Christmas was awesome, even though I'm totally crazy.

I hope you all enjoyed your little Christmas break.

I ended up staying home and working on numerous Christmas projects including handmade gifts, tons of Christmas treats, and nurturing crippling anxiety.

I'm not sure how the last few years I've gotten it into my head that if I don't: have all my shopping for perfect presents done, presents perfectly wrapped, make at least 4 different kinds of cookies and 3 batches of fudge - all of which are prefect- the world will spontaneously combust because I will have RUINED CHRISTMAS FOREVER.

A few years ago my resolution was to do everything better. (You see, a normal person would not think this was a reasonable resolution. I even blogged about it and only Steve said what I hear so often- "I don't know if that is such a good idea....") This ridiculous resolution gave me license to allow all of my crazy perfectionist tendencies to rear up and bite me (and my loved ones*) in the ass.

This year, my resolution is to calm the hell down. Worry less about the laundry, dishes, and making every little thing perfect. Maybe just worry less in general and try to "be in the moment." (I am not sure what that phrase means, so this may be problematic. How will I know where I am at any given moment with out a color coded spreadsheet to tell me?) Not plan every waking moment of every week and just enjoy time with Muffin. Enjoy reading a book, by myself. Enjoy running on a treadmill and yelling "GAZELLLLLLLE" at Angie.

Can "be less crazy" be a viable resolution? And is that even possible for me? And as I have just recently realized I should, like a scientist, ask myself, is this something I should do? For me, for my friends and family?

Am I going to end up fat and smelly, playing Doctor Mario in my underwear, living off Mountain Dew and cheap pizza like some sort of 15 year old boy version of Howard Hughes? Cause I will straight up tell you that collecting jars of my own urine is not high on my list of interests, also I'm pretty sure that my roommate will object.

Or will this be awesome (not the urine, which I sort of regret bringing up now, the resolution)?

Anyway, my baking of a substandard number of treats, nor my craziness managed to RUIN CHRISTMAS FOREVER, and in fact I had a splendid time hanging out with my family and eating our do-over turkey. (Which, btw, was not poisonous this time, so hooray us!) I got a TON of great gifts, we played fun games, and nobody got food poisoning. Success!

How was your Christmas?

___

*I'm sorry, Muffin. When you suggested that maybe I didn't need to make bread to send down to your parents and then I tried to use the force to choke you with my mind, I might have been experiencing a bit of Yule Madness**.

** Yule madness, like how I apparently was so keyed up from Christmas that I woke up every hour on boxing day until at 5 something I gave up*** and went shopping****.

*** Steve, so sorry about the 5:50 AM text announcing that you could join me at ANY MINUTE, because I was ALREADY OUT SHOPPING AND IT WAS AWESOME. And actually for my behavior later that day when you joined me at a normal hour and I was SO EXCITED, because those Tianna dress up dolls were TWO FOR TWENTY and doesn't your god-daughter need 15 or so of them, and did I mention I'VE BEEN UP SINCE 5 O'CLOCK AND I AM SO STOKED. AND I GOT ALL THE STUFF ON MY LIST AND DO I NEED THIS (IT'S FUNNY BECAUSE RACCOONS DO NOT TYPICALLY SMOKE!) AND ALSO MAYBE A LATTE? WHAT DO YOU MEAN, I DON'T NEED A LATTE! LETS GO RIP OPEN MY NEW PANINI PRESS AND MAKE PANINIS!

**** Hey, did you know that Old Navy opens at 5 AM on boxing day? And that while Target is totally open at 7 and you can pick up those spiffy solar powered light strings you wanted to make this, you are also so tired and out of it that you may think that it is totally fine to buy 7 bags of gift bows, because they are 50! %! Off! But when you sit down later you realize that while is it is totally awesome that you have something like 5 years before you ever need to buy bows again, you now have 210***** bows to store for 5 years.

*****Not hyperbole.

Thinking about Gift Cards

I think the key to gift giving is that it should be from the heart.

Every so often I have difficulty picking a good gift for a loved one, but usually, if you know someone well enough that you buy them gifts, you should know them well enough to find something they like. I usually consider gift cards like politically correct language. Both cash and gift cards come from the same place in your heart, which is usually:
"I don't know you well enough or am too lazy to pick out a good gift."
But the gift card says it with glitter and penguins.

