a friendship killer. No. Matter. What. That is not to say that I don't have any friends that I love to travel with, I do. You don't get to be my age and single and not develop good, good girlfriends that will go on wild adventures with you at the drop of a hat! I have been blessed many ways in that regard. But adding competition, and exhaustion to the mix, and knowing how I react based on the few times I have been lost, would be a recipe for disaster. I would just hope that the camera crew would be able to intervene quickly enough, to save my teammate from permanent damage after being choked out and left on the island to die because of one too many screw up's with the map. When in the jungle, jungle rules apply. Only the strong survive. Can't read a map? Weak.

But in the spirit of Karmic retribution, I also have the type of girlfriends who don't bother to mention to the group that we are snorkeling with sharks. My friends just hop back in the boat, smile, wave and take pictures from the safety the watercraft. All the while we are swimming with death at our heals. Just helping Darwin along, right? Nope. Not gunna work out. Fail.

Option 2- Me and a parent. No. Just no.....for various, yet, significant reasons in both regards. I love them both, more than words can say. And in an effort to keep it that way....nope on the parents. Fail.

Option 3- Me and a guy friend. Hmmmmm 1)I can't even think of any guys that I would want to spend that much time with (or I would be dating him). 2) If I have spent sufficient time with him and am not dating him, there is probably a douchey, obnoxious, Ed Hardy-esque quality about him that I would be forced to mock incessantly...and that would only drag our team down and breed negativity. At some point he would muster up the nerve to call me out on being a bee-atch. I would cry, because deep down, I probably have a monumental crush on him. And no one wants that girl on their team. Fail.

Option 4-Me and My sister. Well, due to the fact that I would refuse to be seen on any plane/train/automobile with her and her 'anxiety/nausea bands,' she would most assuredly be barfing most of the race. Tick-tock-tick-don't have time for that. Plus- we would fight a lot. (I have a vague recollection of someone getting their boob bitten in one particularly nasty fight. And another time when mom had to drive to Utah to keep us from killing one another, when all I needed was a ride to work in the snow) Plus-she is knocked up with kid number 4, so she's gonzo. Sorry, Jen. Fail.

Option 5- My little brother. My last and best chance. He was a college football player, so pretty fit. If there was a roadblock or task that required nothing but a strong back, he'd grab that one. He is able to think pretty quickly on his feet, too. (Read: not above being shady) He may have even perfected and is the literal 'King of the Cheap Shot'. So that would come in handy. Plus, he's my brother, so I can be mean to him all I want. Then he can smack me in the back of the head and tell me I am being a butthole....and at the end of the day, we're good. WIN!

A Perfect Plan, right? Yeah- Then he went and got married a few years ago-knocked his wife up and is now officially an infant baby daddy and - off the roster. And there went all of my viable hopes and dreams for ever winning the Amazing Race. Dammit. Fail.

FINAL OPTION- So Jeff is now my only hope. If by the grace of God, Jeff can't do the Race with Jordan....I'd totally do it with him. (HEEEY- double entendre-totally intended)

*UPDATE---Usually, they have one 'special' team...whether it's the angry deaf kid, the midget, the really old guy, or a chick with one leg. The only way Jeff and I wouldn't be the PERFECT Amazing Race couple, is if they tried to get slick and have another midget on this season. It would be like my kryptonite. I would be so awkwardly fascinated that I wouldn't know what to do. Do you let the midget win....cause, "Dude, you out ran a midget. Are you proud of yourself?" or "Dude, the midget out ran you. How do you live with yourself?" I would be trapped by my own anxieties and would eventually implode. So there you have it. Do with it what you will.

They Only Come Out At Night

So- I had a metric crap-ton of errands to run the other day. Since many of them could be loosely described as 'work related' (What? I wear shoes at work.....and there was a sale! Back off) it only seemed reasonable that I get them done during my conference period and lunch. It really is convenient that the two flow together, let me tell you! If I did my errands after work, that would mean I would have to postpone the meeting of The Great C-dub. Simply, out of the question.

Anyhow-Earlier that day, on my drive to work, I made the upsetting discovery that my eyebrows and she-stache were a little more out of control than I normally allow them to be. Since there was a salon in the same parking lot, I stopped to remedy the situation ASAP.


In perfect Vietnenglish the lady said to me, "You sure you don't want me wax the rest, whole face?"

