I Heart the Holidays

While in Cincinnati celebrating Thanksgiving with Brandon's family, I had the unique pleasure of visiting a Christmas tree farm. You would be correct in your assumption that our family was pretty much the only one that did not include someone who still watches Nickelodeon. Don't worry. It was tons of fun. 

There was this lovely old barn full of overpriced Christmas crap that you can bet every Mom there NEEDED to walk through after pawning her kid off on Dad to go look at the REAL REINDEER (those things still weird me out). There was a whole room full of nativity scenes, tons of ornaments, decorations, and a life-sized nativity! O-M-G! While browsing this array of festive garbage, I made mental notes of Christmas decorations I would actually be interested in buying and displaying in my home. (A tree is fine, but just about anything other than that screams 'I have a 3 year old and Santy's coming, or... I'm going through menopause, and SANTA DOES EXIST HE IS MAGICAL GODDAMMIT someone talk to me!')

Wow. Now that that's out of the way, here is my list of desired holiday decor:

1. A tree-topping angel that flew into the empire state building, impaling her and her delicate wings

2. A Santa figurine wearing a Lynard Skynard t-shirt, shitfaced holding a beer

3. The baby Jesus in any position that does NOT reflect the demeanor of a used car salesman. A thumbs up would be preferable, and if we're getting really picky, he didn't have blue eyes and blond hair you Nazis.

4. Any nativity scene with a token black guy disguised as a wiseman. This would be especially great if the wise man was a dead ringer for Morgan Freeman, but that may be asking too much. ALSO- LESS LAMBS. It isn't even breeding season for lambs. It's cold?

5. A "Joseph the carpenter"-inspired at-home Paternity test.  "IT AIN'T MINE!!!"

6. A Santa hat embroidered with the McCain/Palin logo.

Happy Holidays!

Cute Child Stars that Ended Up Not so Cute

Some child celebrities make it through adolescence without morphing into fugly adults. Drew Barrymore, cute as a button in ET, still managed to be a Charlie's Angel in the remake. (Keep in mind she WAS the least attractive of the triumvirate) The Olsen twins are mildly attractive in their own weird, "i slit my wrists" way, but by wearing uber-trendy, fashionista clothes, they manage to still exude strange, pubescent/ transitory sex appeal. A few adorable children were not so lucky.

1. Topanga from Boy Meets World
She hosts her own celeb gossip show now that pales in comparison to Joel McHale's, making her look like she has the sense of humor of a high school guidance counselor. I wanted to BE her until she grew boobs, and then immediately ecame a blimp. On more than one occasion, I thought she was going to reveal to the Matthews that Corey had gotten her pregnant. That would have been very forward thinking on ABC's part, and would have made Jamie Lynn Spears look like a huge poser.

2. Haley Joel Osment
Yikes. The Secondhand Lions movie he made with those old geezers definitely brought attention to the negative affects puberty was having on his career/ face. Didn't he also get arrested? Fail.

3. Raven Simone
That's so.... unfortunate. I'm not going to say any more; that bitch could lay me out. And then Bill Cosby and I could never be friends.

Thanksgiving. Okay.

So Thanksgiving is Thursday, and I happen to not be as huge a fan of this holiday as many. Maybe that is because I am not an overweight, gluttonous American obsessed with "catching up" with family by repeating mindless, 6-word oversimplifications of what I am currently doing. I also think football is a violent, classless excuse for a sport. Among other things.

Thanksgiving, in my opinion, is also poorly placed throughout the year (don't I have to see all these people again in a month anyway?) and not even useful. Except for drawing names for Christmas presents. That shit's important. To be honest, I spend half of Thanksgiving trying to bogart the babies so I won't have to talk to anyone.

Actually, now that I think about it, there is one thing about Thanksgiving that is great: watching my grandmother get drunk. Everything else about it is anti-climactic: listening to your cousin rattle on about the mindless joyride they're having as a sophomore in college, getting really tired from turkey/wine, and thinking about all the things you could be doing, including stalking people on facebook, painting angry watercolors, and playing text twist.

Thanksgiving is a terrible holiday. I am thankful every day of the year; why should I have to play grabass for a whole day and night to show it? No, Auntie, I don't want to try your crazy quiche, and how many times must I repeat myself about not sampling all of the horrible things on the dessert table? GIRL IS PICKY. Give it up.

And please don't get me started about the indian/pilgrim thing. Thanks for the smallpox bitches. I'm ordering a pizza. Happy Thanksgiving. See you in four weeks.

There are too many pasta variants.

 Since recently entering the realm of adulthood, and learning to do many things on my own such as cooking, paying bills, and fending off persistent (and sometimes quite creative) peddlers, I have uncovered many secrets.

The first: carry cash. Although I have never been an avid cash carrier, and have generally pegged all cash carriers to be either parental or associated with recreational drugs, I have learned that it is of great importance when navigating a city, trying to park, and trying to buy chinese food at a hole in the wall that apparently does not accept cards in the year of our lord, or the dragon, 2008.

