My husband is always trying to instill a healthy fear of strangers into Charlotte.

Here’s what I heard of this morning’s lesson:

Michael – So, what do you do if Michael Jackson shows up at your school?

Charlotte – I scream and run away. Then I go to the office and tell them I’m sick and have to leave. Then I call my Mom.

Michael – Good girl. That’s right.

My sister is dangerously insane. We went out with her for Thanksgiving on Wednesday, but because she was out of town and couldn’t be with us on Thursday, I was obligated to go Christmas shopping with her yesterday.

So, I decided first thing yesterday morning that I would need caffeine to survive the ordeal that surely awaited me. I turned out of McDonald’s parking lot, thinking my acrobatic coffee to be held securely in its cup holder. It somehow managed to turn itself over, jump out of the holder and spill itself all over my leg. I was saved from any skin grafting that would otherwise be necessary by my penchant for pouring 8 to 10 little creamer packs into my scalding hot beverage. By the way, you have to pour some coffee out to put that much creamer in there, but my lack of severe burns clues me in that my ritual is well worth the extra effort.

Hey, in case you’re wondering, I’m not the loser who sued McDonald’s. Coffee should be hot. But, I do fondly remember how, in years past, I’d get a cup of McDonald’s coffee at 7a.m., carry it in bitterly cold weather three blocks back to my work, leave it on my desk for two or three hours while going about my morning ritual, and come back to it warm every single day. You can’t do that with just any coffee. Only with McDonald’s molten lava coffee is this possible.

But, I digress. My point is that, coffee spillage aside, I knew I shouldn’t have risked leaving the house yesterday – what with all the non-driving butt monkeys who go out on the day after Thanksgiving above all others.

But, out of love for my sister, I spent the day driving with my speedometer at precisely 3 mph. I know this is not the fault of the person driving directly in front of me. No. It’s the fault of the asshat who slowed down to three miles an hour for a green light . Although he is too far in front of me for me to see him, I know he’s there, never using his gas pedal, always testing his breaks. He perpetually remains somewhere ahead of me in traffic, and his only purpose in life is to slow me down and break my spirit.

But, it takes more than bad traffic and coffee-stained jeans to get me down. I was thankful on Thursday for all the good things in my life and I still am today.

I am thankful…

…for my daughter and husband who are smartasses of the highest caliber. They are also the most gentle and loving people on the face of the earth. I appreciate all these qualities and wouldn’t change a thing about either of them.

…that I have a good enough relationship with my sister, Michelle, that she wants, not only to see me for the holidays but to drag me along shopping, even though I kick and scream and whine incessantly.

…that my Mom goes shopping with us and whines right along with me about how much it sucks and how much her feet hurt.

…that for the past few days I have been so busy cooking, eating good food and enjoying the company of all the people I love that I haven’t had any time to blog.

…that you’ll forgive me for neglecting my blog for a few days because, well, you are just that cool.

So, anyway, I hope everyone had a lovely holiday. Oh, and just so you know, I haven’t spilled coffee on myself yet today.

Life is good.

The Cat in the Hat was so boring that I almost wish I had stayed home and done housework instead. My husband actually fell asleep about mid-way through. I stayed awake and waited for the good part. It never came.

Charlotte said it was “just ok.” She’s nine.

So, for the record, our collective review consists of two yawns and a blah.

If you know what’s best

You’ll avoid our happy nest

On this day over all the rest.

Today we’re speaking in rhyme

Pretty much all the time.

It can be a little diconcerting

And after a bit, your ears might start hurting.

Ruff, ruff, ruff ruff. Grrr. Woof, woof, woof. Grrrrrrrr. Arooooooh. Growl. Woof. Woof. Bark. Howl.

Ruff,
Wrebbie

*For human translation of this post, click extended entry.
(more…)

First off, this is a self-indulgent post. By self-indulgent I mean I’ll enjoy writing it more than you’ll enjoy reading it. But, I can’t resist this topic anymore. I’ve held it in for too long.

The persons handling advertising for Brink’s Home Security should be fired. Not just fired from their jobs but literally set on fire. They created the most asinine commercial ever, and that is quite a feat when you consider how stiff the competition is for that dubious honor.

(Remember how I said this is a self-indulgent post? It’s important you keep that in mind.)

If you haven’t seen the commercial, here’s a brief rundown:

We see a house with five newspapers on the front porch, and a mailbox stuffed full. We hear a male voice-over, telling us that a robber has guessed these displays of neglect to be signs that nobody is home. The one sign the robber missed, according to the all knowing voice-over, is the Brinks Home Security logo etc.

This wouldn’t bother me at all if they left it right there. But they don’t. Here’s where the flaw in logic comes in:

There are people home!

What?!

Yep, the next thing we see after the five newspapers on the porch is a woman inside the house with three kids.

So, here’s a poser. Why didn’t the lazy bitch bring in the newspapers or check the mail? What the fuck is wrong with her?!

Sure a woman with three kids is busy, but the kids are all walking age. In fact, she could have sent any one of them out for the newspaper. Who knows, maybe the kids inherited the laziness gene from Mom. (Am I right to assume this to be a dominant gene? Its effects in the mother’s case are so pronounced, I’d find it hard to believe otherwise.)

Jesus, and I thought I was lazy! This person can’t be troubled to set foot on her own front porch!

She doesn’t appear to be sick or wheelchair bound. Maybe she has simply forgotten that she subscribes to a newspaper or gets mail.

I hope this woman doesn’t have pets. It might slip her mind to feed them for a month or so, and then, god forbid, the robbers would see the tell-tale animal carcasses in her yard.

Deep Male Voice-over:

“The robber sees the bones of this family’s dead cat as a sign that nobody is home to bury it…But, the sign he didn’t see is the Brinks Home Security Sign…”

I guess the sloth’s brats fend for themselves where food is concerned, and I’d even go so far as to say she has her groceries delivered. That would explain the mystery of how they get food into the house without ever stepping onto the porch, except that I wonder if she could be bothered to answer the door for a delivery person.

Five days for chrissakes! Rome wasn’t built in a day, but I’ll bet they got quite a bit done in five. Romans probably checked their mail, too.

I’m just sayin’. What a lazy bitch.

(I’m done now. Thanks for seeing it through to the end. I warned ya.)