Dear God in Heaven

I need your help.

See, a few years ago, I sat my kids down to watch Cloak and Dagger. I appreciate that my kids could never, ever understand what the hell an Atari 2600 is, but still, they could've liked the movie if they just opened their minds up to it. They didn't, and it caused a bit of a rift in the family.

Next, I tried Explorers. No luck there, either. Is it possible that both of my children were mistakenly switched at birth?

I thought that perhaps they were a bit too young for such awesomeness, so I waited a little and then, well, and then I pulled out my Trump Card. Yes, that's right, we snuggled up and with ice cream AND popcorn, we watch The Goonies. I was sure this was going to Do The Trick. We were going to be eternally bonded in the ties of holy Goontramony.

Not. So.

Who hates the Goonies? My idiot children, that's who.

I waited more, and prayed to you for an answer, and the answer came to me with trumpets and rainbows and bright, shining light. The Princess Bride.


We went in again, this time with even better snackage, but it was no use. Pokemon and grand Theft Auto have rotted the taste receptors in their brains. I almost mailed them to the South Pacific that night.

Tonight, dear lord, tonight I am desperate. I wanted to wait a little longer for this one, but I am at the end of my rope here, and I thought maybe, just maybe, it would work. If it doesn't, I don't know what I'm going to do. I might have to rent them out or list them on eBay or something.

So, if, in your infinite wisdom, you see fit to help a girl out, a girl who has said some rather questionable things about you in the past, I would be grateful. Please, Lord, please let them like Labyrinth*.

*Oddly enough, even as I type this, I am asking myself if this movie is all I cracked it up to be. Maybe it's just because I've seen Jennifer Connelly naked, and now she's not a plausible theater geek to me anymore. Maybe it's David Bowie's hair. Seriously, What The Fuck?

Why Canada is cooler than the USA; A Continuing Series

We have seriously better holidays than you.

Did you know that in Canada, we have TWO holidays in December? That's right, two. And they are right next to each other. First, you get Christmas, the day to buy Jesus a bunch of birthday presents and then regift them to your spoiled children. And then, the very next day, you get Boxing Day. The whole point of Boxing Day is to get your over-stimulated, sugar-crazed, sticky kids in the car and go commune with your fellow Canucks at, you guessed it, the mall. It's National Shopping Day, and the Post Office closes for it. The entire country goes on sale. You get to go buy all the stuff you didn't get under your tree. Cheap. Crazy cheap. Day after Thanksgiving on crack cheap.

For example, you could pick up 9 CD's for the price of, oh, 4.You could buy yourself a bag full of new sweaters because your fat ass A) needs to break up with Tim Horton's and B) won't fit in any of your totally awesome old ones.You could get yourself a new phone, the phone your wife tried for two months to get you, but since she's spent the last ten years as a stay-at-home-mom who's husband takes care of everything, she doesn't exactly exist in the world of credit, and straight out buying the phone was, like, twice her entire budget for you.I'd show you the actual phone, but he can't stop making out with it yet. You could return the very nice, fancy, totally awesome coffee pot you got under the tree that had nothing at all wrong with it except that it failed in every way to work, and exchange it for some very cute glassware that Good Lordy you needed so very, very much.And when you're all done torturing your poor children by dragging them all over the mall, you could get them something, too. Like jeans, because Santa brought excellent sweaters but it never even occurred to him that boys like to wear more than boxers with their new tops. And you could buy your baby some new clothes, too,
because as you can plainly see, she doesn't havenearly enoughas it is.But, be warned: if your baby, who you are shopping for, happens to be the youngest of 3 and the only girl, you would do well to closely inspect those new footie jammies before you pick them up. (Sweet, aren't they?) And maybe chant a few times, "We have a girl. We have a girl." Because even though she really likes skateboards and worms and stuff, she might prefer rainbows on her new jammies over trucks.And if you do get away with the trucks, which you will, someone, someday, is bound to raise an eyebrow to the footballs.Yeah, America, you so totally need to steal this holiday. It may be the coolest holiday in the whole wide world.

Sucker for the pretty girls

It is (was) exactly 1:57 in the A.M. and I am sitting here with a two year old that could not, for anything in the whole world, go one more minute without her high heeled shoes and Dora's World Adventure.


Here's hoping the big ol' slab of peanut butter bread knocks her the hell out the way it would me. Or at least glues her tongue to her mouth so I don't have to listen to her screams. Either way, really.

