It was better'n 89.

Well the holidays are over and I can't say that I am sad to see them go. But even now I am getting the question 'how was your Christmas?" The problem is I have a hard time responding with the salutary "good, how was yours." Instead, on three different occasions in the last week, I could not help but say "It beat 89." Then of course I have to explain, something they did not sign up for. But then again...they asked.... Around 4:30 a.m. of Dec. 25, 1989 I was in hell. My brother and I had gotten up and had sneaked around the living room enough to know that the milk and cookies we had left out for Santa had paid off. I could see silhouettes of mammoth gifts and neither of us could wait any longer. But my parents had slapped an embargo on any Christmas activity prior to 5:30 a.m. and even after army crawling into my parents bedroom and setting the clock ahead 10 minutes, waiting was agony. After the longest hour of my life to that date was over the lights came on and revealed what my Jan 2, 1990 journal entry describes as "a two-story toy store." Yes, I was precocious. I won't get into all the gifts that I received that year because it is really of no consequence, (even though the rock tumbler that I got from St. Nick that day kicked off my glorious 6 year stint as a rock hound). But what did emerge from that day is me judging all preceding Christmases by the pile of gifts. I don't recall a year I have ever been disappointed thanks to the fact that my parents think they are Mr. and Mrs. Claus, regardless of the fact that most of us are adults now. But no year...until Christmas of 2007 has licked '89. This year I got everything from a plasma TV to a BBQ grill...a massage chair to kitchenware...my car could barely fit everything....

I must have done something to tickle Santa this year. And my parents...and my boyfriend and my cat, and the neighbor.

I know what you are thinking about all this...."what an infantile little tart I don't care what she got for Christmas,"...."does she really not get what Christmas is about?"...."isn't she 27 now?"

Well before Christmas I spent an entire week shopping for, organizing and delivering gifts for poor young'ns. There were Christmas hugs, tears and the whole Christmas spirit works, so get off my back about it. Peace.

Kennedy's scrubbin

....no, I won't apologize for this one...its MY blog, OK!

Reindeer Games

I tasted Christmas today. It smacked of subtle peppermint and cookie dough and was in the form of a star-shaped treat with a drizzle of pink frosting, compliments of Wendy's mom. It was tasty. And like a ground-hog seeing his shadow (umm, or not seeing the shadow, I can't exactly remember how that works) I can predict from that morsel of goodness that it is going to be a good Christmas season, a Christmassy Christmas season and I am going to make no apologies for what will be profound indulgence. Some Decembers in my life have come and gone with out consequence, being distinguished only by one morning in which my brother rips me out of bed at an ungodly hour to open some gifts. But not this year. My house is going to be lit up like a Vegas strip club, there will be holiday sweets and hot cocoa on hand at all times for visitors anndddd.... I may or may not invest in a holiday sweater. And not the tasteful kind, but the kind that look as though one of Santa's elves vomited on your chest — bows, trees, bells the whole works. Joy to the world.

Gobble Gobble...

It's Thanksgiving and I am sitting at the cops desk at the newspaper. But don't cry for me Argentina. I basically volunteered but it is all part of my rebellion against the institution of Thanksgiving. My problem with the holiday however, is not that it marks the beginning of a near genocide of America's indigenous. It's what actually takes place on that day that bugs...a meal of gargantuine proportions with food that is suppose to be "so good," and then an afternoon of football, for the men, while the women clean up. Well first of all Thanksgiving food leaves a lot to be desired. Consider this: if turkey, yams, canned cranberries, and stuffing is soooo good why don't people eat it all year-round. Why don't they have restaurants that serve all-things Thanksgiving? It's because the food is not that good but because it is "Thanksgiving food" it gets the obligatory oooohhs and aaaahhs. And I don't like anything that's obligatory. And pie? Who eats pie? I mean really, aside from Thanksgiving day when do you crave a healthy piece of spiced pumpkin. Really. Moreover, football games dominate a sizable portion of the day and football already has a designated day...its called the Superbowl. And I am fairly certain the pilgrims weren't running plays on the gridiron with the Native Americans. So really there is nothing about the day that really celebrates the actual Thanksgiving and when you think about it, we are celebrating the Native Americans helping and teaching the settlers to survive and grow food...celebrating the friendship and unity between the natives and the whites......and then they slaughtered them....but hey "thanks for bringing the corn!"

