Bring it, 2012. Bring it.

Do you like my new glasses? Do you? I got them in Vegas. When I opened them up this morning one of the thingys that helps to hold them up (it goes kinda behind your ear) was broken. Sad Panda.

I put them on anyway and then took a bunch of horrible photos of me in crooked glasses that said 2012. I did this instead of the cleaning and organizing I was supposed to be doing. I did it just for you, Internet. Just for you.

Happy New Year to you and yours from me and mine.

P.S. I hope that these glasses are not indicative of what my 2012 will be like...crooked and too big for my face.

Vegas, I hardly knew thee.

Vegas, Vegas, Vegas.

Once upon a time I hated you.

Now, I love you.

LOVE.

There are many reasons for me to profess my love to you, Vegas. Chief among those reasons are renewing my vows at the most iconic Vegas drive-thru wedding chapel, seeing the most fucking hysterical, amazing comedy/acrobatic/performer/awesomeness show EVER, eating to-die-for food (the British waitress was a major bonus), and the posh hotel we stayed in...but...also...the below...really sealed the deal.

You get me.

Party Rats: Ideal for NIGHT BLOGGING (obviously).

You really get me.



You really, really, REALLY get me.


There were about 10 more that I wanted to buy but I didn't see them until I had already checked out and they were in a section with other pop culture satire that I can't believe I missed and pulling out my wallet AGAIN just seemed like a lot of work. So I'm going back in March. I will complete my collection of I DIED FROM THE HILARIOUSNESS packs of gum then. (Because...need I say it? Fine. I WILL. Because, OBVIOUSLY.)

More later on Vegas, maybe. We'll see how share-y I'm feeling...you guys know the saying...what happens in Vegas...stays in Vegas (and sometimes on my blog).

P.S. I was not compensated in any way, shape or form for the opinions I shared here. I share them because I had an amazing time and want you to have an amazing time, too. Also, I think I love you.


P.P.S. Too soon for the proclamations of love? I'll wait until our third date, then.

The happity.

I'm leaving on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be back again.

Really though it's more like this:

I'm leaving in my new car, I'll be back on Thursday.

But that doesn't rhyme.

Not that the plane and again rhyme either but they rhyme more than car and Thursday.

We had a very Merry Christmas. In addition to all the lovely gifts I received from my family, my husband surprised me with a DSLR and we finally got rid of my POS (that I loved truly, madly, deeply).

So now I have two things that I have no idea how to use.

Did I mention where we are going?

No?

Good. I don't want you to try to murder me.

I'm not worried about you breaking into my house. Not only will there be people staying here but I have an alarm system, 3 vicious Chihuahuas, 1 vicious 200 pound Mastiff, people who like to shoot guns, and 1 very questionable garden gnome. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

I shall spend my time in the car on the way to the place that I am going learning how to use the camera. I figure that I'll eventually learn how to use all the fancy buttons in my car, too. For now, it is enough that I know how to make it go vroom vroom and it doesn't have duct tape holding it together and also doesn't smell like a combination of old coffee and dog pee.

I'll be back.

That's a threat.

Not a promise.

Merry Christmas To You and Yours

Love, Me and My Migraine

Also, THIS.

It was this card. 

You're welcome.

It's a house, made out of gingerbread.

Yesterday I took the day off from work to spend some time with the kid (also the husband had a doctor's appointment and the dogs had to go to the vet...but you probably didn't need to know all of that). On the agenda: make a Gingerbread House (from a kit, obvs.) and clean the house.

Only one of those things got done.

I'll let you figure it out on your own, Watson.

I ended up spending a lot of the time, by myself, making a Gingerbread House. She helped a little. I wish I could say that she helped more than she did because, um, yeah.

Mostly done by: Shakey McShakerson, Esquire.

Life lesson #987: always bring a skinny, spunky person shopping with you.

Shopping: doing it right.

That is my mom's foot.


We really wanted the gray "Pack and Go" Leather Travel Totes.


We really, really wanted them. 


I could have helped but I was too busy taking pictures.


And I would have gotten stuck being that I am not skinny. But I am spunky.


Sometimes.


I just TP'd your house!


BOOYAH!


See?

How Mark Zuckerberg Almost Ruined Christmas

Picture it, my house and the Internet, 2011.

