Adios!

I'm off to spend NYE with my family and to welcome my Papa home from rehab tomorrow, so I hope all of you have a Happy New Year! Poor Fidel will be home alone, without his blushing bride for the first time in 11 years. I'll be back on Wednesday, hopefully with some funny tales from the country.

Yeah, Not at Kroger

We went grocery shopping as a family this afternoon, and let me tell you how I suffered because of Georgia's stupid no-booze-on-Sundays rule. Well, I probably wouldn't have opened a beer right in the aisle like I wanted to do anyway, but I would have liked the choice. After 30 minutes of madness in the aisles, we were checking out and talking about our planned movie night watching Shrek 2. Kroger has this magical machine in the lobby where you can rent a movie and as we were paying for our crap, I said, "Hey, do you want to grab an adult movie out of the kiosk to watch after the kids are in bed?" and as soon as it came out of my mouth I knew I had said the wrong thing. The cashier was like, "Uh, I don't think we have any of those out there" and I was as red as a baboon's ass. It was pretty embarrassing.

Thank You, Fidel!

I scored this year for Christmas. I typically don't care what I get, I just want to open something. Even if it's something small like a book or chocolates. It's not the stuff, it's the experience. This year, however, I really liked my stuff. Stuff like an iPod touch with a home stereo system thingie, new perfume, cashmere scarf and a double griddle. And a new, wonderful laptop! Yes, I love cooking stuff and am thrilled to open something I've been wishing for. It felt really good that he listened to my hints through the year and got me things I wanted. He also drove me over to see my family and my grandfather in the rehab facility. Obviously that wasn't an entertaining outing, but he took some beautiful pictures of my grandparents together since we drove my grandmother up for the visit, too. She has Alzheimer's and he's not 100% after his stroke, but let me tell you how moving it was to see those two grab hands and stick their heads together. I seriously cried and I'm tearing up talking about it. I looked at Fidel and thought, man, I have that. I hadn't even missed my crazy pills and I had that surge of emotion! The good news in all of this is that my Papa will be coming home on Tuesday. Their lives will never be as they were before the stroke, but I think having him home will be much better for my Mama and obviously my Papa will be happy about it. The girls and I are leaving tomorrow to drive over there for the homecoming, so I will miss doing NYE with Fidel for the first time since we met. I guess I'll spend NYE with my mom, drinking wine and watching TV. She will like that and I do have a good time with her.

Anyway, I hope you all have a great last day of the year, and I'm looking forward to getting back to the funny business after all of this hoopla is over.

Tales from Rehab

No, not that kind of rehab. I don't drink that much and since Fidel and I are starting our Biggest Loser play-along on January 1 I'll have to cut out those booze calories. I'm talking about the rehab center that my grandfather is in. We went to see him this past weekend (he's 4 hours away) and he's doing pretty well. There's still a lot of work to be done but he's going to be released on January 1 to come home. He's a little cranky because he wants to come home, and his roommate talks nonstop. The roommate is Mr. Dewalt, and he is a freaking riot. He's in his 60's and has been in rehab for a while due to having 2 strokes within 3 weeks of each other. He can't walk but he sure can talk. He has a feeding tube inserted into his stomach, but since he can eat the tube is just tapped off until they pull it out. He thinks that the tube is his glasses, and tries to pull it up to his face so he can see. He thinks that the nurses are losing his glasses or hiding them from him. He has a time accusing those nurses of plotting against him. One night, he wanted some ice but they told him the ice machine was locked and he got mad and called 911 when they left the room. He said that was the only number that he could remember and he wanted some damn ice. Apparently that caused a big ruckus because he said that he had them all lined up in the hall looking stupid. The nurses unplugged his phone after that. He kept trying to get up out of his bed and he was making me nervous. I said, "Mr. Dewalt, are you getting up?" and he pointed above his bed and said , "No, see that camera up there? They won't let me do anything" and it was true, they are monitoring them with cameras above their beds. Mr. Dewalt is just a mess. He was telling me that he kept his head shaved clean before he had his strokes but that the nurses wouldn't let him nor would they shave it for him. He said, "My head looks like a black sheep's ass". I was laughing my ass off but my grandfather never even cracked a smile at Mr. Dewalt's comedy routine. Mr. Dewalt had a stash of Tootsie Rolls so he had a fan in my grandmother. She has Alzheimer's and a bad case of the sweet tooth and my family makes her eat her meals before she can have any sweets so she was like a kid finding a stash of candy.