I stammered about with various renditions of, "UUhhhunnn ohhh, whaa? Work. Go. No thank you." In my mind I was thinking, "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT SUPPOSED TO EFFING MEAN?"

She didn't say, "Do you want me to...," like it was an off the cuff remark. She said, "Are you sure you don't want me to...." Like I should really put some some thought into this, if I have not yet done so.

Is it possible? Could I have survived 31 years of life, being pretty self aware, almost bordering on self conscious, and not known that I look like this?

Seriously? What. The. Hell.

Shoot. I knew I should have given Jacob more of a chance.

So This is Christmas

Whenever people mutter on about dreaming of White Christmases, I don't pay much attention. I figure those songs were written and meant to be enjoyed by people in the Midwest, and North East. Certainly had nothing to do with my childhood Christmases out in the Mojave Desert. My memories of Christmas are most assuredly NOT white, not even hazy white, or greyish. They are brown and dusty. For some reason, that I could not pin down until today, there is a strange degree of shame that accompanies my memories of beige Christmases.

So in the spirit of Christmas...I offer you these gems from my childhood. A mirror to the past, if you will. This really explains a lot about me. If you are insightful....I am sure you can recognize the root of many personality flaws/quirks, trust issues, struggles with self esteem, and even maybe some of my issues with animals, right in these very pics.(Notice none of my brothers and sisters are dressed as live stock) I prefer to just bury all of those things and appreciate these photos for the 80's childhood hilarity that they are.

Merry Freaking Christmas.

Hey Yo, Fat Girl! Come Here, Are You Ticklish?

I found the Christmas balls! I ate the Christmas balls. And even though I am not feeling real hot, my Christmas cheer is officially back on. In spite of the fact that I am now transitioning from clothes with actual structure, buttons, and zippers, to shall we say, less restrictive clothing....I am still felling very, Fa-la-freaking-la.

But all I really want to know is...are you singing the Humpty Dance? Then, my work here is done.

In Case You Were Wondering Wednesday

1) My socks don't match today, but they are similar...so I feel okay about that.


2) I did not brush my hair this morning. What's worse, I didn't even think about brushing it. What's even worse, I have received no less than 10 compliments on how it looks. And what's even worse than that, on days where I actually DO adhere to standard grooming procedures...no one mentions a thing.



3) This little message on my board reminded me that I am doing a STELLAR job as an English teacher.



4) In spite of the fact that I come from a long line of coaches and jocks, I am not a farty, burpy, giggle and talk about pooping kind of gal. So- when I was in the bathroom at work today, and the poor lady in the stall next to me (who was obviously not feeling well) started talking to, "Dear Sweet Jesus," about how this particular bathroom visit was going, I was equal parts horrified/embarrassed/nervous about possibly exiting at the same time she was, thus requiring awkward conversation.



5) I REALLY hope this gets to come home today!

With Mogwai, Comes Much Responsibility

Dearly Beloved,
We are gathered here today...because there is a new baby! And he is cute! And tiny! And all swaddled tightly with care!

But that is actually all heresay passed via picture emails and text messages. We are in fact, not gathered. Not gathered one little bit. Which to the likes of me, (who is in possession of a womb that is equally likely to shrivel up and fall out as birth any actual children) sucks pretty hard. Those damn pigs and their germs went and ruined all of the vicarious baby delivery fun. "NO VISITORS," they say. Not even if you are kosher, or don a HAZMAT suit. "Not even in the hallway or the waiting room. But you might be able to look in the window if the room faces the parking lot." What kind of communist dictator nurse, whose heart is two sizes two small, thought that up?

And a follow up question, don't hospitals and law enforcement officials generally discourage people from crawling through the bushes to sneak-a-peek at those inside? Last I checked with Angelina, that sort of thing was frowned upon.

Now that I read that back, I am absolutely not sad to miss out on anything that might possibly involve sharp instruments and my lady parts...but I have a freaking box of chocolate cigars and congratulations ready...and no one to hand them to!

Official note:
I fully understand the hospitals desire to keep newborns safe from any germs or viruses. Real or hysterical. I understand that they have a huge responsibility....Don't get 'em wet. Don't feed 'em after midnight. Yeah, I know. I also realize that I run the risk of getting busted by my family for 'stealing the thunder' of official announcements, but what's a spinster aunt to do? There is a brand new baby less than 10 minutes from me and you expect me to twiddle my thumbs for two days until I can squeeze him? Are you kidding me? I'm dying here!