Life Lessons Learned From A Christmas StoryOne of my favorite things about the Christmas holiday is the 24-hour marathon of  A Christmas Story that plays every year on TBS.  Other favorites include bourbon and vodka, but then again, that’s just a Tuesday night at the Newlin household.

I love the Christmas season because it makes it completely acceptable to drink before noon…in my jammies…while noshing on three different kinds of cookies…and watching A Christmas Story, which brings us full circle.

I’ve been watching A Christmas Story for more than a decade and every time I watch it I learn something new.  For instance, I now know that having your Christmas dinner at a Chinese restaurant is completely acceptable, so long as you don’t order the duck.

I also know that the Bumpkisses are the worst neighbors ever and they really need to feed their dogs more regularly.

I’ve also learned that the ominious threat of “Not a finger!” makes no sense, yet is somehow terrifying when said in a serious tone.

Because it’s that time of year again and we’re all going to binge on our favorite Christmas movie, while eating turkey of course, I thought I would lay out some of the life lessons we’ve learned from Ralphie and his family.

I did the lessons in Gifs because it’s funnier that way and it means I don’t have to write anything after each point, which is also a bonus.

Enjoy the lessons and enjoy watching A Christmas Story at least 5 times this season.  Anything less is simply unpatriotic.

“Not a finger!”

1.  Soap is poisonous if ingested.  It will cause blindness.


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2.  Never give in to peer pressure.


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3.  It’s important to get bundled up for the cold.


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4.  It’s never too early to start thinking about Easter.


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5.  Ovaltine is one big scam.


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6.  Santa Claus is not nice to the naughty.


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7.  Sometimes you have to do whatever it takes to get your kid to eat.


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8.  Super glue actually can’t fix everything.


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9.  Icicles can be very dangerous.


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10.  A Red Rider BB Gun really will shoot your eye out.


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11.  Major Awards are best when they’re Italian.


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12. Never back down from a triple dog dare.


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13. The f— word is THE word.


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CuddlyChristmasHopefully by now you’re decorated for the holidays.  Hopefully for you, your neighbors have limited the amount of inflatable snowmen they’ve put on their front lawn.  I didn’t bode so well despite my pleas that nothing really says the holidays quite like no decorations on the outside and listening to Metallica at a reasonable volume.

Again, I didn’t bode well.

We put up a Christmas tree for the holidays, although I’m not sure why since we have approximately 2 square feet of extra space in our house and shoving a fake tree with lights and a sh*t ton of balls on it doesn’t seem like a good use of space.  But I digress.

Every year we put up our tree and I always wonder what our dogs think of it.  However, I’m pretty in tune with my dogs so I asked them what they saw when they looked at our tree and they gave me a pretty accurate description.

Here it is in a graphic, because you love graphics.  And Bentley, Max and Shady Jack say “Happy holidays” to all of you!

What your dog sees when he looks at the (3)

 

 

 

-Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer-It’s no secret that I’m not the hugest Christmas person in the world, which makes no sense, as Christmas has all the makings of a Lisa Newlin favorite holiday.  Food?  Check.  Presents?  Check?  Oversized sweaters to hide the extra cookies you’re smuggling home from grandma’s house? Check.

Wait, why am I not more crazy about this holiday?

One thing I’m definitely not a fan of is Christmas music.  I know.  Ba hum bug.  I just don’t like hearing the same annoying songs every single year for two months.  Forever.  Until I die.  At least Miley Cyrus has an expiration date of when they’ll stop playing her music on the radio. (Fingers crossed.)

But the chipmunks? Those f*ckers will be singing about a flipping hula hoop well after I’ve left this world.

Granted, some holiday songs are more bearable than others, and then there are some that are just weird.  As you may recall, last year I wrote about how “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” was really just a song by a creepy kid.  In that same vein, this year I decided to take another Christmas carol we all merrily sing around the tree and break it down a bit.

Which song did I choose? A song about murder, alcoholism, pill addiction and hope for the holidays.

Let’s get this bad boy started with the beginning line that’s completely grammatically incorrect.

Grandma got run over by a reindeer,”

Um, please tell me this is what you’re yelling to the 911 operator and not what you’re jotting down as the beginning of a catchy tune.  I sincerely hope you didn’t learn of your me-maw’s demise and immediately think “There’s a jingle in there somewhere, I know it.”  Please tell me CPR was attempted.

Coming home from our house Christmas Eve.”

Seriously?  You let an elderly woman walk home by herself on Christmas Eve?  If that’s how you treat her during the holiday season, I’d hate to see what you do to her when it isn’t such a hospitable month. Give the woman a ride.  Geez.

You can say there’s no such thing as santa,
But as for me and Grandpa, we believe.”

Seriously?!  You followed up a declaration that your sweet old granny was murdered with a sentence of hope and believing in a mythical creature?!  I just hope you believed in modern medicine because I suspect old gran needed to believe in some morphine and a neck brace.

She’d been drinking too much egg nog,”

Okay, now I’m really starting to like this gram, assuming the egg nog was actually bourbon.  Around the holidays, that’s what I call my bourbon just because it sounds more festive than “I’m going to sit by the fire and polish off a pint of bourbon all by myself.”  See?  Egg nog just sounds better.

And we begged her not to go.”

TOP SECRETUm, was me-maw a 300 pound body builder?  Couldn’t you just stop the frail granny from leaving by simply putting your hand across the door jam and taking her walker?  Really?  You had to beg her to stay and when she refused you were all “You’re on your own old hag!”

Nice.  Real.  Fricking.  Nice.

But she’d left her medication,
So she stumbled out the door into the snow.”

ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!  This woman was drinking and forgot her medication so you let her STUMBLE into the SNOW?!  You guys really are a bunch of a-holes.  Don’t you know that “A Christmas Story” runs on a continuous loop for 24 hours on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day?

Perhaps you should have torn yourself away from that beloved classic for just a few minutes to make sure your arthritic mimi didn’t fall into the snow in her alcohol-induced state.

When they found her Christmas mornin‘”

YOU DIDN’T EVEN KNOW SHE WAS DEAD UNTIL THE MORNING WHEN SOMEONE ELSE FOUND HER?!  You didn’t bother to check to see if your drunk me-maw who needed her pills made it home in the effing dark?

I find this a little hard to believe if I’m also to believe that you “begged her not to go.”  I’m beginning to think you didn’t care as much about granny as you claim to.

At the scene of the attack,
There were hoof prints on her forehead,”

He doesn't even seem sorry for runningI hope at this point you’re feeling at least a little bad about the fact you left her out in the cold to get ravaged by wild animals.  And I swear to God if you tell me this was a vampire attack and that Edward Cullen is responsible…I will….just…I will just….

And when you saw the hoof prints on her forehead, please tell me that at least then you called the authorities.  I’m sure CSI could come in to do their thing although I doubt they have a database for hoof prints and their corresponding offenders.

And incriminatin’ Claus marks on her back.”

What.  The.  Hell?  First of all, what are “Claus marks” and second of all, how are they incriminatin’? And third, do you not know proper English? Not only did you allow for a negligent homicide of your gram-gram, you don’t even know how to formulate words or sentences.  I’m beginning to understand why Gram was such an alcoholic pill popper.

You should be ashamed of yourselves.  Instead of writing a nice eulogy for your Gammy, or perhaps going on the news to warn of the dangers of an “incriminatin’ Claus” and his rag-tag reindeer, you decided to write a holiday jingle about her death and how she was left outside in the snow all night long to die simply because you guys couldn’t be bothered to pull yourselves away from the TV?

But hey, at least you ended the song with an uplifting statement about how some people don’t believe in Santa Claus, but you and Grandpa believe.  I realize you meant to suggest…wait…I have no fricking clue what you meant to suggest.  If you truly believed Santa mowed down your Gams, then of course you believe….because he’s guilty.  You should file a police report.

And why are you writing it like believing in the man who took your sweet Gran away  from this world is a positive thing? Is believing in Charles Manson also something we should sing to our kids about?  I’m thinking you and Grandpa are missing your moral compasses.  Perhaps they’re out in the snow clutched in Gran-Gran’s lifeless hands.

I hope you guys didn’t get anything in the will.

-I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Clause-I’ve never been big into Christmas at all, so Christmas songs are just not my jam.

Fortunately, I’m using this post as an excuse to feature photos of random dogs in Santa gear.  That is totally my jam.

It’s not that I hate Christmas, it’s just that I don’t feel the Christmas spirit people talk about, unless that Christmas spirit is feeling drunk.  Then I totally get that feeling.  I get that year-round.

Don’t get me wrong, I love getting gifts, so please don’t interpret my lack of enthusiasm as a suggestion you don’t need to give me a gift.

Quite the contrary. I need gifts to cheer me up around the holidays because Lord knows the Christmas songs don’t do it.

The other day I was somewhere unwillingly being subjected to Christmas cheer when I heard the song “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.”  I’ve found that song annoying for decades but I’ve never really stopped to think about the lyrics.

They’re creepy.  It’s just a super creepy song.

photo credit: Doxieone via photopin cc

photo credit: Doxieone via photopin cc

You already know it’s a song about a kid spying on his mom while she’s dry humping Santa, but I’m going to take it that extra step and break it down for you line-by-line. Don’t worry, I’m going to add my commentary and the questions I have for the kid.

Okay, so he doesn’t technically say he sees them dry humping, but we all know the score.

I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus
Underneath the mistletoe last night.”

—-you saw your mom kissing a mythical creature and all you thought to do was write lyrics to a lame song? You didn’t try to snap a photo with your iPhone or use the nanny-camera to record it?  You wrote a song?  Really?

Someone has been watching a little too much Glee.

How do you know it was Santa that your mom was kissing? Lets not jump to conclusions that Santa is stepping out on Mrs. Claus.  Do you have any solid evidence to support the assertion?  Of course you don’t.  You were too lazy to even  SnapChat a picture of this alleged embrace.

Let’s not give Santa the stigma of being a ladies man unless you can back it up with a poorly recorded video.

photo credit: DaPuglet via photopin cc

photo credit: DaPuglet via photopin cc

As for your mom…well…it’s not that shocking that she was caught getting a little naughty during the holidays.  Let’s just say this isn’t her first go-around under the mistletoe.

Which begs the next question. How the hell do you know what a mistletoe looks like? How old are you?!

I’m in my 30s and I’m not sure I could identify a mistletoe, yet you spotted one with your laser vision from across the room?

You’re a weird kid.

She didn’t see me creep
down the stairs to have a peep

—creep is right. You’re a creepy kid who is most definitely going to turn into a peeping Tom.  Given this behavior at such a young age, I’m confident you’re going to grow up to be one of those men who wears garter belts under his work pants and complains that your cats don’t tell you enough that you’re pretty.

Stop creeping on your mom and go back to bed.

photo credit: jdlasica via photopin cc

photo credit: jdlasica via photopin cc

She thought that I was tucked
up in my bedroom fast asleep.”

—that’s where you should be, you spoiled little brat. Don’t you understand what bedtime means? It doesn’t mean “spy on your mom.”