"Othello Syndrome"

This started out as a class project but became a haunting work that tells a tale of love, betrayal, mistrust, pain and mind boggling talent. The music video was created and produced by some good friends of mine. If you actually know them it's an even bigger kick in the pants but either way its good time. And yes, the song was actually written and performed by these guys. Got skill? These guys got it in spades and if you want more go to www.myspace.com/freemenproductions Check it out..

awwwww.

Well it's no lie. I hate baby pictures. It happens to everyone...you are sitting there minding your own business and without warning you hear the high-pitched "look at this picture of my new nephew!" Or "this is my new Grand-baby...isn't he soooo cute?" Cute? Well if you like pink, wrinkled, sleeping blobs that resemble old men then, ya, sooooo cute.
One time, a few years back, I had a co-worker I didn't even know that well who gave me monthly photos of her two kids. I would walk in and she would say "oh I have something for you." Me being me, my heart would skip for a second because in my mind the default surprise is always candy. But no. It was a picture of Sam and Ginger, or whatever the hell their names were ( I don't think I even knew at the time.)
Well now I am eating humble pie and a bit conflicted. I now have a new niece, Kennedy. The first and VERY long-awaited grandchild of the family. And while I have never been fond of children and have yet to meet this one because she is in Atlanta, I am insatiable for pictures of her. I constantly find myself having to hold back showing her picture to everyone who passes by my desk. But I couldn't bear the reluctant obligatory nod of approval that I have insincerely given to the throngs of baby pictures stuffed in my face over the years. But now I understand uncontrollable urge to share. Even so, you are safe. I will only post this one for now, but know that I have many more that I will gladly show you would like. If not, no offense taken. I get it.

"So just get over there and bang some hair!"

Dear Girl in the Parking Elevator that Held the Door Open While Talking to Your Equally Clueless Friend About Nonsense While Holding the Rest of Us Up Forcing Us to Listen to Your Mind-numbing Conversation,

Let me just first start by saying I don't like you. Are really that inconsiderate or just really dumb and blind to what is and what is not a social foul. First of all, when there are four people on an elevator you need to learn to do yourself and everyone else a favor and keep the convo to a dull roar. Secondly if your little friend is getting off on a floor below you but you still have something to say, kindly step off and finish your conversation and allow the rest of us to get to our floors and our cars. I know the parking garage has been letting idiots in there lately but you've truly shown that a lower level of intelligence that I didn't even know existed absolutely is out there and alive and well. But aside from my disapproval of your behavior, something about you has left me feeling confused and lost. While I was trying to set you on fire with my mind while you were gabbing away with your arm holding the door I was puzzled by what was on your head. Anyone can see you have a blond head of hair but the protruding mystery mass that was on the top back of your head was mind boggling. I have seen my fair share of Utah hair. But I have never seen anything ratted so high. The big question is why? Why would you do that to yourself and what is the appeal. Clearly, judging from the four layers of makeup you had on you take your time on your appearance. But what do you think is attractive about the ratted mass atop your head. Anyone can see it took you a fair bit of time to accomplish it...but why? Who was it that lied to you...that told you it was attractive. You never see the Utah "hump" in magazines or fashion or anything related to beauty. I applaud your....ummm originality...but it just isn't working for you....or for anyone else for that matter. It's even harder for me to personally understand this "Utah hump" phenomenon when I spend a large part of my life trying to strap my hair down. So maybe it's just me. Like the mob on "Beauty and the Beast" "we don't like what we don't understand, in fact it scares us and this monster is mysterious at least." Well that is what I feel about the style misfiring atop your head.