So, while I sit here missing some hot Donnie Darko action going on in my bedroom (we're WILD like that), I thought I'd do this little Hoopla that a ridiculously hot chick who likes to call herself Judith tagged me for. I thought I'd also make this my Thursday Thirteen. Lazy much? Before I do that, though, I have to do this. There's this new blog that I read by a guy named Dan, and Dan has a meme rule that he will do any meme you send his way as long as you first link to a blog that you think is better than yours. I agree with that rule, and I am going to propagate it. Dan, consider yourself linked.

'Da Rules:
1. List 12 13 random things about yourself that have to do with Christmas
2. Please refer to it as a ‘hoopla’ and not the dreaded ‘m’-word
3. You have to specifically tag people when you’re done. None of this “if you’re reading this, consider yourself tagged” stuff is allowed…then nobody ends up actually doing it. The number of people who you tag is really up to you — but the more, the merrier to get this ‘hoopla’ circulating through the Blog-o-sphere.
4. Please try and do it as quickly as possible. The Christmas season will be over before we know it.

Ok, I'm going to try this. I don't think I have 12 things, let alone 13, but we'll see.

  1. This was supposed to be The Preface, but I have 11 more to go, and I need the ammo. I didn't celebrate Christmas as a kid. Yes, most of you know that I was lucky enough to be raised in one of the more awesome pseudo-Judaeo-Christian cults, the one where we didn't celebrate Christmas. It's no biggie, really; I mean, who needs silly old Christmas when you have birthdays the Easter Bunny Halloween your wedding anniversary Sex! that isn't missionary. Well, that turned depressing...

  2. Not celebrating Christmas, I never believed in Santa. AND I always knew that Christ wasn't born in December. AND I knew that Christmas was flat out stolen from the Pagans. But I was told to never, ever tell this to people, which really counters everything my "Fun Happy Group of Friends" was all about. I guess, even though Christmas was pure evil, even those guys understood the magic of Christmas. For other people. NEVER for us. Cheap bastards. And I never did spill the beans, by the way, even though I thought it was mind-numbingly stupid.

  3. Not celebrating Christmas, I also had no reason to know what day it fell on. I knew that we got out of school towards the end of December and came back in January to a bunch of classmates with cool ass shit to rub in our poor, nasty, weird faces, and so I assumed it happened sometime in-between. I was 23, and had celebrated my second Christmas, before I could remember the date.

  4. I cut myself off from my congregation when I was 17, but didn't celebrate Christmas until I was 22 and pregnant. I just didn't get it. And I didn't care to.

  5. I was one of those people who never replied to a kind "Merry Christmas!" from someone; I totally was all, "Thank you but I don't celebrate you evil Devil worship holiday." Well, maybe not that last bit, but I was a party pooper. And now, my big fat hypocritical ass freaking hates it when people don't say Merry Christmas back. Like the girl at the mall today, who replied with, "And a very happy holiday season to you, too!" Self-righteous bitch.

  6. I get the Holiday Mascots mixed up sometimes. Like, this one time, I was trying to explain Easter to my boys and it went something like this; "So, guys, you go to bed and while you sleep, the Easter Bunny comes. He hides eggs full of toys and candy all over the house, and when you wake up, you get to find them and open them! Because he loves you and you have been so GOOD!" My husband stood back while I told this story, came up to us after, put a sad, condescending hand on my shoulder and said, "Um, that's Christmas, you dork."

  7. I still, to this very day, have no idea what the story is behind the Easter Bunny.

  8. And I don't care to.

  9. I really, really like Christmas now. I like hiding the presents from the kids. I like the surprise in the morning. I have never once shaken a box or undone wrapping paper with razor blades to peek inside gifts. I like to wait for it.

  10. I also really like all the pomp that goes into Christmas. I like(d) going and picking a tree. I liked forgetting to water it and sitting on a fire hazard for a month straight. I like hanging the freaking son-of-a-nutcracker lights. I like the candy canes and the special Hershey Kisses and wearing a Santa hat everywhere I go, no matter how inappropriate.

  11. I never sang Christmas songs, even though I was in the choir my whole life, so I never learned the words. I did, however, learn all the super awful naughty words to all the crazy evil raunchy spoof songs. My kids have gotten quite an education just listening to me try and sing along to my Starbucks Christmas CD.

