Wish you were havin' one of these.

Incase you forgot. MOM and I are laying on the beach, sipping an icy cold cerveza since we won't drink the water... Lord knows we don't want to spend the next tree days in the banyo with the trots. We still wish you were here, BUT since your not... We'll be sure to have another round JUST for you.

PS Don't forget your mittens, I wouldn't want you to frostbite your cute little fingers.

Wish you were here.

Hate me, hate me, hate me. MOM and I are just chillin' (or warmin' I should say) in Mexico. Yup, I packed my spf 70 sunscreen and I am acting as an imposter with my spray tan. I'm sure we will have lots to report when we jet set back to the Midwest. Until then... wish you were here.

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas, sure hope your sh!tter isn't full... a good plumber or Roto Rooter is hard to come by on Christmas morn. Just like my holiday card said, "I hope Santa brought you all the things you don't deserve." I mean come on, he knows about all those shenanigans you pulled in 08. Whatever, enjoy the day with your family and friends.

"Roll," out Christmas Eve

Happy Christmas Eve all you Santa wishin/hopin/wonderin bloggers! Ya know it just wouldn't be the hip-happy holidays without some calorie laden cinnamon rolls. Alas, a new tradition has been born. Hank's mom and I are all about spreading the cheer. This year we created homemade, from scratch, whatever that means, cinn-a-li-cious, maple frosted rolls to dole out to our respective neighbors. We gave em to the cute couple next door who bonfires with us, the three neighbors with snow blowers, the one with season tickets to the Wild and the ones whom we backed right into their car. fa la la la, la la la, la la lahhhh! "Wook-it," us, as Hank would say, with our Leave It To Beaver (our husband's wish) aprons on. Ain't we the sweetest little suburban wives you ever laid eyes upon?!? I have a feeling some of the neighbs have no idea that A. We know you see us waving, wave back ya loser. B. We know which one of you called the cops. C. We are the best damn thing that happened to these hoods. And D. These rolls are a labor of L.O.V.E. Here's how it unfolds, or should I say un-rolls... We have to start by taking a Friday off (we deserve it). We then scald this mixture of oil, flour and sugar. Wait 45 minutes and DRINK WINE. Add yeast to the now cooled mixture and a boat load of flour. Wait an hour or so and DRINK WINE. Add a titch of this and a titch of that (while making dinner reservations)and roll out the hand crafted dough. No one likes a dry roller, so avoid getting parched by DRINKING WINE. Spread enough butter to cause insta bum cellulite and sprinkle (more like pour) on the cinnamon and sugar. Roll em up, slice em up, bake em up and frost em up while acting like you still care after DRINKING TWO BOTTLES OF WINE. Wrap em up all cute and deliver your tin of peace, love and holiday bloat to all those not high enough on the list to get a real present. Merry, Merry! See you Christmas morning!

One year ago...

... I had the worst Christmas to date. It was December 23rd (dah, one year ago) and I was at the gym, grabbing one last pre-holiday workout, (like it really mattered) before I began all the cooking/cleaning for the 16 people I was hosting for Christmas Eve. It was snowing, the roads were slightly greasy, and as far as I knew that would be the biggest challenge of my day. I speed dial my cute hubby to check on the status of his end of the bargain (getting Miss Kato her daily dose of exercise). "We had an accident, but don't panic, it's all gonna be fine." It must have been pure hell to have to say those words, and besides he knows I'm the panic-er... one of us has to be. "Kato got a little slice, and we are at the emergency room. They are checking her out now." I smell his lie like his farts in the car. I 34b-line myself right to the best veterinary emergency room in the West metro (Eden Prairie-bless those folks) to meet them. He DID lie. It's not just a, "slice," she has been impaled by a unseen steel fence post sticking out of the snowy turf at a 42 degree angle. Forty-two must have been our unlucky number as this was the number of stitches it took to mend her torn hide. Gulp. I know. It makes the 8 stitches I had on my bum sound like a day at the park. Eight hours later the Doc surfaces and tells us she has completed the difficult task of putting Miss Kato back together again. We had already cancelled the holiday festivities and left 16 others without Christmas Eve plans too. I can't even write about taking care of her that night. It makes my tummy turn and flop. It must be what MOM's feel when they are taking care of a very ill child, who can not communicate or understand where this pain is coming from. They all broke it to me lightly. If Dr. Silverstein had told me right away it was about the worst he had seen, I would have lost it. If I had known it would be 2 weeks of sleeping on the air mattress in the living room, and another 4 with my hand tucked under her chest (in case she tried to move or lick) I would have lost it completely. Completely as opposed to being about 10 seconds away from loosing it everytime I saw gunk coming out of the drainage tube she had in her tummy. It was about as blue as I have ever been. So, anywho to make an already long story short... Now, I scratch her chocolate brown head, tickle her salt and pepper chin and trace my finger along the long and jagged scar and hope she doesn't remember one year ago. Then, I dream about the Louis Vuitton handbag I could have had instead of paying those vet bills. Ahhhhh, what the hell, she is totally worth it.

Tomorrow, a much more cheery post. You needed a little break from all this holiday cheer didn't ya? Anyway blue skies (and yummy rolls) tomorrow. Scouts honor.

Eau du BK

I'm so gonna puke. Have you heard about what shenanigan (or dare I say Whopper) Burger King is trying to pull off? Fire Meets Desire, "Behold the scent of seduction with a hint of flame broiled meat?!?" I am seriously going to barf. For a limited time only (thank God) BK is selling, "Flame," it's own personal fragrance. If you are completely recession proof and have nothing better to spend $3.99 on then we should have a chat. If you are in need of an extreme white elephant gift OR if you are looking for that special-something-kind-of-gift for someone you really despise, proceed to BK, this is the answer. So it's the week before the holiday, you need a good chuckle 'round the office... Follow the link above to the, "Fire Meets Desire," site for some relatively funny footage. I swear, if you bring it anywhere near me, you'll see my gag reflex in full action. Go on check it out. Don't be the, "one," who doesn't get the Saturday Night Live skits that are sure to follow.

R.E.M.

I'm a loud talker. I know it. I talk loud on the phone, I talk loud in person and when I am paired with another loud (and fast) talker I can really get the decibels crankin. I'm sure this paired with my preferred method of filing (piles. piles on my desk, piles on the floor, piles.) does not make me candidate for the, "Cubicle Mate of the Year Award." But come on now, this is a whole nother deal... Now I chill at my, "home office," in the lower level of my little shanty. You remember my associate, don't you? She doesn't talk much, and if she starts take me to the closest padded room, but she snores. And dreams. And kicks and flails. And makes weird slobbery, lip smacking noises while she naps... all day long. How's a girl supposed to get anything done when you have this kinda ruckus going on? And yes, she's on the furniture and so is all her pesky little brown hairs. It's a different topic for a different day. So anyway this goes on for 4, 5, 6 hours sometimes (broken apart by potty/treat breaks) and wouldn't ya know it? I try and get a video and this is all she gives me... Riveting, I know.