Dear Lug Nut Thief

If times are so hard that you have resorted to stealing lug nuts from 4-year old Toyota Siennas, may I suggest you head on down to the car wash to apply for a job. Notice I didn't suggest any fast-food joints, and that's because I enjoy me some fast food and if you are retarded enough to steal lug nuts from my Van of Shame, you surely don't need to be burdened with the responsibility of making McRibs. You see, there is this place right around the corner called the TOYOTA DEALERSHIP and they will sell you as many lug nuts as you can carry out of there. They sold me one for $5 back in October and now I have to go back to buy another one from them. Come to think of it, I suspect that you only stole one and the service department turds that put on my new tires in October failed to tighten the lug nuts completely, ensuring that I would be back for a new lug nut and perhaps an interior detail. They probably just want me to give in and let them do that thing they wanted to with my brakes but as long as the VOS is stopping I'm not dropping another dime on her. Take that, service department.

I think I need to go take a pill because I'm all paranoid about this lug nut thing. See how my brain went from thinking someone stole my lug nut to suspecting that the service department has plotted to make me return? That's crazy, my friends. I'm crazy with high-speed internet access. Good think I'm lazy and afflicted with ADD or else I'd have some internet conspiracy cult going on.

Use Your Manners, You Little Bastard

I have Neighbor Kid over here this afternoon. I've been bitten by the Christmas Spirit, or perhaps the spirits in my afternoon coffee. Either way, he's here and I haven't whacked him with a broom or hosed him down yet. I haven't even taken my happy pills today so I probably need to get on that before my good cheer wears off. Anyway, he's actually walking across my kitchen chairs. I'm decked out in my Kitchen Madonna apron, baking unnecessary Christmas treats and in my head, I was thinking, "Use your manners, you little bastard" but instead I just asked him to not walk on the furniture in my super nice voice. I'm off now to put my made-from-scratch Penne Bolognese in the oven for our dinner. Oh I can't even keep a straight face as I type that. I scratched that shit out of the deli case at Costco yesterday.

It's Funny Because It's True

I was just reading an article about a mental health service in the UK getting in trouble for making parodies of common Christmas carols. It's actually pretty funny. Here are the carols that were tweaked:

• Schizophrenia - "Do You Hear What I Hear?";
  
• Multiple personality disorder - "We Three Kings Disorientated Are"
  
• Paranoid - "Santa Claus Is Coming To Get Me"
  
• Dementia - "I Think I'll be Home for Christmas"
• Attention Deficit Disorder - "Silent Night Holy, oooh look at the froggy - can I have a chocolate? Why is France so far away?"
  
• Obsessive Compulsive Disorder - "Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells"

That's pretty funny and I haven't even drank anything today. I'd suggest adding the "Twelve Diseases of Christmas" for the hypochondriacs and "Carol of the Bottles" for boozehounds. Not that I know any of those.

Boo-Ya!!

We had to make a brunch goody for Tootie's class Christmas party this morning, and Fidel was the one to take the goodies out of the oven and take them into school since I had to do Moggie's program. I should have prefaced this by stating that Fidel had bitched me out this morning for leaving lights on. Compact fluorescent bulbs that cost 1/10 of a cent a day to run, nonstop. Can you see where this is going? Yep, at 3:15 in the afternoon I discover that FIDEL has left the oven on all day long. I emailed him (because that's how we talk) to ask, "Any chance you left the oven on this morning?" and he said, "Yes, WE left it on". I'd like to meet that mouse he has in his pocket because I had nothing to do with leaving an oven on for 8 hours doing nothing. And my oven doesn't run on compact fluorescent bulbs... I'm just sayin'.