It means you secretly go online and watch episodes of “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” and look for shots of Sarah Michelle Gellar’s belly button.  That’s what normal boys do!

Why do you have to bother your mom while she’s in the throes of passion?  She’s just trying to get her grove back after shooting out a bunch of kids who don’t know how to follow some simple fricking directions and go to bed when they’re told to.

Maybe Mama wants some “bedtime” of her own. Ever think of that, creeper?

photo credit: AndrewC75 via photopin cc

photo credit: AndrewC75 via photopin cc

Maybe if you weren’t hyped up on energy drinks you wouldn’t have the jitters and could go to bed like a normal human being.

Then, I saw Mommy tickle Santa Claus”

—yeah…tickle. That’s what you saw. Just an innocent game of “tickle.” Totally.

Underneath his beard so snowy white”

—I’m not sure what you’re referring to when you say “underneath his beard” but whatever it is, it’s probably nothing someone your age needs to see.

If by “beard” you mean pants, them yeah, she was probably tickling him real nice-like under his “beard.”

Oh, what a laugh it would have been
If Daddy had only seen
Mommy kissing Santa Claus last night”

photo credit: komehachi888 via photopin cc

photo credit: komehachi888 via photopin cc

—yeah. Daddy finds infidelity hysterical, especially when it’s done in the house he works 70 hours a week to pay for. It’s a real laugh out-loud moment, especially when Daddy finds an extra “beard” balled up on the floor next to the Christmas tree.

Had Daddy seen what was going on, he wouldn’t have gotten a laugh. What he would have gotten was his 12 gauge shotgun and given Santa 10 seconds to put his “beard” back on and leave the premises before the “Stand your ground” rule was enforced.

Daddy is not a fan of gun control…or of mommy whoring it up.

I wish there were more verses to this jolly tune, but the kid who wrote it probably had ADD and moved his focus away from his slut-bag mom and onto the shape of his thumbnail.

Had he not been sidetracked, I suspect the next verse would be about seeing Daddy bitch-slap Mommy and pistol whip Santa Claus.

Somehow, that’s just not as catchy as the original lyrics.

DISCLAIMER:  Yes, I know the song is supposed to suggest that she was really kissing his dad.  I’m not an idiot.  I just like to believe Mommy is getting a little on the side.  

the (1)It’s the most wonderful time of the year!  Actually, that’s totally not true.  The most wonderful time of the year is summer, when it’s 100 degrees and I’m sporting a glowing tan (and a margarita).

I’m not sure why people think Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year, but I’ll go with it.  It’s an excuse to go to a bunch of holiday parties and stuff copious amounts of desserts from the buffet in my purse.

Don’t think I also don’t do that with liquor.  I totally do.  A flask works nicely to accomplish that task and it’s unassuming when shoved inside your coat pocket.

How did I learn this trick?  My parents.  Duh.  You recall what I found in their pantry.  If you don’t, please read about it.  I’m still chuckling.

Anywhoo…

I know you’ve been fretting about the holidays and what you should buy your favorite blogger.

Me, a-hole.  I’m talking about me.

Because I’m so selfless, I’m going to tell you all the things you should buy me.  I’m  so caring like that.

photo credit: Daniel*1977 via photopin cc

photo credit: Daniel*1977 via photopin cc

Before I give you my list, you’re probably wondering what I’m going to give you in return.

Um, this blog isn’t enough?  A few times a week I write random posts about absolutely nothing.  Isn’t that enough?

It should be.

Without further babbling, here’s a few things I’m demanding requesting for Christmas.  Note:  You don’t have to get just one thing.

Go crazy and get the whole list. The joy it will bring me will be worth it.

A book deal

Lipstick_Co-Author

Okay, so I’m IN this book, but I want a book all to myself! But seriously. You should still buy this one.

Yeah, I’m shocked I don’t have a book deal either.  It isn’t for lack of trying.  I’ve been writing sub-par content for two years now.  You’d think publishers and book agents would be knocking down my door.

If book agents and publishers are pretending to be people putting Chinese take-out menus on my door, then they’re definitely knocking down my door. Otherwise, not so much.

Pajama work pants

Why can’t I dress up yet still be comfortable?  They’ve somehow managed to do this with jeans yet I can’t get a pair of wool blend pants that don’t dig into my belly button?

Someone needs to make that happen.  That someone is you.

Vodka

This is a no-brainer and I’m sure you’ve already purchased this for me.  Good work.  Now go buy another bottle for me.  You know one won’t be enough.

Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups eggs

Yeah, it’s Christmas.  I know, but that’s why I want these eggs so badly.

A sweater for Jerry and his Gangsta Gnome Boyz

gangstas in the snowAs you know, I have a gang of gnomes protecting my house and running illegal activities from behind my hydrangia bushes.  It’s the middle of winter now and those thugs are cold.

Jerry, the head gangsta, told me he’d like a hand-knitted sweater for him and his boyz.  Even though they’re dealing hot merchandise, they still get cold at night.

Wow.  I just asked for something that wasn’t even for me.  I’m so thoughtful.  This is yet another reason you should get me everything I want on my list.

What are you waiting for? Get on it.

Until then, I will continue to entertain you with my antics.  Isn’t that the best gift of all?

 

How to make an ugly christmas sweaterRecently I attended a Christmas in July charity fundraiser.  I didn’t attend so much because I’m charitable, but because I love getting gifts, and I assumed the fundraiser would include door prizes and auction items.