The second is a much more complicated lesson involving what is commonly referred to as "pasta." Our scholarly friend Wikipedia describes pasta as "a generic term for Italian variants of noodles." Wikipedia also tells us that "there are approximately 350 shapes of pasta." UMMMMM..Ok, so I've spent the last 22 years sampling spaghetti, ziti, sometimes some bowties (or farfalle as I have also learned) for good measure. This is going to sound crazy, but just recently I discovered that there is absolutely no difference between any of these 350 shapes. WHAT?? In my opinion, this means that the Italians spent entirely too much time with their little play-doh machines, calling to one another when they discovered yet another crazy thing to put tomato sauce on.

"Giovanni! Come quick! I have made one that even smaller than the smallest elbow noodle! It will be incredibly popular!"

"Bravo, mio fratello!" (that means bravo, my brother- thank you google translator; google makes tons of money maybe I'll write about that later.) Then Giovanni and his brother embrace, slap each other on the back, and watch some soccer.

So yeah, there's 350 types of pasta. There probably aren't even 350 types of sauce to put on them. Well, maybe. That's too mathematical to get into. What it comes down to is this: why? WHY would you make that many different types of one thing if you're just going to chew it up anyway? In my experiences, the only difference between any pastas is that some of them are easier to stab with my fork than others.

I got my Christmas Tree before Thanksgiving.

This is a very grainy photograph of our beautiful Christmas tree. And Darwin. And a lot of cords. I apologize in advance for writing a blog about the new addition to our living room, but I felt so inclined. And I'm hoping to spread some premature holiday cheer.

This particular Christmas tree is of the "Charlie Brown" variety, meaning it is sparse, gangly, skinny-trunked, and generally adolescent-looking. All of these things are an attempt to make up for the fact that it artificial. I believe it is working.

I decided (I being the important word here) to pick up this beautiful piece of synthetic sexiness at an establishment I have recently been introduced to. It is a place called Hobby Lobby, and it is a warehouse full of glorious crafty things, all on sale for less than Wal-Mart would ever dare to price them. And you don't have to feel guilty, because you're not at Wal-Mart. 

Brandon frowned upon my hasty decision to put up this majestic, ornamented beauty, repeating phrases like "It's not even Thanksgiving!" To this, I responded simply,

"Brandon, we are going home for Christmas on the 18th. And if you include going back to Cincinnati for Thanksgiving, that is barely three weeks we will have with this precious holiday essential." 

Maybe my answer wasn't that elaborate, and maybe I ignored the vast majority of his questions, but I like the tree. And Darwin certainly likes the tree. And I have a good feeling that the homeless people walking past our window (which lacks blinds because Brandon broke them a month ago) like the tree. Who knows, maybe they do not have the means to celebrate anything this year? Maybe they'll be coming to peer nostalgically in our window next month. I mean, the economy IS tanking. 

Ok, back to this tree and from whence it came: HOBBY LOBBY is a mecca of awesome crap that all women would enjoy. Even those who prefer, say... guns.. to fabric and knitting needles. My future father-in-law is known to visit Hobby Lobby multiple times a week, and many times he suggests outings to Hobby Lobby simply just to browse new or seasonal merchandise. There is fake shrubbery, framing, and aisles and aisles of glorious stuff. I know what you're thinking (if you haven't already decided I am weird for never having frequented a Hobby Lobby): this place sounds just like Michael's. YOU would be wrong. This place is six times the size of any Michael's I have ever seen, and you know those stupid baskets full of baskets, and rows of infomercial crap no one ever buys? Hobby Lobby does not partake in such nonsense. Hobby Lobby is respectable, and I fully recommend buying your Christmas tree (the earlier, the better) from this wonderful place.

My Fiance Plays the Harmonica

So Brandon has taken up the harmonica, and I have come to the conclusion that this would be a terrific new hobby for someone who does not have a roommate/ does not know anything about music. He mastered Mary Had a Little Lamb within 30 minutes, and has since been playing some delightful, Dylan-worthy tunes. 

Unfortunately, he thinks it is necessary to play the instrument with enough lung power to fill a blow-up mattress in one breath. In fact, a blow-up mattress might be good right about now, as I always feel as if I am on a charming little camping trip with a Tennessee woodsman.

Seriously though, the harmonica is kind of cool in that it is portable, easily repaired and incredibly inexpensive. It also apparently has very little effect on animals, if that is a requirement for your household. Baby Darwin the precious kitten has not responded at all to Brandon's incessant blowing, although he is easily perturbed by the sight and sound of anyone cooking. On a slightly unrelated note, he has scaled the Christmas Tree about 27 times already.

I really don't have much else to say about the harmonica. Hopefully within a few months Brandon will have transformed into a skinny old black man with a trendy hat playing harmonica with a blues band. Maybe.

First Post

This is my first post, and here are some things it will not include:

• my life story
  
• the reason I created a blog/journal/thing
  
• an amusing poem, specifically a haiku about the homeless man outside my apartment
• a funny story about my kitten ending in an anecdote about how i saved his life
• political opinion
• a youtube link to charlie bit me or the evil eye baby
• rambling about missing college/my youth/my family/the east coast/ukrops
• the screenplay/libretto I wrote about young adult angst
• a detailed replay of my day, including what I had for brunch (breakfast implies early rising), and long-winded, anti-climactic tales of mundane daily activities

So there. That's what I'm not doing. Here's what I am doing for my introductory, exciting, blog virginity losing post:

The Pangaean navy would have had virtually NO competition. BOOYA