I also feel like a gift card is giving someone money and then chiding them to spend it in a specific manner. "Well, Bob, you can't be trusted to make your own spending decisions, so here's a financial training wheel."

Sometimes I do buy gift cards in special circumstances:
1. Money for people who really can't be trusted to spend it wisely: a Safeway gift card is slightly more likely to be used on groceries than something sketchy. Sure you can sell the card at a loss, or you can use the money you save on groceries for drugs- but at least it wasn't my money.
2. Cards to sporting events, restaurants, craft stores: Gives your recipient an understanding that you know what they like, but didn't want to box them in on dates or materials that they wouldn't prefer.
3. Cards to places the recipient frequently uses or is saving to buy something from: I'd love to help contribute to someone's new pool table, or TV.
4. I'm being a dick on purpose.

Furthermore, gift cards seem environmentally unsound.
Cash gift:
Envelope
Greeting card
Money

Gift Card:
Envelope
Greeting card
Envelope
Gift card

The end result of cash gift is paper to recycle and your stuff. The end result of gift card giving is more to recycle, your stuff, and either -$ from where you spent more than the card or $0.37 left on the card, and of course the card that the cashier throws away when it's empty.

I also read a Slate article that describes gift cards as interest free short term loans from consumers. Coupling that with the fact that you almost always spend more money than the gift card's denomination, gift cards are a great deal for the conglomerates, to whom, we already give a lot of money. It seems a bit like the exact opposite of interest- one consumer gives the loan and the other pays the company a little extra later.

In closing, ba humbug!

"Asshole" not acceptable Post Office language.

Dear USPS Customers,

Get your shit together. I can drop any bad word I want on this blog, because people can choose to read this or not. But, dear fellow humans, when you are at the post office, I do not care how long the line is, paste on a happy face and just wait. I know it sucks. Nobody wants to be here. But it really sucks for everyone when you are a d-bag.

Don't be rude to the workers there. Accept your fate. You are at the post office on the 13th of December. This is your fault.

And you, chivalrous guy who stepped up top defend the post lady and ended up in a yelling match that looked like it might become physical, your heart was totally in the right place, but your language was in the Marines.

Yes, that other guy was an enormous sphincter, but when you curse him out in front of young children and ladies older than my granny, you join the asshole parade. Earmuffs, buddy. Earmuffs.

There was a time where people wore hats. And your hat reminded you that you are in public. Your hat reminded you to be a member of a society with rules for appropriate behavior.

I think we need hats again. To tip. To hold in our hands, preventing hands curling into fists. A hat, to worry about losing should you set it own to smack some guy at the post office in front of some preschoolers, nervous office ladies, and God.

If you can't behave appropriately amongst society, stay home. Use Amazon. Don't threaten other people at the post-office. I was dialing 911 and edging towards the door to shut both of you idiots out and away from the regular people.

Get some self-respect. Do you really want to be the kind of dude who gets arrested at the post office? You're already the dude there in sweats.

Where's dignity gone? Graciousness? Are they out there with the hats? Lost forever?

A little something for Steve.

Don't forget about your friends in Seattle while you're away.

This will help:


Click play, Sucker.

Hugs!

Helen Mirren, my hero.

She is so smart. So funny. So sophisticated and graceful in a way that implies strength, knowledge, and charm. It is hard to be candid, smart, and relatable while still holding on to an air of grace as she does.

She is a person I watch when I think of the kind of person I want to be.

BEHOLD: The mighty power of graphs.

I'll be weeping silently under my bed if you need me. Thanks for nothing, Internet:
















To enbiggen original chart from smart people.


With subtitles courtesy of SUC:
















There, I fixed it. Yes, I do make charts for living, why do you ask?

Who is this guy?

Because that is not John McCain.

Like John Stewart, I've become increasingly disenchanted with John McCain, going from a full out crush to a festering dislike. John McCain has become a man I can't respect. His recent behavior has really made me thankful for my vote for Obama- a decision I did not make lightly and that was directly caused by John McCain's unexpected and sudden reluctance to be John McCain.