*On a side note, anyone who says “Giving is more fun than receiving” has never received a gift certificate for a day at the spa.  To those people who think it’s more fun to give than receive, feel free to give me as many gifts as you’d like if it makes you feel better.*

After all, I’m quite charitable.

As part of this event’s festivities, there was a contest for the ugliest Christmas sweater/t-shirt.  I’m competitive so I took this contest seriously.

I wanted to win and shove it in the faces of all the other participants so they would know I was the winner and far superior.

You know, all in good fun of course…

I knew I couldn’t construct an ugly Christmas shirt alone, so I called for reinforcements to make something amazing the night before the event. Downtown Christy Brown couldn’t help because she already had plans.

Obviously she didn’t care about charity.

Fortunately, my friend The Great Ape (not her real name) was kind enough to join me in my mission.

We sat down and sketched out our vision like designers on Project Runway.  We came up with our idea to turn me into a Christmas mantle with a stocking hanging from it.  I know, it’s a brilliant idea, which we came up with while I repeatedly yelled “Make it work” in my best Tim Gunn impression.

We headed to a thrift store to get what we needed, which is an entirely different post for a different day.  For reals.  We saw some disturbing things.

Here’s what we purchased for my award-winning design:

photo (87)

Yes, that’s a basket shoved inside a stuffed animal.  I can’t tell if the basket is violating the snowman or if the snowman ate the basket.

stewartMy first act was to decapitate the snowman.  I didn’t want to do it, but peer pressure is a bitch and The Great Ape threatened to do it with a guillotine if I didn’t act quickly.  Not only did I not want the snowman to die like Marie Antoinette, I also didn’t want to know how The Great Ape would fashion a guillotine out of things from my kitchen.

However, I’d seen her work making artificial chimpanzee vaginas, so I didn’t question her creativity skills.

I stepped up to the snowman, avoiding eye contact.  I named him Stewart, and I didn’t want him to know I’d purchased him solely to brutally murder him so I could win a gift card.

photo (89)I held my breath, took the scissors and began to cut, apologizing to Stewart along the way, pointing out he’s lucky he survived as long as he did, what with a basket shoved up his ass and all.

He hung on for a while, making it all the more difficult.  I’m not sure why I didn’t expect him to be a fighter.  He was a snowman who managed to stay alive during 100 degree temperatures in the July heat.

Combine that with the painful hemorrhoids he must have been experiencing from the basket in the ass, and Stewart was nothing but a warrior.

A wounded warrior, but a warrior nonetheless.

As I decapitated Stewart, all the while telling him it was for the greater good, I looked over to find Shady Jack staring in horror.  He loves his stuffed toys and always has one in his mouth.  I didn’t intend for him to see my dirty work, but he walked in just as I began cutting and there was no turning back.

I could practically hear his gasp and although I can’t be sure, I think I saw a tear run down his face.

photo (90)Stewart finally succumbed to the wrath of the kitchen scissors, and The Great Ape got to work quickly sewing his neck shut while I washed the proverbial blood off my hands.  It wasn’t so much blood from Stewart as it was blood from nicking my finger with the scissors.

It was Stewart’s final attempt at life and I didn’t blame him for it.

R.I.P. sweet snowman.

We worked a few more hours sewing and gluing until we had our masterpiece.  We held it up and heard the angels sing as the dining room chandelier shone down on our finished work.  Stewart would have been proud, had he lived to see the final result.

photo (91)It was a bitchin’ shirt if I do say so myself, and I do say so.  Duh.  Obviously, I won the competition, and since it was a charity event, I got to pose for a photo with one of the representatives from the charity.  The photo will be be in their newsletter, which will no doubt increase donations in Stewart’s name.

Despite my win, I couldn’t help but feel a little regret for sweet Stewart, who gave his life so I could win a gift card. I got over it pretty quickly and drowned my sorrows in a snow cone I purchased with my winnings.

Stewart would have wanted it that way.

 

beach with computerMy husband and I spent Christmas sunning on the beach, stuffing ourselves with any drink that contained liquor, and any food that was put in front of us.  We really don’t have standards while on vacation….or when it comes to TV shows.

Unfortunately, our frolicking on the beach had to come to an end.  And by “frolicking” I mean that we laid around on the beach and napped, getting up only to pee in the ocean…or the pool with the swim up bar…just like everyone else.

sad girlWe left our amazing resort with our heads hung low.  A tear rolled down my face and I vowed to return soon.

The tear may not have been because we were leaving, so much as because we saw our bill from our spa services.

We arrived at the Puerto Vallarta airport after a near death experience in a Mexican cab.

We weren’t sure if the cab driver was blind, or if he just hated us, but we arrived at the airport thankful for our lives, and for Pepto Bismol.

We went through security and somehow managed to get through it in record time.  We were hungry, as our bodies had grown accustomed to eating every hour, so we headed to the first restaurant we saw and grabbed a booth.

As soon as we sat down we heard a somewhat heated argument at the table next to us.  We did what any self respecting Americans would do in that situation…we scooted closer and listened.

At first glance the argument seemed to be between a man in his 60s and a female wax statue.  The male was chastising the statue for being an idiot.  We figured this guy had a few too many Tequilas and thought he had found a friend.

However, upon closer examination we realized the wax statue the man was talking to was actually a woman.  She was thin and her skin looked like she treated it regularly with leather conditioner. Her hair was long and her boobs were younger than mine.

This was NOT them.  They didn't have matching sweaters on, nor were they this patriotic with their color scheme.

This was NOT them. They didn’t have matching sweaters on, nor were they this patriotic with their color scheme.

