Month: December 2007

Marisa has a fun post about the origins of Mrs. Claus.

If you didn’t know that she and Santa were “like two loving snowballs,” you seriously need to be enlightened, ‘kay?

From the Eiffel Tower. Beware of dizziness.

….. the winner of America’s Next Top Model ……

SALEISHA!!

I think she’s just adorable.

Even more important …. praise the Lawd we will no longer have to endure last cycle’s winner, Jaslene, gah-gah-gahing through her Cover Girl commercials with that weird Marlee-Matlin-meets-Rosie-Perez voice of hers.

So, yes. What was I saying about what’s important this time of year? Oh, uhm …. snark, that’s right.

I like to link to this story every Christmas season. I love it. Get some tissue, though.

The Christmas Mother.

How well do you know your Christmas carols?

Some of the answer possibilities are, quite frankly, lame. At least I can say I didn’t write ’em. Still, I love little quizzes like this. Plus, uhm — and boasting is SO attractive, Trace, but anything to feel good about myself right now — I got 100-non-cheating percent. I’ll say this, though: If I can get 100% on this, you guys can, too, ‘mkay?

Ready?

GO!!

Remember when I got myself into this situation? Pretending to be Santa on the phone with Piper?

Well, I’m playing Santa again this year. By request.

About a week ago, Piper drew this picture for Santa and Mrs. Claus:

(I’m dying at how she corrected her own spelling error)

Once the picture was finished, Piper wanted to send it to Santa and Mrs. C. Uhm, “right away!!” So my phone rings. My sister, asking, “Can I send you this picture and have you write Piper a letter back — from Santa?”

Me? Playing Santa again? Oh, I was ALL OVER that, Peaches.

I spent hours — HOURS — on Saturday designing Santa’s, uhm, letterhead and envelope. (Lord. I am so anal retentive.) Then I tackled the letter. Trying to “sound” like Santa. Trying to write something a 7 year old would relate to. Trying to sound like Santa saw her, knew things about her — you know, in a nice omniscient Santa way.

So here’s the final Santa letter:

That’s pretty hard to read, I imagine. Here’s what the letter says:

Dear Piper,

Thank you for the wonderful drawing. It made me so happy, I started to Ho Ho Ho! You are a talented young artist, Piper. I especially like the Christmas tree with all the colorful ornaments on it. Mrs. Claus took the picture right away and hung it on the wall in my workshop so I can enjoy it always.

My friend The Tooth Fairy tells me that she has been visiting you a lot lately and I can see that you are growing a big, bright, beautiful new smile. Your smile makes Santa smile, too! I have smiled a lot watching you play soccer this year and seeing how kind you always are to the other players.

I know you have been a very good girl this year, Piper, but then Santa knows that you are always a good girl and that makes him proud.

Be sure to be asleep early on Christmas Eve! I have some special surprises to deliver to you in my sleigh that night, but you must be sure to be sound asleep. And don’t forget …. Santa is always grateful to find milk and cookies left out for him since he has such a long long journey around the world on Christmas Eve. The love in those snacks always gives me strength.

Well, I will see you on Christmas Eve, Piper, but you won’t see me. Maybe you’ll hear the jingling of Rudolph’s Christmas bells. They’re magic, you know. (I forgot to add that to the letter, but I plan to.)

HO HO HO! MERRY CHRISTMAS, PIPER!

With love from the bottom of my bowl full of jelly,

SANTA

(Anyhoo. There it is. Oh, and didn’t you all know that Santa frequently refers to himself in the third person? I dunno. It just seemed like something he might do. I am insane. I plan to send this at the end of the week.)

So I dreamed last night that I was back in college. Some random college, not my college, because my college wouldn’t have done to me what this horrible dream college did to me last night.

You see, all the girls at this wretched dream college were forced to take a cheerleading class. It was required. Every girl. No guys. Just the girls.

In the dream, I was late to the first day of class. The room was packed. A perky female professor bounced around up front. I tried to slip into a seat in the back, when the perky professor called out, “L! A! T! E! Don’t you try to mess with me! You’re late! Very very late!” Every head in that room turned to stare at the impertinent girl who was oh so very L-A-T-E. I just slumped into the nearest seat and class resumed.

As it turned out, the class was some kind of weird cheerleading/history class amalgam. Near the end of the hour, the entire class was involved in an inspiring re-enactment of the Peloponnesian War. One large group of girls was Sparta. Another large group was Athens. Ten stragglers, including me, were divided by the perky professor into two groups of five.

We, of course, were the cheerleaders for the Peloponnesian War.

My group was the cheerleading squad from Athens.

(WOO-HOO! Go, Athens!!)

We sat cowering in the upper corner of the room while the war raged stupidly below us. The cheer squad for Sparta, on the other side of the room, also cowered. What did the perky professor expect from us?

A very large girl in my group looked at me and whispered frantically, “I think we’re supposed to do a cheer.”

“I don’t know any cheers.”

“You have blonde hair. You’re not a cheerleader?” (Hello, dream stereotype.)

“No!”

“Not even in high school?”

“Nope.”

“Well, we have to do something!”

From the front of the class, the perky professor sing-songed to us, “Gir-rrrrls!! Things are happening up here! Where are your cheers? Your soldiers need you!!”

And then ……. sad, but true …… I woke up! Right then! I don’t know what happened!

So, peeps, I leave it to you. Please tell me: What happened to dream Tracey and the cheer squads for the entire Peloponnesian War?

Raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah ……

From our Thanksgiving trip.

I have no recollection whatsoever of taking this picture.

Sometimes I just revel in the things that come out of MB’s mouth. Little off-hand comments, practically muttered to himself, can sometimes send me into shrieking hysterics. Like today, just now, we’re watching the Chargers play the Tennessee Titans. We’re on offense. Our QB is having a hard time finding his arm today. We’re both feeling frustrated. From next to me on the couch comes a mumbled, “Man …. they’re really porking it to Philip Rivers.”

And I’m gone. Gone. I can’t explain it, really. I’m just gone. Shaking, wiping tears. Then — I don’t know why — I ask, “What is that, exactly? I mean, I know basically, but what is ‘porking’ exactly?”

“Porking is gross lovemaking.”

“So make love, but be gross about it.”

“Right.”

“Okay.”

We are both howling.

He is precious.

MB emerges from the downstairs bathroom. I am just sitting there, bored, so I demand, all shrill:

“All right. So …. where is this headed?? What do you see happening between us??”

“Oh, you know. A little of this. A little of that. No big whup.”

There are hand gestures involved on “this” and “that,” but not the ones you might expect.
I explode in laughter and he just says what we always say when one of us trumps the other, “Annnnnnd ….. scene.”

He walks upstairs and leaves me sitting there, defeated.

Drat him, anyway.