I Pray You Are Dyslexic

To the person who landed on my blog by typing in, "I really am a cock carving housewife", I pray that you are just dyslexic and weird. Or that your husband can run really fast from a knife-wielding psycho. Make no mistake, I'm fond of the wiener but there's nothing to learn from typing that into Google. Nothing at all. You probably found things that made you wanted to poke your eyes out. Crave and Carve are two totally different concepts. Good luck to your husband, either he's got himself a horny housewife or he better be covering up that pecker around you.

This person was from Pennsylvania, so watch your peckers, Pennsylvania men.

Things I Did Not Learn From Dora

Dora the Explorer taught me my colors and numbers in Spanish, but unfortunately I haven’t gotten proficient enough in her language to say, “You have cut my phone line, motherfuckers”. That little phrase would have come in handy this morning because the workers installing the silt fence around the lot next door did exactly that. Cut my goddamn phone line, which incidentally, is also my internet line. Don’t get me wrong, I could live the rest of my life without hearing another ringing phone because 9 times out of 10 it’s just someone wanting you to do something for them anyway. What I cannot live without is the internet. For all I know, Yankee Candle is giving away candles for free today. I’m sure that I’m missing an important tip from Adam and Eve on how to revolutionize my sex life, and somewhere in Nigeria, some tortured soul is looking for me to help them with just my bank account and routing number. Instead of receiving all that fascinating information, I’m sitting here in the virtual fucking dark with no candles and not a clue of what to do with Fidel’s penis, and God knows how batshit crazy that poor Nigerian is without my bank account and routing number.

I’m writing this in Microsoft Word while it’s fresh in my mind, because I’m counting on one of you who happens to speak Spanish to send me your cell phone number so that I may call you and give you the pleasure of screaming, “You have cut my phone line AGAIN, motherfuckers” at the workers the next time I’m without phone and internet. I’m out there smiling at them and the whole time I bet they were thinking, “This bitch has no idea we have cut her lines” as they waved and smiled back at me.

"I Think She Said Goddammit"

Tonight, we are sitting at home because our babysitter stabbed her husband or something, causing him to need an emergency room visit. Trying to salvage the evening, we made a fire, ordered chinese food and popped Christmas Vacation in the DVD player. Fidel walked over to mess around with the surround sound system and Moggie was sitting on the couch and she said - plain as day - goddammit. Fidel popped around and said, "What did you say?" and Tootie piped in, "I think she said goddammit". All of this while Nick the Elf watched from the mantle. Thank goodness we have a backup plan in place because I have a feeling that Santa will be crossing us off of his list.

Elf on the Shelf Update

I went to the Hallmark store near my house yesterday to buy my stepmother her annual Vera Bradley bag and as I was checking out I complimented the cashier on their VB selection because they really do have a great selection. Anyway, turns out that chick was the buyer for that section so she offered me an Elf at 40% off, plus she gave me this cute penguin votive holder for free. It does pay to be nice to people. That's 2 rewards in 2 days for being so chatty and pleasant. Don't blow your drinks out of your nose, bitches, I'm actually a pleasant person to be around. I may occasionally spill something on your ass or hug you too often if I've had too much to drink but I'm not unpleasant. Where was I? Oh yes, the Elf. The girls named him Nick and he's cute. They loved the story but Tootie said the Elf was wooden and not real, that I bought him in a store. I'm not above lying so I told her that he was indeed magical and from the North Pole. It's funny to watch the girls get away from the Elf to do their devilment, like fighting. Nick is on the mantle today and when they start scrapping they stop and take the fight to another room to avoid Nick's detection. I think Nick is going to do something naughty tonight. Fidel and I are going to a party a few doors down and I know I'll drink despite my gouty foot because I like to drink more than I'm afraid of a little pain, so there's no telling what Nick will get into.

Santa, Cancel That Order

Today, Tootie brought home her work from this week, just like she does each Friday. We sit together and read over what she's done and today I found her Christmas list book. That little turkey has asked Santa for sheets for her bed. Can you imagine what her teachers think of us?! I bet they picture her sleeping on a bare, dirty mattress since the poor monkey is asking Santa for bedsheets. I swear, if Toys for Tots shows up on our doorstep bearing gifts I'm going to spank her ass. I feel like I need to email her teacher to explain that the child just has a genuine fondness for linens and isn't in need of any domestics, but that would just be weird.