Matt and I are pros at eavesdropping because the upstairs neighbors at his last apartment were big fighters and we liked to listen and then take sides. It was usually the guy’s fault…but isn’t it always?

From what we could tell from the argument, the wax statue was mad at the old geezer because he was talking down to her about buying a house and escrow and “She isn’t an idiot.”

From what we observed, she actually was an idiot, so we couldn’t blame the guy.

He started berating her for not understanding basic math, or how to conservatively apply make up, and she started yelling back at him about how he shouldn’t treat her like she’s dumb, because she’s not (she is).

We figured the fight wouldn’t last much longer, and we hadn’t even received our drink orders yet.

After spending a full week together without distraction, Matt and I were happy to have the argument of the crazy people to sidetrack us from the realization we would have to hold yet another conversation with each other if their argument ended.

And then a wonderful thing happened…the argument continued..and continued…and continued.

They went from fighting about the real estate deal to fighting about how they were fighting, and then fighting about how they fought about that. I’m not kidding!

argue1It was a series of meta arguments that required an organization chart and a few more margaritas to follow.

She said she didn’t like the way he talked to her in the argument, and when she told him she didn’t like it, he got mad at her, and she didn’t like that either.

By my calculation, that’s a third layer of fighting. This argument had more layers than Inception, and I wondered if Leonardo DiCaprio would come walking through the door, preferably topless.

I felt a little guilty I didn’t pay for admission to watch this show. Part of me wanted to slap them for ruining our lunch and the other part wanted to tip them for their performance.

They argued about how they argued through our drinks, our dinner, and our check. It was quite a while, as the service at the Puerto Vallarta airport was less than stellar. Shocking, right?

We truly couldn’t believe two people could argue about something so senseless for such a long period of time, but then again, The View is still on the air.

After we paid our bill, we got up to leave and so did they. Strangely, they hugged and kissed, said they loved each other and walked away hand in hand…as if they didn’t just fight for 45 minutes about absolutely nothing.

I was a little pissed. With the heat of that argument I expected some serious hair pulling and crotch kicking.  Or at least I hoped for it.

We watched them walk away and realized we have it pretty good, as we rarely disagree; Mostly because I’m always right.

We also hoped they would be on our flight home, as it was a long flight and we wanted some entertainment but didn’t want to pay for the in-flight movie.

fighting on couch

photo for bill's holiday partyYou knew this story was coming.

Not necessarily that I told you about it, but if you know me at all, or read this blog somewhat regularly, you know that I would inevitably embarrass myself at a holiday function.  Mission accomplished.

My husband and I have an amazing friend, St. Frick, (not his real name) who lives an amazing life with amazing friends.

For some strange reason, we are included in his list of friends, most likely because we are the charity case and he feels sorry for us and our lack of taste in artwork.

A poster of Johnny Depp is considered classy, right?

He is known for throwing over the top parties and the invitations for these parties are highly coveted, as the food and drinks are delicious, and the company is fantastic.

Normally, Matt and I can be easily impressed with the artwork carved into the side of a watermelon at a buffet line, so maybe believing my tale of amazing food isn’t an educated decision.  But then again, if anyone knows good food…it’s this girl.

So trust me when I say his parties are fabulous.

We received the fancy invitation for the party and immediately thought it was an error, and delivered to the wrong house.  No one sends us fancy invitations to anything.

invitationThe last invitation we got was to a bridal shower in someone’s mom’s basement…no joke.  And that invitation was on a piece of computer paper.

I wish I was kidding about that.  So getting a fancy invitation with font other than Times New Roman was exciting to us.

The fact that it wasn’t on copy paper was just an added bonus.

The party wasn’t called a holiday party or an end of the year party.  No.  That wouldn’t be good enough.

Since it was after Christmas but before New Year’s Eve, the party was called “The After Party.”  Of course it was.

Now the only experience I’ve had with an after party is when the twin singing duo known as Nelson came to my college and we went to a bar afterwards where we ordered quarter pitchers and played darts.

Somehow I had a feeling this wasn’t what St. Frick had in mind, although I figured he might like me to bring those adorable long-haired twins.

My only other experience with an after party is what we used to call “after bars” in college, which was always at a frat house and it was in a basement with cheesy music playing and one candle lit to cover the stench of vomit, beer and STDs.

Again, I didn’t think that’s what St. Frick was imagining.

Naturally, Matt and I knew we were going to attend.  After all, this was a holiday party we could get on board with, as it didn’t involve drunk relatives or the child molester from down the street asking every boy under the age of 10 to sit on his lap.

christmas party

This isn’t us, but it’s an awesome photo so I wanted to share it.

We texted St. Frick to let him know we were in.  I’m sure he was less than thrilled when he realized the riff raff accidentally got his invitation and were planning on attending.

I could practically see him moving his expensive pieces of artwork into storage just to avoid another incident of me knocking something expensive over.

Because I’d never been to a fancy “After Party” before, I didn’t know what the attire would be.  Naturally, I figured Pajama Jeans would be appropriate, but thought I would ask to make sure.

I texted him and asked him what the attire was for the event.  Here is his exact response:  “No Pajama Jeans.  Holiday cocktail party.  Pretty.  Sexy.”

Does this guy know me or what?!  I both loved and hated how he knew I would wear Pajama Jeans so he immediately forbid me from wearing them.

I wasn’t sure what “holiday cocktail party” attire was, but I didn’t think a Christmas turtleneck with a duck in a Santa hat would fit the bill (no pun intended).  So I decided to grab my flashlight and go to my trusty closet for wardrobe options.