I get a phone call from my sister...it was one of those "hi what are you doing, nothing what are you doing, nothing, omg that video you put on Facebook is hilarious, great - now I need to go watch it again, hahahaha" calls. We also talked about when we were going to take our family photo. She has a weird work schedule so we always work around her availability. We agreed on a certain date and time (that I am not going to tell you because hullo, you are all murderers. Probably.)

I told her that she needed to e-mail everybody and tell them what we decided and she told me that I needed to get on it and I told her to get on it, and then we hung up at the same time because neither one of us wanted to get on anything.

HOWEVER.

Being that I'm the eldest, and the most responsible, and the one who basically has to do everything all of the time or else nothing would get done, I decided I would just message everybody on Facebook.

This is what I sent:

My sister immediately replied with:

EXCEPT...it came up as a chat...so I replied right there in that little chat window...located in the area noted with the green text below.

Over. And over. And over. AND OVER.

























As I was thinking what a brat she was to chat me and then not respond, I called my husband. Right after he said "hello", my sister called me. I switched over to tell her I'd call her right back (thinking she wanted to apologize to me for ignoring me on Facebook because that is the only right and noble thing to do in this situation) and she says, "ugh, ok, fine." The nerve! How dare she get all exasperated with me when she was the one who was ignoring me!

I finish talking with my husband and am just about to call her when I see that I have a new inbox message on Facebook. Ah, I think. THE APOLOGY HAS ARRIVED.

NOPE.

PANIC.

All those what-I-thought-were-supposed-to-be private chats between my sister and I? THE ONES IN WHICH I MENTIONED THE SUPER SECRET CHRISTMAS PRESENT FOR MY PARENTS? THEY WENT TO EVERYONE. INCLUDING MY PARENTS. (WHY AM I YELLING AT YOU? YOU HAVE MY SINCEREST APOLOGIES. BUT I HAVE TO YELL AT SOMEONE AND I DOUBT MARK IS GOING TO READ THIS POST.)

When did inbox messages start going to the chat window?? And why wasn't I consulted? This is an outrage! I pay exactly $0.00 for this service that allows me to connect with my family and friends and I should have a say!

I call my sister. I'm frantic, she's laughing. I'm trying to delete, she is still laughing. I hang up. I decide to log into my mom's Facebook account (I set them up so I know the passwords that will probably be changed now, dammit) and delete all the messages. I go into my dad's account and start deleting messages...but more keep coming in as soon as I delete them.

So I call my sister back and tell her to STOP SENDING MESSAGES because every time I delete one she and my brother have posted two more. She laughs. I hang up on her and call my brother. He's laughing and tells me that I fail at Facebook. I tell him that I tried to just delete it from mine but they were still there so I had to log in to our parent's accounts. He tells me that I do not have super Facebook access that allows me to change what other people have already received. I tell him to shut it. He continues laughing. And sends more messages, KNOWING I AM STILL TRYING TO DELETE THEM.

I tell him to go into my parent's room and get their iPhones and delete anything that might be there. He tells me that I'm crazy and that he is not going to do that and I tell him that I would do it for him but he must hate me and I hang up on him. I log out of my dad's account and go back into my mom's to delete the new messages they have sent and make a mental note to find a way to get back at my siblings.

And then, to top it off, I get a new message in that EVIL chat window area:

She and Mark Zuckerberg have one thing in common...they are both getting coal for Christmas.


P.S. Blogging, obviously a priority in my life. 

P.P.S. We will not speak of the apology that I probably owe my sister for thinking she was ignoring me and getting short with me on the phone. WE WILL NOT SPEAK OF IT, I SAID.

P.P.S. It may not have been entirely Mark Zuckerberg's fault but don't tell him that.

SOC Sunday: In my face.

I've missed the last few SOC's for no particular reason other than I didn't have the desire to do very much at all, really. I decided that I wanted to do SOC this weekend but wasn't sure I had it in me after a marathon shopping session with an ankle that STILL hurts. My feet are throbbing right now, in tune with the ankle that is throbbing and the back that is throbbing and the heartburn I feel creeping up my chest. Someone take me out back and shoot me already. But wait, let me take this Vicodin first. Ok, you can shoot me now.

Anyway, I was lamenting to my friend Lauren that I wasn't sure I had it in me to do SOC and she reminded me that it was kind of the same thing as this. So I decided that she was right. All I had to do is pretend I was trying to annoy her again and the words would come. Even if the words were extremely weird.