Not My Day

I should have stayed in bed this morning. Instead, I hopped out on my poor gouty foot and began what turned out to be an annoying, inconvenient, if-it-can-go-wrong-it-will type of day. First of all, I had to take what just may be the ugliest red velvet cake ever made to the PTA hens for the Christmas teachers' luncheon. I overcooked it a little and had to trim it up, so it was crumbly and I wrestled with it so long, my icing got too warm and didn't cover like I wanted it to. Luckily, red velvet cakes love pecans so I chopped up a few handfuls and masked my messy frosting job. I loaded Moggie up and planned to take the ugly cake by the school, along with the book exchange book that I forgot to send with Tootie. Click-ick-ick-ick-ick. The VOS wouldn't start. The f-ing battery was dead, again. By some sort of miracle, my cellphone wasn't dead so I was able to get another mom to take Moggie to school so I was just stuck with the ugly cake. I called Fidel to walk me through using the battery charger. I think he was already seeing the life insurance check coming, hearing that I had opened the hood of the car and was standing there with the clampy things asking him where to clip them. I managed to charge the battery without killing myself or burning the house down and I felt a little empowered. Most of all, I felt sweaty because I sweat like a whore in church when I get stressed out, plus it is ungodly hot for December. My hair had been styled by humidity and I looked like one big, hot mess. I drove up onto the sidewalk at school and threw Ugly Cake at one of the PTA hens who tried to direct me to some tables to work but I just pretended not to hear her and ran away while yelling for them to enjoy the cake I hired a lady to make. No way I was taking credit for that crooked, crumbly thing. After escaping the manual labor, I set out to finish up my Christmas shopping and pre-Christmas returns. Home to wrap presents, eat lunch, blah blah blah. While all the blah blah blah was going on, stupid Wiener Dog decided to chew through the cord to my GD vacuum cleaner. As if there isn't enough to do in the short time left before Christmas, I have to make a trip across town to see the Vacuum Doctor. I've always been chatty with the VD and it's paying off because I was able to get him to promise me he could have it back to me by Monday. I need to scoot on over there and get it dropped off before Fidel finds it because he will be sticking that shit back together and wrapping it up with electrical tape and I'll never touch that vacuum again. Fidel is pretty handy but I'm fussy about getting electrocuted and I don't allow him to work on my crap.

O-motherfing-UCH

My uterus is freaking killing me. Luckily for everyone else around me, I'm medicated to the gills or else things would be ugly around here. I finally took the Aquadots back to Wal-Mart today for a refund and the moron behind the counter kept telling me to go get another box so she could ring it up or exchange it. I told her at least 3 times that they had been recalled because they were poisonous and were not on the shelves. Apparently I wasn't doing my customer-to-moron exchange in a manner that she could understand so finally I said "FUCK this, I will take them to Toys R Us where they will refund them with no questions asked, you gd idiot". Actually I just rolled my eyes and said "I'll take them to TRU, they will take them back" when I really wanted to stuff the cat sculpture my daughter made underneath her dumbass eyelids until she was poisoned herself.

Toys R Us actually took back the Aquadots, no questions asked, and refunded the money back onto my Visa, not even making me do a store credit. I was very impressed with that so I tried to shop there but walked out empty handed. You know your kids have too much crap when you can't even spend free money in TRU. I did get a lot done this morning but yet the house looks like pigs live here. I burnt all my energy finalizing Christmas shopping and doing errands. I stuffed my guts with a McRib, which is on the 3rd annual farewell tour, and all I want to do is sit here in a ball and think about vacuuming out my evil uterus. I have no need for it any more and all it does is cause me pain and misery. It has made me forget all about my gouty foot.

Who Needs The Elf on the Shelf?

Have you seen The Elf on the Shelf? He's as cute as a button and a fun thing to do with your kids in the weeks before Christmas. I have been meaning to pick one up but I'm late doing everything and I haven't gotten one yet. Sometimes procrastination pays off because we have taken that concept and used something we already had to do our own version of the Elf. We are using good old deer crap. Yes, you read that correctly. We have replaced the cute, clean little elf with a pile of deer pellets.