Listening to his deluded and desperate comments during the Don't Ask Don't Tell senate hearings has been the pinnacle of my disillusionment. As James Fallows asks in The Atlantic, where did the strong and principled John McCain go and why was he replaced with a man who, unlike so many others, is more conservative and ineffective in his old age. Isn't the knowledge that comes with old age the wisdom to better understand your fellow humans and differentiate between truth and prejudice?

Joe Lieberman has clearer understanding of just what this legislation means in America's development:

12/2/10- SEN. JOE LIEBERMAN (I), CONNECTICUT: We‘re on the front lines of a turning point in American history. And we have these in every generation. This country, from the beginning, was defined not by its borders, but by our values.

The Declaration of Independence says, you know, we‘re all endowed by God with those equal rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. And every generation has realized those rights better, because they weren‘t realized at the beginning. In 1776, for women, for people of color, et cetera, et cetera.

In our time, one of the great transitions occurring is the growing readiness and understanding among the American people that you simply—it‘s just wrong and un-American to discriminate against people based on their sexual orientation.

Beautiful.

The Daily show had a most interesting segment about this that I highly recommend you watch. John Stewart is a very diverting and sexy man.

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c
Gaypocalypse Now
www.thedailyshow.com
Daily Show Full Episodes Political Humor The Daily Show on Facebook

Just because it is confusing and bewildering...

doesn't mean it isn't totally awesome.

See the un-aired musical dance number wherein Craig Ferguson explains what Americans need to know about Doctor Who. I'm going to have to insist that you watch this.



Thanks for the link, i09. For reals.

Hide your kids, hide your wife, and hide your husband, because rabid otters are attacking everyone out here.

Rabid. Otter. Attacks.

Thanks for nothing, Nature.

There have been three recent attacks on humans, including two passers-by, and one man filming the otter in his own yard.

Most disturbingly, this otter crime wave was kicked off when, and I'm not shitting you, an otter broke into someone's house and bit their dog, Chester, on the nose.

Otters, right? Total assholes.

Photo credit.

A smell from the deepest pits of R'lyeh; A Thanksgiving Story

On Thanksgiving morning my uncle and I bundled up and drove the truck down treacherous roads, seeking to bring Great Granny and her stalwart caretaker Peter cupcakes decorated to look like a turkey. This mission was clearly of the utmost importance.

We trundled out there against the advice from Peter, the world's nicest man. Peter speaks in halting English, primarily learned from the elderly people in his care. I wasn't quite sure, but it sounded a little bit like he said he didn't think coming out to Great Granny's in that weather was a very good idea. (Anybody else notice how frequently people suggest that maybe what I'm doing is not a very good idea?) I told him we'd see him shortly and in spite of weather like this:



we successfully delivered our precious cargo to Great Granny out in the sticks, then returned home triumphant to watch the Thanksgiving Day Parade.

The moment I'd shucked my winter gear and placed my boots on the heat vent, my Auntie called me to the kitchen.

"Smell this," she said. I'm pretty staunchly opposed to sniffing on command, but, it was Thanksgiving. As I opened the oven door, she continued, "Does it smell bad to you?". It wasn't the worst smell ever, but my super-sniffer warned me away. I agreed that it did not smell right. It, being the Thanksgiving turkey.

A mere 3 hours from guest arrival my uncle and I rebundled and headed outside to fight nature and last minute crowds in search of replacement poultry. The supermarket was nearly deserted, and one lone thawed turkey awaited us. A gorgeous twenty two pound bird... with an estimated cook time of 6 hours. A 5 hour gap between guest arrival and dinner sounded a little too long.

So we bought two chickens and a ham, just to be on the safe side and headed home. The first thing we noticed upon the return to the house was that the attic ladder was down. Curious.

As we entered the house the smell wave hit us like a garbage tsunami. I want you to understand that this smell was epic. It was profoundly terrible. At first I thought that all four dogs had eaten something squishy and dead, like a raccoon corpse that didn't agree with them, and resulted in four dog simultaneous in-door pooptastrophe. Times eleventy million.

This smell was Lovecraftian in it's horribleness- like something dredged from Cthulhu's anus.