I figured cocktail party attire meant something fancy, and since I’d recently been to several cocktail parties, I had some outfits I knew I could wear.  Okay, I’d been to two parties in two months, but in my world, that’s a lot.

I found a dress that I thought would be appropriate, and I decided to spice it up with a faux fur little shrug.  The outfit was adorable, and it didn’t cost me anything, which made it all the more attractive in my eyes.

It was also shorter than the dresses I normally wear, so I figured it would meet the definition of “sexy.”

hair doneI decided to go all out with my hair if I was going to wear a fancy dress.  I spent a long time on my hair.  For me, anything more than 5 minutes constitutes a long time on hair.

I decided to go with my hair partially up and then swept back in a simple style that looked formal yet messy.  I’m not sure the messy look was intentional, but it looked like it was.

I’m not someone who uses hairspray, or any form of hair product, as evidenced by my simple hair style, but since this was a big event, I decided to be fancy and use some.

I located a bottle that had to have been 10 years old.  The sprayer was broken, but my husband was able to fix it so I could spray away.

I doused my hair in hairspray and when I was done the entire bathroom smelled like it did when I was in the 7th grade and thought crunchy curls were attractive.

Well…it almost smelled like that…minus the stench from the aftermath of a lunch of burritos.  Fortunately, no candles were lit in the house, which is a good thing, as I was pretty sure the entire room was a powder keg.

After coughing up half the can of Aqua Net, I emerged from the bathroom and grabbed my heels and jewelry.  Yes, heels.  I didn’t wear my Uggs to this event.  Can you believe it?

My husband was pleasantly surprised by my appearance, but I figured it was mostly because I matched and didn’t have any stains on my dress (yet).  After being with me for a few years, his standards dropped on what he finds acceptable.

angry army dudeWe headed out the door and to the party, all the while wondering if we were dressed up enough and if we would fit in.  After we parked the car I turned to my husband and gave him the usual pep talk I give whenever we go to a party with St. Frick.

Don’t fuck this up for us.  These people are awesome and we don’t want them to figure out that we bring nothing to the table, other than empty plates.  Put your game face on and don’t screw this up for us.”

Pretty motivational, right?

We walked up the path to his house and were in awe of the beautiful lights and decorations.  St. Frick knew how to throw a party and he definitely knew how to decorate one.  As we approached the house, I saw another couple walking up as well.

As we got closer, I looked at them in an effort to figure out if they were in similar holiday cocktail attire.  Upon closer inspection, I realized both of them were wearing jeans.  Pfft!

They were going to look like idiots when they walked in the door and saw everyone else dressed up!  I secretly couldn’t wait to watch them be humiliated.

clinking glasses

We walked in behind the dingy couple and surveyed the room.

WHAT?!  Where was the holiday cocktail attire?  There were people in nice jeans and fancy tops and heels, but no cocktail dresses.  Where was the sexy attire?  Was this a joke?

St. Frick approached me, gave me a hug and told me I looked beautiful.  Yeah, because I was completely overdressed.

What happened to the holiday cocktail sexy attire?” I asked.

He looked at me and smiled and said I looked perfect.

We forged ahead and stayed at the party until we shut it down in the wee hours of the morning.  I decided I wouldn’t let my cocktail dress get in the way of my enjoyment, and I didn’t.

I also wasn’t mad at St. Frick for his explanation of attire.  For a guy who only sees me in sweat pants and ratty t-shirts with no bra, it wasn’t a stretch for him to believe I would dress down for the event.

dogs with Christmas stuffPerhaps he thought my idea of “holiday cocktail” would be what everyone else’s idea was of dressy casual.  I couldn’t blame him.  But next time I get an invitation to one of his parties, I’m wearing Pajama Jeans no matter what he says…

What the woman in the -12 Days ofIt’s the holiday season, and with that comes eating pounds of candy in the name of Christmas and drinking large amounts of alcohol.  I don’t need an excuse this time of year to get loaded, but it’s nice to have one anyway.

Although I decorate my house with a few holiday items (and by “items” I mean store bought sugar cookies and candles that smell like I baked them in my house), I’ve never been a big holiday person.  I especially don’t like Christmas music.

It’s the only type of music I know where people of all ages rock out to the same songs year after year.  Well, Christmas songs and anything by Hanson.

Have you really ever stopped to think about the lyrics to these holiday songs?  Some of them are downright ridiculous.  Take “The Twelve Days of Christmas.”

I didn’t even know there were 12 days of Christmas.  Obviously my parents have been screwing me over for years by telling me there’s only one day of Christmas.

And looking back now, that day smelled a lot like bourbon, so maybe it was best for every one’s livers that it was only one day.

Whenever I hear that song, I always think about what that woman was thinking every day she got a gift.  So I’ve decided to be her inner dialogue for each of the 12 days.

1.  A partridge in a pear tree

partridge snowflakeUm, thanks honey.  Just what I wanted…an animal that shits everywhere.  At least a puppy is cute.  This thing is scary and looks mean.

And you thought since I love cleaning up after you, that I would love cleaning up after a bird as well?  And why a partridge?

Is it because it’s a fat bird?  What are you suggesting?  And a pear tree?  Where am I going to put this?

Considering we live in a 3rd floor condo, I’m not sure where a pear tree will go.  Why not just buy a mini school bus for the partridge to live in?

If it was good enough for Danny Bonaduce, it’s good enough for this bird.

nest with eggs2.  Two turtle doves

Oh goody…more birds.  Is it going to be 12 days of birds because that’s how it’s looking.

Don’t get me wrong, I like our avian friends, but I’m not sure I want them flying around in our condo (and I’m pretty sure our landlord doesn’t either.)