Today was family photo day. I'm much more excited for the photos that aren't going to make the cut than for the photo that will. It was so much fun I peed my pants from laughing so hard. I'm particularly interested in the photo of my brother trying to run to get in the picture after a 2 second delay and my dad trying to run to get in the picture and the dog being so freaked out that he jumped on him to make sure he was okay. My mom had a great idea to print all of the outtakes and display them around the "good" photo of all of us. I'm not sure that I'll think any of the photos are "good" because when I looked at them all I hated them. When my brother asked me what was wrong with them I told him...um...MY FACE.

I take horrible photos. I always do something weird. Remember in Talladega Nights when he's doing the promos and he's not sure what to do with his hands? That's me with my face. And now I want to watch that movie.

Ok, my five minutes are almost up and my Vicodin is kicking in and I need to get to bed because I have to get up early to finish my last bit of shopping before I can be officially done - D-U-N - done!

Wishing all of you a wonderful, joyous, and most importantly, relaxing holiday.



This was my 5 minute Stream of Consciousness Sunday post. It’s five minutes of your time and a brain dump. Want to try it? Here are the rules:

• Set a timer and write for 5 minutes only. 
• Write an intro to the post if you want but don’t edit the post. 
• No proofreading or spellchecking. This is writing in the raw. 
• Publish it somewhere. Anywhere. The back door to your blog if you want. But make it accessible. 
• Add the Stream of Consciousness Sunday badge to your post. Link up your post on all.things.fadra. 
• Visit your fellow bloggers and show some love.

Nothing to see here.

But there is something to see over on Lauren's blog, Spill the Beans...so just mosey on over there to read about my latest shenanigans.

And remember this...

ONCE

...is all that it takes.

ONCE.

Things that make me wish I was wearing Depends.

Flula. Oh, Flula. How you make me laugh my head off. (Really, your head comes off?)

YES.

YES IT DOES.


"I have not read this." DYING.


And Lenny is like "uuugh." Most def.


"Omelet!" No words.


"They inventing like Ice Age, then they invented Civil War, and then uh the Internet, and then uh...Facebook and...uh." Reader's Digest version, probably.

If you are not subscribed to Flula's YouTube channel you might have a fever. Please go to the doctor, stat.

Wish I may, wish I might, have this wish I wish tonight.

A good night's rest...cuddled up with that dog right there.

Holiday gift advice for the nerds in your life.

I'm over at Off the Deep End today giving holiday gift advice, as I do.

It's really, really, really good gift guide, not like other gift guides, I promise. Check it out or a swarm of locusts on your house, I say!

Just kidding about the locusts.

But, seriously I'm not kidding about my awesome gift guide.

Go.

Go now.

Hipster Cat, never fails to amuse me.

There should not be this much talk of balls when decorating the Christmas tree.

Decorating the Christmas tree with my 12 year old this year is much different than it ever was in years past...and the reason for this?

Balls.

I meant to say "hand me that big bulb" but I said "hand me that big ball."

That was more than her 12 year old mind could handle so she laughed hysterically for what seemed like forever. And she continued to call them balls, natch. I couldn't let it go either - I mean, come on - it was funny. So every time I said "hand me a big ball" or "move that ball" or "put that ball in that hole near the middle of the tree" she laughed.

Hysterically.

At one point she got a little carried away and I had to admonish her by telling her that all this talk of balls while we decorated the Christmas tree was not what Baby Jesus would want and to stop talking about it for Christ's sake. I'm pretty sure that means I win at parenting.

My husband escaped to the other room and pretended not to hear us.

It was probably better that way...because what came next? Disturbing.

She found this little piece of Christmas joy that in all the years I've had him has never been subjected to such humiliation.

Pull his string, that has a red ball at the end, and his hands and legs go up.

And he screams, "oh me tenders!" or "these ladies are pulling my balls!" or "aiyyyeee!"

Apparently.


Joyeux Noël à vous et les vôtres.

The happity haps.

My lovely lovelies, how are you? I miss writing to you everyday but can't say I don't miss the pressure of having to write everyday. And now that I've written that sentence I can't remember what I was going to write about...maybe I should write everyday after all.

Let's go with some updates, shall we?

My ankle...still sprained...still sore....still on crutches when I walk long distances.