This smell was our turkey. The turkey my uncle had declared he was going to cook to one hundred and eighty degrees and then consume in an effort to prove that brining the turkey in scalding hot water would not, in fact, kill every one of us.

Our turkey which, upon our return was already sitting outside in the snow, still in its roasting pan. Our turkey, which was so funky, so gnarly, so horrific that the dogs wouldn't go near it. Our dogs, who drag squirrel corpses under the porch to age like kimchi before rolling around in them and eating the squishy bits, and leaving the the empty squirrel fur and bone sacks lying about like deflated maggot balloons, found our Thanksgiving turkey so terrifyingly stinky that they wouldn't go near it.

Auntie had opened every window and door (it was less than 30 degrees), lit every candle in the house (including the holiday candles looted from the attic), and lit the fireplace. Yet the stench was oppressive. Two and a half hours later, when the first guest arrived it still smelled bad enough that he asked what had happened. My dearest friend, the nicest, most polite person in the world- he is from Kansas people, and his mother is Mennonite- asked about the unholy stank.

Other than the unspeakable horror that was the turkey, everything else turned out well. I trussed and roasted the chickens, and we baked up the ham.

Dinner was even on time and, by then, either we'd all adjusted to it, or the noxious cloud had finally dissipated.

But I will never forget the putrescence visited upon us on that day. This Thanksgiving the thing I was most thankful for is that I didn't have to wash the roasting pan.

Notes from the Janitorial Cupboard: Everything is A OK.

The custodian in my office, Jim, was, by odd coincidence, the custodian at my high school when I went there. He is and has always been one of the best, happiest, and kindest people I know.

Recently we commented that we had thought he might be on holiday, as we saw someone else doing some of his duties today. He told us that he's just training a substitute.

I said, "Ah, no holiday fun for you?"

And he replied, "I always have fun. I make my own fun. You know as a Vietnam Vet, as long as no one is shooting at me, I'm happy."

I've always believed in choosing to be happy, and today I add to that appreciating daily the many blessings in my life.

Happy Saturday!

Giving thanks.

Almost as good as giving cookies.

This year I'm thankful for:

• my family- I know that what seems like obnoxious nagging is actually attempted assistance; from people who are wiser than I;
• my boyfriend- for knowing what I want, when I don't, and for the abilility to say "no"- not to mention being generally adorable;
• all of my friends- for always being eager and supportive;
• in particular Steve- for understanding that poop jokes are always funny;
  
• my granny- for always being willing to drop everything to find a recipe for me;
• my job- for existing where there is scarcity;
• and to Angie- for making me go to the gym and making me laugh. You are one of the nicest, if not the nicest, people I know.
  

What are you thankful for?

At the gym Kanye-style!

I tried a new machine at the gym last week. IT WAS AWESOME:






















I'd never used the Adaptive Motion Trainer before because it looks too much like this:




















Scary right?

No?

Ok, well, here is what it looks like when someone is on it:





















Still no? Well, it is yellow and gray and taller than me. I assure you that the yellow really stands out at the gym where everything is gray or black.

Anyway, I got on there and once I got it going, it was like when I was young and lithe and could run with leaping strides. Those days before I jacked up my knee and foot from running with leaping strides.

And my knee was fine and my foot was fine. And I was leaping like a GAZELLE. And I was (loudly) telling Angie, my gym buddy, "I AM LIKE A GAZELLE! LEAP! LEAP! LEAP!" Angie choking on her water, as I moved my arms diving through the air in gazelle hoofs-like motion.

"I AM THE GAZELLE! GAZELLE! WOOSH! I'M FLYING! GAZEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLE!!!!!!!!!!"

"WOosh! Gazelle. gazelle... Holy shit. I'm so tired. How long have we been on these things?"

"10 minutes"

"FUCK."

So fine, I only did a mile, but for 50% of the time I was a gazelle.

Toilet Spider, WTF?!

Today at the Workplace WC, I turned to flush the toilet in my usual stall, and a SPIDER crawled out of the tiny gap in between the wall and the toilet and, given that spiders are pervs, undoubtedly took a picture with his tiny spider iPhone to send along to all the other spiders in the building or post on some sort of creepy spider file share of ladies' bottom pix.