I’ll just say goodbye to our security deposit now.

3.  Three French hens

eiffelFrench Hens?  They couldn’t just be regular hens?  You know the French are such snobs.

How do you know they’re French?  Was it their condescending glare or their stench that gave them away?

You know these hens aren’t going to bathe regularly, and they probably won’t shave their pits either.

Thanks for the smelly gift.  If I wanted to deal with a rude, obnoxious European, I would ask my Uncle Frank to come over.

4.  Four calling birds

Seriously with the birds again?  You know that we live inside…in the city?  What am I going to do with all these birds?

Perhaps one of the presents you could get me would be some bird food to feed these animals.  Have you ever heard of “Angry Birds?”

Well that’s what we’ve got on our hands with seven birds in this one bedroom condo and no food.

And while you’re picking up bird food, pick up several scented candles, room deodorizer and some ear plugs.  And some Grey Goose.  Now there’s a bird I could get on board with.

5.  Five golden rings

ring.jpgFinally, some jewelry!  But really with the five rings?  And they don’t have any diamonds on them?

Why not just get me one golden ring but throw a stone on it or something?  And what am I going to do with five of these rings?  I can’t wear them all on one hand; I’ll look like a pimp.

6.  Six geese a laying

We’re back on this birds again? And this time they’re procreating…because nothing says “Merry Christmas” quite like half a dozen geese shitting out eggs in a one bedroom condo in the city.  Fa la la la clean it up.

goggles7.  Seven swans a swimming

Okay, you obviously have a bird fetish.  I’ve suspected it for a while now, what with the strange gift giving and your love of the band Flock of Seagulls.  But enough with the birds.

Although I realize the gesture is nice, if you give me one more bird, I’m going to give you two birds….one on each hand.

8.  Eight maids a milking

milk.jpgThis is quite confusing.  Although I’m happy not to add yet another bird to our overcrowded condo, I’m curious if these maids are milking themselves or others.

If you tell me they’re milking cows, I will kick you out of this condo right now.

But if they are milking themselves, I’m not sure that’s a better option.  And why maids a milking?  You know I’m lactose intolerant.

9. Nine ladies dancing

Are you seriously giving me the gift of strippers?

Why not add a pole and a pound of glitter to this gift, turn on “Pour Some Sugar on Me” and call it a night?

What would I possibly want with nine ladies dancing? (Aside from an STD and trailer full of meth.)

And don’t even think about calling them “ladies”.  Ladies of the night maybe.

10.  Ten lords a leaping

leapingLords of what country exactly?  We live in America and there aren’t any lords that I’m aware of.

The only lord I know is Frodo from Lord of the Rings.

Although he’s creepy, and probably smells like a sewer rat, he’s more welcome in my home than these ten “lords” who are most likely either male strippers, or homeless men looking for a place to stay for the night.

11.  Pipers piping

Pipers?  What year is this?  Why would I want pipers in my home?

Do you realize how loud it is already with all these birds and dancing people running around?

The only piping we need is new plumbing to support all the waste that’s being deposited and flushed in our condo in any given day.

12.  Twelve drummers drumming

drums.jpgAre you trying to start a band?  And do you understand a band takes more than one instrument?

You can’t just add twelve people playing the same instrument and call it a band.

Sure, the Spice Girls made it work, but they had boobs.  You’ve got some man boobs and hairy nipples.  It’s not the same.

Are you finally done with the “gifts?”  Please tell me you got something nice for me that doesn’t involve purchasing human beings or fowl from a farm.

What ever happened to some good old diamond earrings for Christmas?  Or maybe a gift card?  Next year we are definitely doing a spending limit…and a requirement that none of the gifts be breathing.

And I’m totally taking back that sweater I got you from Banana Republic.

Last week I went to a soiree fundraiser.  Yes, a soiree.  I’m a big deal.

I may not know how to pronounce the word soiree, but the way I pronounce it is “open bar” and I like the way that sounds.

This soiree was a fundraiser for a local dog rescue group, so naturally I was interested.

The fact that it included food, drink, and a doggie fashion show was an added bonus. I want to dislike dogs in costumes but I can’t.  They’re adorable.  It’s the same way I feel about Dakota Fanning

Because I’m so important, I obviously needed an entourage for this event, although Turtle was nowhere to be found.  Pajama Jeans and Downtown Christy Brown (not their real names) and I went together and left our husbands at home to miss us.  Hopefully they would fold the laundry).

car on roadThe attire was cocktail, and as I’m a pro at cocktail parties, I knew it would be fine.  You are probably asking yourself “Has she gone to 2 cocktail events in the last 6 weeks?”  Why yes, yes I have.  Didn’t I tell you I was a big deal?

DTCB drove us to the event, and the entire way there her car would lurch forward randomly and make very uncomfortable sounds.  I wondered why she was driving like an 85 year old blind woman when she told me she needed an oil change.

After further investigation on my part, I discovered that what she meant by “oil change” was that she needed actual oil added to her car.

Because I’m a good friend, I wanted to distract her from the upsetting sounds her car was making, so I decided to fill the inside of the vehicle with noxious gas…my own.

I must admit it was quite pungent and did the trick, as soon the focus was on gasping for air and not on the jerky vehicle.  Mission accomplished.  My friends are so lucky that I’m so caring.

We arrived at the event and the valet guy was more than enthusiastic about parking our car, that is of course, until he got inside and the smell burned his nostrils.

guy holding stop signAs he directed DTCB to drive into the valet position he locked eyes with her and used hand gestures to move her closer to him.

