Insert Witty Title Including the Words 'Fuck' and Auld Lang Syne' Here

I don't do New Years resolutions, because I'm already a scrawny stick bug, I lose any more weight I'll be dead. I don't smoke, my gambling is limited to walking across the bedroom floor barefoot with 2 cats, 2 kids and a puppy in the house, and don't even talk to me about the demon drink. It loves me, and you can't give up on love.

Speaking of giving up, Dick Clark will be back for ABC's broadcast from Times Square, with Ryan Seacrest the Boy Wonder as co-host. It seems that once the picture of Dick Clark is finally destroyed and the electrodes inside him short out, Ryan will be taking over as the head vampire. It's the end of days, people; get your affairs in order and kiss your butts goodbye.

So, another year is come and gone, and all I have to say is 'Where the fuck did the year go? For that matter, what the hell happened to my shoes?' I don't have any type of actual list, but I did read a few books and saw a handful of movies and didn't see and didn't read a lot more. Best movie I've seen: Chronicles of Narnia. Yes, it's a 'kids' movie, and yes, there was a lot of Christian symbology, but just bite me, ok? It was a great movie. I read the whole series when I was in elementary school, and just this summer gave my son the set my dad gave me when he was still a dad and not a selfish wanker. There were some deviations from the book, but C.S. Lewis wrote the books in such a way that they could be interpreted any number of ways. So, you can go in and draw the obvious inferences: Aslan=Jesus; the White Witch=Satan; or you can make your own comparisons: Aslan=Larry Flynt; The White Witch=Jerry Falwell. It works for anybody: David Letterman/Oprah Winfrey; 1980's Michael Jackson/1990s on Michael Jackson. Try it. Or you can just go and enjoy a good movie, whatever floats your boat.
Other good movies that should be seen but will be suitable for DVD: Wallace and Gromit and the Curse of the Were-Rabbit. Mr. and Mrs. Jones (but only for the part where Brad Pitt goes off a cliff in a speeding car).

I've read a few books, but none were really worth a mention except that the Da Vinci code sucked and the Harry Potter books are always good.

Books I haven't read yet but really want to: Memoirs of a Geisha. I got this as a Christmas present and I have to sit down and read it quickly before I see the movie and I have to see the movie in the theater or my life just won't be worth living. (Thanks to Steph, for a mini-review of the movie so I won't go in with my hopes too high.) I'm also looking forward to reading The Time Traveler's Wife, a book which was suggested somewhere on Defective Yeti's blog. I also started reading but didn't get very far into Wicked. No, I'm not too keen on seeing the the musical, but I suppose it'll beat a poke in the eye.

Movies I missed:
Corpse Bride. If this is still in dollar movies, we might take the kids, but if I have to wait till DVD I'll be okay.
Mirror Mask. This only played for one week in our town, and by the time we got over the Christmas carnage, it had packed its bags and left. Can't describe how monumentally this sucks. The reviews for it were mixed, but since it was A) produced by the Jim Henson Company and was B) described as being '... like the crack baby of Labyrinth and Alice in Wonderland...' I think it deserves a look.

Movies I really wish I had missed:
The Brothers Grimm. I missed this in the theaters, and damn, I wish I had missed it on DVD, but at least I didn't miss it with my shotgun. (OK, fine, I didn't use a shotgun, but doesn't a well-directed eye-rolling and a highly derisive snort amount to the same thing?) The highest bit of praise I can give it was that its director once made good movies.
Valiant. I rented this for the kids. At least the plot summary was short.

And finally, since he's begging for everyone to do this, and he's a 7-foot tall selfish wanker, I'd like to bid a fond farewell to MPH, who is the Sir Robin in our little corner of Blog Camelot (it's just a model!) and he's not going to get a sandwich NOW, but at least I'm not going to turn him into a newt.

Friday Free-For-All

Has been cancelled, mostly because it sucks.

Anyway, my Christmas was better than my Thanksgiving, in that all the food I shoved down my gullet stayed there. And oh, there was so much food, and there is still so much food. And there is so much suckitude in this post, and that's not going away, either.

T2 had his doubts about Santa, and was questioning the existence of the jolly fat old fuck up till the last minute when he barrelled across the room and over his sister in a desperate bid to get to bed on time. He even went so far as to bribe him, leaving a $1.00 on the table and a note alongside the plate of cookies. Supplicating the elderly with sweeties and cash, smart lad. I'm figuring this new found faith will last till the innocence killing bastards of the 4th grade get a hold of him next week.

So, after the early morning freak out, we headed over to Grandma's to continue the carnage there. And what carnage it was ...