  12. I am deathly, horridly afraid that my kids are going to stop believing in Santa. I have given myself panic attacks about it. They are 9 and 7, and one of those kids is well past his belief window, and yet they sit with hearts and minds wide open, and it is one of the few parts of them that is still small and quiet and little. They are wide eyed wondrous children come December. Thank god I'm so flipping cheap, or I think this gig would have been up a few years ago. Last Christmas, 2of3 came home and said that someone in his class told him that there was no Santa. I threw up in my mouth a little and then asked him what he thought about that. He said, and I quote, "Mom, he thinks the parents are Santa. PLEASE! You never would have spent that much money on me!"

  13. I need a thirteen, for Thursday Thirteen. My favorite presents to give my kids are the stocking presents. I think I like them because they have nothing to do with the Million Dollar list. I like trying to find treasure to put in there; little charms, crystals and rocks, cool candy, all the little crap I usually yell at them for leaving all over the floor for the baby to eat. I still, however, suck a large amount of ass at the whole "Grown Up Stocking" bit. It's almost sad, really.

Is that thirteen? IT IS! I did it! And now I have to do the thing I hate most in the whole world, and that is tagging people. Hmmm, who hasn't done this? Ok, I'm totally representin' Vancouver here by tagging Huckdoll and LatteMommy and I'm tagging Kelly, too, provided she's all settled into her new old digs. I will also tag my BFF's Molly and Sarah because I bet they have awesome stories. But, you know what? Christmas is OVER, so let's kill this thing already. Mr Lady says Don't Tag Anyone Else!

Christmas Means Dinner

Dinner means death.
Death means Carnage.
Christmas means CARNAGE!

Dude, we totally ate Babe. Your favorite movie and your favorite dinner should have NOTHING in common.

After a rather freakish display of materialism love and appreciation for each family member, I got busy cooking the dinner I totally could have prepped the night before, but didn't because I chose to drink a bunch of wine instead. Bygones. We didn't have anything special, except that I borrowed recipes from people, so even that we weren't with them, their holidays could be with us, at least at our table. That makes it totally special. I made Gigi's family green beans, which were good but not nearly as good as when she makes them, and I made Leslie Dillinger's Gruyere scalloped potatoes. Holy Greasy Jumping Jesus Christ on a Popsicle Cupcake Crutch! Those are some damn delicious potatoes. Leslie, I'm stealing your recipe for myself. Gigi, I'm letting you cook next year. You bring the beans, I'll bring the cookies.

For dinner, I decided I'd try something I haven't tried before. Because I like to experiment, that's why. I thought it would be fun to try out 'Suburban Soccer Mom Martha WannaBe'. Yep, that's just about everything I rally against. But I can't fight it anymore, I like the suburbs and Martha, and soccer moms are crazy hot. And so, my normally white on white table was set with gramma's china, my dad's silver, and kitsch.Even the baby got in on the action. She has a thing for Martha. Just ask her Gramma Gigi.We had "Champagne"And since a certain Godfather has taught all of my children to toast, properly, we said "Cheers!" (or Earws!, depending on the person) 4,936 times.
We had a ham that actually didn't suck, though I expected it to, seeings how the last time I roasted a ham I was still A) less than 23 and B) single. A gorgeous bouquet of flowers capped it all off nicely, and then we ate that poor, helpless little pig.Why, yes, I DO have an enormous ring on my table, thank you for asking. That table is one bazillion years old. YOU try and keep rings from forming on it.

Dinner was lovely and quiet. We did not have to run to Gramma's and then my dad's and then Aunt Jane's and then home before bed. We didn't have to vacuum before company came over. We didn't have to put on deodorant (though maybe we should have). We had to sit on our butts and eat too much food and enjoy each other's company in a way we rarely get to in my house. It was nice, and the nice made it a little easier for us all to ditch the sad we were all feeling on our first Christmas away from everything we hold dear. The staying put was great, the staying put at Gigi's would have been heaven.

I made dessert, and I learned something.I learned that what takes you 3 days the first time may only take you two hours the second time, and that you should only substitute almonds for hazelnuts if you want your Busch de Noel to, although sweet-looking on the outside, be bitter on the inside to a freakish degree.

And then we took pictures and then we watched movies and then we were so tired one eye wouldn't stay open anymore and so we went to bed. And that was our amazing, action packed holiday. Go big or go home. Apparently, we went home.
(Nine years olds just don't take the world's best pictures)