When we were fairly certain were centimeters away from crushing his femur, he dramatically pulled his arm down in a strong motion, signalling “stop.”

Clearly this guy was a drama-major working the valet for an extra few bucks.

We headed inside and found our assigned table.  We were happy to discover it was up front, located next to the stage where the fashion show would take place.  Didn’t I tell you I was important?

We were unhappy to discover it was far away from the bar.  I understood it was a charity function and they didn’t want to lose all their money on my vodka addiction, so I didn’t fault them for making me walk a bit to get my fix.

We headed over to the drinks and I gave new meaning to bellying up to the bar.  I wasn’t wearing Spanx  because they are dreadful, so my stomach was hanging out, and I knew the only way to mask it was to douse it in liquor.

Oh wait, that’s the way I help myself forget about it.  Whatever, I didn’t have to look at myself all night, my friends did.  Suckers!

oliveIt’s no secret that I’m a vodka girl.  I love it.  I swear I would bathe in it if it wasn’t so expensive.

I will also admit that I am a bit of a vodka snob.  I like the top shelf stuff and I don’t mind paying extra for it.  The lack of hangover the next day more than justifies my bar tab the night before.

The bartender asked me what I wanted and I asked him what kind of vodka he had.  I expected him to provide me the names of several top shelf brands, but instead, he told me he had Seagrams.

Seriously?!  Was this bartender kidding me?

How could he tend bar if he didn’t know the difference between vodka and whiskey?  They aren’t even the same color!

I told myself he was color blind, as that was the only way I could excuse his behavior.

I reminded him that Seagrams isn’t vodka, and it seemed as if this was a revelation to him….like discovering that Captain Morgan isn’t really a captain, and that Ru Paul isn’t really a girl.

His response solidified my initial belief that this guy was someone’s paroled cousin who just got out of prison for cooking meth in his pick up truck, and this was a job he could report to his parole officer.  (Hey, I watch Oz).

bar stoolsI asked him again what kind of vodka he had, all the while giving him an ocular pat down to ensure he wasn’t sporting a weapon of any kind.  He pointed to various flavored vodkas in a brand I’d never heard of.

He tried to convince me it was a new brand but it was “all the rage.”  Um, did he think I wouldn’t know my vodka brands?  Vodka I know.  There was no such new thing.

It was probably something he cooked up in his basement now that his meth lab was on hold, at least until after his probation period ended.

My head was hurting with all this knowledge I was imparting on the felon, so I told him I would take a cherry flavored vodka with water.

He poured my drink and handed it to me in a cup the size of the Dixie cups at pre-schools everywhere.  Really?

I realized this was a charity event, but the price of the ticket was the approximate cost of 2 tires so I figured I’d at least get some top shelf vodka in something other than a sippy cup.

It was not to be.  Fortunately for me I have no shame (or class), and I promptly ordered another one “for my husband.”

Seriously, can you see the size of my drink?  Tiny

We walked around looking at the auction items and I spotted something I wanted.  I wrote down a bid and decided to watch it the rest of the night to see if anyone else would bid on it.  I mingled and talked to people, all the while keeping my eye on the prize.

Then I ran into a few of my friends who were also headed to the bar. I didn’t tell them it was my third trip, although they suspected it was when the bartender handed me my drink…before I ordered it.

auction bidsOne of my friends is a bit of a local celebrity.  I know….how cool am I?  She was emceeing the event, so she wasn’t drinking.  I decided I would drink her share of liquor.

We began talking and I had two drinks in my hands, as I didn’t want to run low on the precious substance.  Since I’m incapable of talking without my hands, I began flailing my hands about and spilled vodka on the floor.

GASP!  I was devastated.  Not necessarily about the loss of liquor, but that I would have to return to Jailhouse Rock to get another one.

My celebrity friend grabbed some napkins and cleaned up my spill, all the while silently asking herself why she was friends with me in the first place.  I’m sure it’s for the street cred.

The night continued and the food wasn’t that great, although the dessert was amazing, and that’s all that mattered.

After dessert, it was announced that the silent auction would be closing soon.  I stumbled back over to the auction table and made sure my bid was the last bid on the item I wanted.

It wasn’t, and I saw a guy writing in his bid under mine.  Whatever.  There was still time.  I stood back for a few minutes and then swooped in and wrote in a new bid about a minute before the auction ended.

shock.jpgIt was then announced that the silent auction was over, and I looked down to see I had won the item I wanted.  Woo hoo!

As I did my victory dance (being careful not to spill my drink), I looked up to see the guy who outbid me last time writing in a bid.  Oh no he didn’t!!!  The auction was over.

I spoke up and asked why he was writing in a bid when the auction was clearly over and I had won.  He pretended not to hear me, but I could see him holding his head in shame.

How dare he steal that item from me?  I mean, he paid for it, but whatever.  Some people have no class.

Shortly after losing the auction, we left.  I was devastated about losing and our feet hurt from our heels.  We found the drama major and had him pull our car around.  We tipped him with enough money for him to buy some new mascara, and we headed home.

As we rode back to my house, the car jerking forward and backward at random times, we decided that although we had dinner and dessert, we were hungry.

We hit up McDonald’s where we definitely looked a little overdressed.  We tried to convince the employees we were high rollers and just came from a soiree, but the fumes and smell coming from DTCB’s car told a different story.

I’m waiting to see all the pictures from that night and I know some of them will be posted on line.  I will scour the web looking for the identity of the person who broke the rules and outbid me on the auction item, and then I will send him a bottle of flavored Seagrams vodka.

It seems like the perfect gift for that idiot, and I know just the ex con who can make the delivery.