I got a fondue pot, and Memoirs of a Geisha, and the first season of PeeWee's Playhouse and did you know that Laurence Fishburne was Cowboy Curtis and Phil Hartman was Captain Carl and Natasha Lyonne was Opal? Those alone were worth the price of admission, and he had a talking chair named Chairry, which just makes it so much better!

The scarf wasn't finished in time, as predicted, but it was still received with much enthusiasm and just enough B.S. to supplicate me without the use of chocolate or a $20. The man was quite enamored of his presents, one of which was a iron bar in a clay pot which was wrapped in a paper bag and duct tape. Fine, it should have been an aluminum bar, but you can just bite me, okay?

And that's about all the suckiness I can dish out for now. I'll be back later with twice the amount, never fear.

Friday Free-For-All

I don't have time to eat, much less post.

However, this should get you all through till I come back.

The D' Isney Code

I'm being kind when I say my latest posts have been ... pretty shitty. Instead of retiring, throwing in the towel, packing it in and packing it up and sneaking away and buggering up and chickening out and pissing off home, yes, bravely throwing in the sponge, which seems to be all the rage these days, I fished into the murky depths of my mind to find something that won't make you want to impale yourself and your pets on a sharpened candy cane. I couldn't find anything, so instead I'm going to talk about a book which caused major controversy and discussions and public beatings in Piggly Wiggly parking lots. Of course, this was months ago, and everyone's all talked about it and nobody gives a flying reindeer fuck anymore, so why not bring it all up again?

Since everyone's either read the book or decided to NOT read the book because everyone who had told them how much it sucked, I'll just go over the key points. (Or I'll just make shit up, and see who's paying attention.)

The book starts out with Jacques Sauniere, the curator of the museum, who in the first chapter is shot in the stomach and left to die. However, he's a remarkably clever man with a passion for the Weekly Jumble, and before he bleeds to death, he finds the time to run around and leave obscure clues before finally taking off all his clothes and arranging his dying body into a final clue for his granddaughter to find instead of just leaving the name of his killer because he's that smart.

Naturally, when the police find the body, in a stroke of deductive genius, they immediately contact Robert Langdon, who is a religious symbologist and naturally the best person to solve a murder. Especially since he is the main suspect, and rather than handcuffing him and taking him in for questioning, they decide that bringing him to the scene of the crime and glaring at him while making thinly veiled accusations is the best course of action.

Next we meet Sophie Neveu, a brilliant cryptologist, granddaughter of the dead guy, and prude extraordinaire. We can tell she's a brilliant cryptologist because not only does she trick Robert into explaining the meaning behind several different codes, she speaks with a French accent.

So, the dead old man with a fetish for kinky sex is dead, he leaves several clues behind that point to the fact that Jesus was doing the horizontal mambo with Mary Magdalene, and we all know this because Da Vinci included her in The Last Supper, and he was a painter so he KNOWS THINGS. (He also included Thing from the Addams Family, a link which is inexplicably omitted.)

Along the way we discover that Walt Disney was also in on the conspiracy theory, and he left several hints in movies that were made years after he was already dead. Clever move, that. One of the movies which had hints was The Little Mermaid because Ariel had red hair. Which makes perfect sense, but what does the giant schlong mean?

So, Sophie and Robert hightail it out of the museum, she continues to pretend to be a dumbass to keep Robert and his highly irritating fop of a best friend an excuse to exposition the shit out of everything while maintaining the writer's illusion that Sophie's character will keep them feminist chicks out there happy.

Blah blah blah and la-di-dah, there are car chases and footraces and a lot of words and finally the whole thing is over and I can devote the rest of this post to something much more important, like Googling my ass.

We Want ... A Shrubbery! (A Nice One, Not Too Expensive.)

The War on Christmas has hit close to home. In fact, it's IN my home, and about 2 feet to my right. We brought in and decorated the tree last night, and my cat (who shall hereon be called Stinky, not to be confused with her much older and larger 'brother' FatBoy), was in Evil Kitty Hell Spawn heaven (or wherever it is that Demon Cats go to party), targeting only the most fragile and irreplaceable ornaments and whatever bare foot happened to wander past the tree. She has not managed to eat anything yet, I can survive with 9 toes, and the dog is still alive and not crushed to death with a Hallmark Snoopy ornament lodged in her skull, so I can safely say that, as yet, she has failed to destroy this most sacred holiday which is in no way superior to Kwanzaa, Chanukah, Festivus or Bill O'Reilly.