Really, Spider, the toilet? You looked around and said, yep, this is where I want to live, in the toilet? Spider, you are all kinds of screwed up.

Later, I (because I'm an idiot) had forgotten about Toilet Spider (how did I forget, you ask? please see earlier parenthetical note) and when I went to flush, there was Toilet Spider, totally dead. His crunchy little spider corpse floating in a puddle of (I assume bleachy) water that sometimes leaks from the tank.

What did you see Toilet Spider? What horrible thing did you see that made you want to end it all? Please tell me it wasn't my bottom. Please tell me that it was just your time, but that you were happy to end your life on the positive note of my bottom.

Also let that be a warning to all other spiders; this bathroom is deadly. Nothing to see here. Move along.

Someone here is an ENORMOUS girl.

Most the time I'm just one of the guys at the comic store, but periodically I GIRL IT UP, HARDCORE.

Very much looking forward to:




Should I chase this with a poop joke to restore my credibility? Good call.

Texting, the Gateway to Gateway Drugs

CNN recently aired a story about a survey's results indicating that teenagers who spend large portions of time using social networks/texting are more likely to smoke, drink, use drugs, and have sex (possibly more interesting sex than I'm having) (kidding, Muffin).

So, what I'm hearing is that kids with more active social lives fall victim to social ills? That kids who spend more than 3 hours a day screwing around on the internet, unattended by adults, are more likely to have risky behavior?

Shocking.

As it turns out, popular kids with uninvolved parents and too much time on their hands do most of the cool kid dangerous stuff. I hope that this study was not paid for by the US government. That would be depressing. In related news, how about we do a study relating the relationship between time spent watching Babylon 5 and wedgies.

More critically, while the article clearly states that the relationship between texting and sex is not causal, in the TV segment, the host actually asked how to manage kid's texting to prevent teenagers having fun sex/a drink/drugs. Surely, if you turn off her phone's text function, your little princess will never have sex or drink. She will also cure cancer, sprout wings and fly, make cupcakes too beautiful to eat, and create peace in the Middle East.

I think that the horrific teen trend we should really, as adults, be concerned with is trampolining:

Love is...

giving away the last dumpling for his chicken soup.

Status of "American Ingenuity" jeopardized.

Remember that one time when I cleverly stopped my trunk leak by caulking it?

Remember the incredulity of the guy at Home Depot, as he said, "I don't know if that's a good idea."

Now, this is going to come as a HUGE shock, guess what was not maybe a very good idea? Did you guess caulking my trunk? Good guess.

My tail light is out. But I sealed the aperture with caulk. So now I have to disconnect my car battery, remove the caulking, fix the light, and then re-caulk that space and reconnect the battery.

Why disconnect the battery? Because knives + wires = bad news bears.

Why re-caulk? Because I don't have a better idea about how to fix my leaky trunk. (Which sounds like an embarrassing disease for elephants.)

The internet, which was silent on this issue when I was googling the hell out of it, now tells me that I can remove my light wells and then caulk with some specific sort of putty. Thanks for nothing, internet.

That's a ton of work well beyond my level of caring/ability. I think I'll just re-caulk it and hope that the light doesn't go out again before the car shudders to a stop on I5 in rush hour.

Happy Vetran's Day

A beautiful short animation of a brilliant piece of writing.

Gettysburg Address from Adam Gault on Vimeo.

Regional restroom sherpa available!

Remember those halcyon days of yore when I daydreamed of how I would spend my 30th birthday?
No? (Scroll down, could be fun.)
Well, they were awesome. After much debate, I decided on a weekend in Leavenworth, frolicking in the sun, eating delicious Bavarian pastries, petting goats, and making smoochy face with Muffin.

That would have been pretty sweet. Instead I led Muffin on a tour of every restroom between Seattle and Leavenworth. Thanks to food poisoning, courtesy of The Bite of Seattle, I spent the entirety of my 30th birthday disrespecting countless bathrooms, drinking ginger ale, and weeping softly into the luxuriant hotel pillows.

Luckily, by Sunday I recovered in time to enjoy the many splendors of Leavenworth.

I didn't want one, but Muffin demanded we have a commemorative photo taken.



















Rawr, hands off, ladies- that's my Muffin!