My babymaker...still broke.

My to-do list...still not to-done.

Holy Baby Jesus...I really have not accomplished anything in the last 5 days except for making sure that my adjustable bed is now sufficiently broken in, proving that you can go without showering for 4 days in a row with only a slight stink, and becoming addicted to A Game of Thrones (the books, not the show...yet). It was very confusing at first, but now that I've finished the first book...I think I've got everybody straight and I can't wait to start the second, A Clash of Kings...in t-minus 5 minutes.

Keep on keepin' on.

Bed rest is not for the weak.

Here are some things that I learned while laying in bed for 4 days whilst I recovered from my unfortunate accident.

1. The Internet is not round. There is such a thing as the end of the Internet. I know because I found it. 

2. Eating your meals in the same place that you sleep is kinda gross. 

3. Eating brownies in the same place that you sleep is not gross. 

4. Things like a trip to the bathroom start to sound like an exotic vacation. 

5. When you start using one crutch and pretending you're Mad-Eye Moody on your very few trips away from the bed it might be time to re-evaluate your life.

I'm sure there are more things I could list but my brain has turned to mush...like a bowl of oatmeal...mmm...oatmeal...with brown sugar...might be time to hobble downstairs. I'd ring the bell but the kid is in bed because she has school tomorrow, the husband has caught the plague, and the dogs are only good for cuddles and pooping on the rug. So I guess I've got to get my own damn oatmeal.  

The honeymoon is over.

Smooches.

Life lesson #763 - shave your legs once a day.

My iPhone!
I'm not going to fall!
Yes, yes I am.
BOOM.

On my knees, hands, my ankle - throbbing.

I struggle to get up, my coworkers help me, adding a new kind of bruising - to my ego.

My strong little iPhone survived my fall - I call my mom to ask her to pick me up and take me home.

Of course she insisted I go to the doctor first.

I don't need to go to the doctor! I just need some ice.
You're going to the doctor.
But I haven't shaved my legs in weeks!
Trust me, they aren't going to be looking at your leg hair.
Yes they will! I can feel them judging me already!

She drops me off in front of the doctor's office.

Stay here, I'll get you a wheelchair.
I am NOT sitting in a wheelchair!

I wait, get sent for x-rays, feel their eyes judging my inch long leg hair, ask the tech to draw me like one of his french girls, wait more, into the room, more waiting, my mom leaves, the husband and the kid arrive, reading Breaking Dawn on my lovely, strong iPhone, more judging of the leg hair, examination of the intense swelling, "just" a sprain, will get worse before it gets better, a prescription for Vicodin, the gel brace, crutches.

And now, here I lay in bed, having finished Breaking Dawn (total Twilight convert, this die-hard Harry Potter fan is not ashamed to admit), my leg throbbing in pain, waiting for the next hour to pass so I can take more Vicodin and go into my own little twilight state.

Not how I expected to be spending my weekend, but it's par for the course lately - I'm so breakable. If only I were a vampire or a werewolf - I'm not picky. I tease my husband that he did say "in sickness and in health" and it's not my fault that the minute after we got married that I spent more time sick than healthy. At least not this time - I was just walking!

But I've learned the best lesson of all - along the lines of the proverbial "always wear clean underwear in case you are in an accident"..."shave your legs once a day (a pedicure once in awhile wouldn't hurt either) in case you find yourself in a situation where you may need to take off your pants because you won't want to explain that your anxiety over your leg hair is what is causing your blood pressure to rise."


Plus vous en savez.

Going to the doctor.

It's December.

YOU GUYS - DECEMBER!!!

SANTA (I KNOW HIM!) IS ON HIS WAY.

I love this time of year...but seriously...where did all that time go?

Hold me.

Today I stayed home with a sick kid. I had to bum a ride from my brother to take her to the doctor. Here are some pictures of my seat mate that I took during our drive.

Enjoy.

Please move, he says with his eyes.

Can't you see how uncomfortable I am?

Please.

Is this real leather? I might chew it.

Taken by my brother, while he waited for us. Sad puppy.

Also, the kid is going to be just fine - back on asthma medication and a strict diet of sleepytime tea and otter pops.

Husband is home tonight, TAG YOU'RE IT (I shall say to him).

Back to work for me tomorrow - 8 am meeting. That is EIGHT O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING.

The horror.


Laterz.