So, we obviously have our Christmas tree up, sans lights because they don't work anymore. The corn husk Nativity scene is done and waiting to be mailed off (even if Mary looks like she had too much Communion wine and can't stop tipping forward into Joseph's nether regions). The Hogwarts scarf, at roughly 1 stripe per 4 hours multiplied by 18 stripes minus 4 stripes divided by 6 days equals one less present under the tree and I'm sure the math isn't right but I'm not finishing the damn thing in time and if you have a problem you can take it up with Santa, dammit oh, and Merry Christmas, darling. The doll clothes will be finished in time, but only because T2 has complete and total faith in everything I say, from "I'm not making anything here, I'm just practicing on my sewing machine and Santa must have come early and eaten all the fudge and although it's only 3 in the afternoon and 7 days till Christmas, I'm pretty sure I heard sleigh bells on the roof so you better get to bed and stay there till I call you."

Now all that is left to do is get the last minute gifts and stocking stuffers; have the customary Christmas Eve meltdown when we realize that although we have enough wrapping paper to entirely cover the White House, we don't have any Scotch tape, and it's somehow your mother's fault, don't blame ME; prepare the airing of the grievances and perform the feats of strength; right before consuming enough spiked eggnog to take down a buffalo and passing out under the tree.

Happy Kwansmasukahus, everyone.

Friday Free-For-All

Hey, I have a novel idea. Why not just change the name of this entire fucking blog to Friday Free For All, since that seems to be the majority of the posts?

Best laid plans: I had every intention of going to no less than 3 classroom holiday parties, having adult conversation with whatever adults were in the room, while stuffing my face with as much free chocolate and baked goods as I could wrest away from people shorter than I. However, before the first party even started, T2 complained that her eyes hurt, crawled into my lap and started to cry. So, my original plan was condensed into making a mad dash at 3 parties, stuffing my pockets with as much chocolate and baked goods as would fit, and only elbowing one third grader in the throat as I left. So I went home, and instead worked on doll clothes, and watched The Gilmore Girls and tried to see the appeal. I didn't succeed, but I have a new appreciation for throwing small appliances through the television screen.

Here are some good movies to knit to:
All the Harry Potter movies.
Pirates of the Caribbean.
Scrooged.
The Truman Show.

Someone said that if I were to knit using wool yarn, the lanolin would get on my fingers and help heal my cracked skin. Someone LIED.

Boogers are just a bad invention.

Cheese, however, is really good. I like cheese. And bread. I love bread.

Eh, that's it.

Because I Have Nothing Better To Do.

OK, so let's forget the fact that I have as yet not started on the doll clothes for the Demon Doll I gave T2 for her birthday last year.

Let's also wipe from our collective memory (memories?) that I have also not yet started to LEARN how to knit a Gryffindor scarf for T1 for his Christmas present.

We can, however, take solace and pride in the fact that I have finished the corn husk doll Nativity scene for my mother-in-law and have earned major bonus points with the husband which I will most definitely cash in the next time he asks me to do something vile and unnatural such as housework.

We will all be very relieved next week when we are able to purchase the material for and make the knotted fleece blanket for my father-in-law.

Along the way, let us continue our search for the perfect gift for the husband which will hopefully bring a smile to his face, joy to his heart, and an unending desire to his brain to wash the dishes for the rest of his natural life.

Let us ignore the unfolded clothes and the stack of unopened mail collecting in the living room. Irons and paid bills are for suckers.

Let us instead focus our energies on making Christmas tree ornaments with the children to give to their teachers and not for a moment remark that we do not even HAVE a Christmas tree yet. It's Christmas time, not Logic time. What's the matter with you?

Yea and verily, we shall spend two hours of our lives which we shall never get back watching the Amazing Race Family Edition and cheering just because the Weaver family DIDN'T win and grouse just a teensy weensy bit that none of them were eaten by a bear or Rollie didn't just run them over with a golf cart for being such huge buttheads and making him do every-freaking-thing that involved physical movement.

We shall steadily and dedicatedly breathe into paper bags and recite calming mantras whenever we realize that we will be have to entertain the children for 2 weeks during the Winter Break.

We shall also make up words because it makes us feel smart.

Finally, we shall write long-keyed and tedious blogposts about the above mentioned projects instead of actually doing them because that is just the right thing to do.

Praise be.

Friday Free-For-All

Enough mental laundry lint for everyone! Enjoy.

If mean people suck, do nice ones blow?

My cat has lips. Why does my cat have lips? Can somebody tell my cat that cats aren't supposed to have lips?

I liked the movie just fine, but c'mon. This has got to stop.

I know how to make the world a better place. To hell with peace, harmony, and the rest of that stuff. What we need is more penguin farmers.

Oh, my, this is even worse than the last post. But I'm still bothered about my cat's lips. And her tail is at least an inch too long ...

I've started knitting. Because I'm an idiot, that's why. But I'll be an idiot who will have a shitload of ugly scarves, so THERE.