Our house backs up to a protected greenspace and creek, and we have a bunch of wildlife. You can sit in our family room and watch squirrels in the treetops, and chipmunks on the ground. We have raccoons, rabbits, many kinds of birds and deer. The deer like to come around to eat my pansies and then they leave us some poop in the yard. This morning, Wiener Dog was caught eating a pile of deer turds and Fidel came in to tell me and Tootie about it. Tootie brightened up and said, "Reindeer poop, Dad?" and our story just came from that. We told her that Santa's reindeer come to check and see if kids are being good and keeping their rooms clean, and if they were being good, there was no poop left in the yard, but if they were being bad the reindeer marked the yard with their poop. She really loved that story and I think it will be fun for her. I was about to warn her against going to school and talking about the reindeer turds but then I realized that since I had shown her some Mr. Hankey clips on You Tube last night, deer turds would be a better option for kindergarten conversation. She loves Mr. Hankey. Fidel looked over at me as Mr. Hankey sang and told me I was Mother of the Year material. Hi-dee Ho!

Bring Me My Pillow and My Wine

Like King Henry VIII, I am stricken with the gout. I have a big knot on the side of my foot where by big toe is attached and it hurts like a MoFo. I had a consulation this evening with Dr. Google and I'm not very impressed with this condition. No good drugs, no pampering or coddling. The advice for gout is basically to lose some of your fat ass and stop eating so much meat and booze. For the person who considers a big filet and half a bottle of wine a nice, balanced meal, this pretty much blows. I drowned my sorrows in a small glass of eggnog and bourbon and I'm hoping for a miracle cure. Bippity-boppity-bout, please go away, gout. As you get older you know that you will end up suffering from something but geesh, why couldn't I have something treated with some nice recreational drugs? I read that gout may be diagnosed by analyzing the fluid surrounding the inflamed joint. Unless this baby suddenly develops a blowhole I'm thinking the only way to procure this fluid is to stick a needle into my foot and I'm not about to do that. I suffered through an attempt to aspirate a ganglion cyst and when that was done, I stood up on the doctors table like Scarlett O'Hara and said, As God as my witness, I will never have a mass aspirated again and that was that. When you alter a classic literary passage to declare something you have to stick to it. Knowing my quack of a doctor he treats gout with morphine or something so it may be worth a trip over there. I hate having a HMO plan because I like to have 2 doctors. I had a real doctor and a quack doctor. The quack was easy to get into and all I had to do was tell him what I wanted. I went to him when I had like a sinus infection to get Z-pack, and then if I felt like I had bronchitis or something a little more serious, I'd go to my real doctor. Now I just have the quack. And that quack isn't sticking any needles toward my foot unless he chloroforms my ass first.

Geography by Bratz

I'll just say it, I don't like the Bratz dolls. I don't like the way the name is deliberately misspelled, the way they dress, look, NOTHING about the Bratz. They are just tacky. I've said it. Some of you may be annoyed with me but hopefully you will get over it if I promise to send you the little hoochie dolls should someone gift my children with them. They look like they would hang around with Paris Hilton. I went to TRU yesterday with a friend and she was paying $100 dollars for a Bratz globe. She said her daughter loves geography and she wanted her a globe. I just looked at her, waiting on the punch line to what appeared to be a joke and it never came. I'm always surprised when I see people with carts full of that Bratz mess. Hopefully they are just ridding the world of it one cart at a time and plan to burn it in the fireplace. I'm not a miser but I just can't see paying $100 on something that would make me cringe every time I saw it. My friend will see my point when her little one asks her to visit Kanzaz or Texaz, perhaps the Bahamaz. I think the Bratz dolls use the z in place of the s because slut, skank and skeezy all start with s and they are burnt out on hearing the s sound.

Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

Let's talk a little about my Christmas list. I hope you have a prescription pad because I really need something to keep me from buying a stun gun and shocking my hard-headed ass children when they ignore me for the 100th fucking time. I've tried everything short of tasering the little assholes and I just can't win. Yesterday, Moggie took a pair of wire clippers to a $300 fake olive topiary and gave it a pruning Edward Scissorhands would have applauded. Or clicked, whatever the hell that weirdo does to show his admiration. I had to have me a special Irish coffee to recover from that one. Ok, I had to have 3 special Irish coffees and an extra happy pill.