I have polka dot underwear, and they make me feel very special.

Lips! On a CAT!

My husband has the worst superhero powers I've ever heard of. He can't stretch his body to unnatural length, he can't fly, but he can rub his stockinged feet on the carpet, and knock the cat through the wall just by touching its nose.

LIPS?!?

I can't go on anymore. This is just too disturbing.

My Dog's a Carpet Muncher

Dogs are gross. Not gross as in what one earns before taxes, or gross as in certain of dogs. My, would ya look at that pack of dogs! There must be nearly a gross there!

No, gross as in what they put in their mouths, what comes out of their mouths, and what comes out of other places that aren't their mouths, but most certainly will go back in their mouths if certain people at the other end of the leash don't pick it up while screaming NO! BAD DOG.

Other dog owners don't say this, either, no. They blather on and on about how great dogs, how loyal they are, how smart, how well accessorized, how they can kill a man in 30 seconds without leaving a mark and the CIA would be LUCKY to have them. While they are blathering on about Fido's ability to count to do long division and rebuild a carburetor blindfolded, they fail to mention the fact that just that morning he had cat feces hors douvres.

When CatDog was a puppy, I didn't mind, because she limited her intake to puppy food and my fingers, and she could fit into my SHOE, and if that just isn't the cutest fucking thing, then I guess it isn't, but she was in my shoe! She was in my shoe and isn't her puppy breath intoxicating and oh, look she's in my shoe again!

She can't fit in my shoe anymore, and oh, dear god, the grossness. The first time I was forced to witness the gross factor was while on a walk with one of her brothers, in a misguided attempt to socialize her to stop biting the crap out of us and start biting the crap out of other dogs like she's supposed to. Best laid plans of mice, men, and woefully misled dog owners. Instead of behaving like a good dog, and guiding her younger brother to the path of righteousness and not peeing on stuff anymore, she led him off the path, into a low hanging thicket of sharp and pointy branches that humans couldn't penetrate, and straight into an all you can eat buffet of horse shit. See? Gross.

CatDog isn't all bad, of course. There is something to be said for a small creature that just wags his entire body because you went outside the gate to check the mail and dear god why can't I be with you and are you ever coming back and just because I can see you doesn't mean that you won't just poof disappear in a puff of smoke and oh you're coming back you were gone for a whole 3 minutes and it is time for the sniffing and making sure you are really real. Definitely not gross, there. There's also the whole 'barking and defending your humans and property from the evil scarecrows of doom you just placed in the front yard while I watched the whole thing take place but they are clearly evil and must be destroyed from a distance by the sound of my barking while I stand on the porch and do not go near them and it's a good thing I don't have ready access to a word processor or computer because I have no grasp of correct punctuation. Plus, I have no thumbs. How you are reading my thoughts is also just way beyond me but did I mention the evil scarecrows and oh, look, poop!

Oh, and my dog is not a really offensive term (that I would of course never use except as a blog post title read by pretty much anybody who wanders by but it's just a play on words to entice people to read and not meant to be derogatory in any way, shape, or form so that makes it okay) for a lesbian, but really tried to eat my carpet as in my floor covering. Because there was a vast shortage of horse shit in my house. And, she's just gross.

Next post: Well, tomorrow's already Friday, so I'm sure y'all can figure it out.

Friday Free For All*

*Which In No Way Takes the Place of Carpet Munching Dogs But Merely Serves as a Buffer Post Until Such Time as a Sufficient Post May Be Produced And Blogger Gives You a Limit on How Long Post Titles Can Be, Did You Know That?

Anyway, here's the goods.

Paparazzi are morons. They spot Super Famous and Wildly Overrated Celebrity A strolling down the carpet at Nationally Televised and Stupendously Over-Hyped Awards Ceremony, and what do they do? Start calling her name: "Hey, Super Famous and Wildly Overrated Celebrity A! Look over here!" When has this ever worked? HAS this ever worked? Wouldn't a better attention-getter be to start screaming: "Help, help, my baby's on fire!" ? I bet it would.

Odd Thing That Bugs My Husband #847973: Disney's persistence in including Belle from Beauty and the Beast in it's Disney Princesses clique, because: "She's NOT a princess!" Not that Cinderella is, but it's his gripe, let him split the hairs.

I had a really good observation to make, and I thought of it while I was brushing my teeth, but then I dripped water down my arm, and got my bathrobe sleeve all wet and cold and forgot it and that really sucks because it was a GOOD one. But isn't it a bitch to have wet bathrobe sleeves? (She said drily.)

I had more to say, but ... well, dammit, my sleeves are wet! I can't be expected to work under these conditions!

That is all.