Next thing I'd like is to have a good therapist to come in and talk me out of dreaming about my teeth breaking off and dead bison. I would prefer dreams of martinis and shopping.

Yes, Santa, I know that you can't drug me into someone who can make her children listen without employing a wooden spoon, nor can you voodoo the strange dreams out of me, so I'll give you a list of things that you can buy to numb my pain a little. These things are in no particular order, so feel free to pick whatever you would rather me have.

• iPod Nano
• Cast Iron double griddle

See Santa, I'm not a particularly greedy bitch. Just bring my stuff and no one gets hurt. I'll even invite you over for pancakes cooked on my griddle. Peace out.

Christmas Music Keeps Me Sane

My grandfather isn't doing well. I'm having a hard time with this but I'm still trying to keep going because I have 2 children and a husband depending on me. Honestly, I'd love to just have a good breakdown and sleep for a week. I know it's coming so I'd rather just do it and get it over with. Instead, I'm carrying on as best as I can, but really what else am I going to do?

Tonight while making dinner (Alton Brown's Swiss Steak recipe, which kicks ass) I was listening to XM's "Music City Christmas", nothing but country music Christmas songs. I kept having flashes of walking through the woods to find a Christmas tree with my Papa, or spotting one during the year and telling each other to remember where it was so we could go back to get it in December. I know I'm blessed to have such memories but right now they are breaking my heart. So I'm in the kitchen doing my thing, bopping along to Jingle Bell Rock one minute, bawling my eyes out while Tammy Wynette sings Silent Night the next. I know I said that Christmas music was keeping me sane, but honestly I think it's just driven me into being Total Batshit Crazy. I had my little perfect housewife apron on, preparing a meal at 4:30 in the afternoon so the meat would be tender, while I smiled and laughed at my children. I probably looked pretty together but I had the realization that I'm anything but together. I'm just a domestic lunatic.

On a funnier note, I was in Tootie's room changing her sheets to flannel tonight, and she and Moggie were sitting down on the floor watching me. They had a conversation that went like this:

Tootie: Mama, can we have balloons for Jesus's birthday?
Me: Sure
Moggie: Mama, can I pick the pinata for Jesus?
Tootie: (rolling eyes) Moggie, Jesus isn't actually coming down
Moggie: He isn't?
Tootie: No, he's staying up there with the dead animals

I guess I must tell you that when one of our turtles died, I had a talk with Tootie about dead animals going to live with Jesus. I thought my lesson in death had gone well, and we ended in a question and answer session. Tootie asked if all dead animals went to Heaven to live with Jesus and I told her yes, I imagined that they did. She looked right at me and said, "Mama. Why would Jesus collect dead pets?" and I couldn't stop laughing. I still laugh thinking about that.

Oh Oh HMO

I have a horrible earache and thanks to our HMO I can't see our doctor until Wednesday. I can't hear out of my left ear and if some lunatic was stabbing me in the ear with an icepick it wouldn't hurt much worse. I wish we had a PPO like we did in the old days because I could go to one of the plentiful urgent care centers and get some happy pills. I may end up going anyway because this pain is just unbearable. I'm a little freaked out about ear infections because I get them all the time, and so did my grandmother. She was on a plane going to compete on Jeopardy! when she completely lost her hearing and hasn't gotten it back to this day. I don't really want to be deaf. Well, maybe I do sometimes when the children won't zip it but that's a halfhearted wish. There are a lot of things I don't mind spending $100 on but I hate dumping that much on something that should only cost $25. I should call up there and say, Look. My ear hurts like a MoFo and I need to come by and get checked out, but for $100 I feel like I should get more than just an antibiotic. How about you give me a bottle of Mommy's Little Helpers for my trouble? Or maybe a bottle of the wonderful Histex cough syrup? That would probably get a note of Crazy Woman written in my chart, though. I'm a nightmare bargainer at a flea market or yard sale but I have a feeling that wouldn't go over so well in the doctor's office.