Category Archives: Christmas

Five Christmases

I don’t really know how it’s possible, but I managed to celebrate Christmas five times with various parts of my family. I can’t complain because there’s no such thing as too much Christmas. At least to me. On Saturday, we headed out to the country to have Christmas with my mom’s side of the family. This is my favorite of all the Christmas meals because my uncle smokes ribs for our lunch.

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Those never disappoint. There was tons of other delicious food, but I focused on the ribs and pie.

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After stuffing ourselves silly, we did our yearly Christmas gift stealing. Nothing says Christmas like robbing a gift from a small child. Mamaw opened a wreath, but she like it better as a hat.

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I get a lot of my specialness from her.

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Sari ended up with some exploding powder, so naturally, we all had to test that out immediately.

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While we waited for the shooter to get ready, a gremlin attacked my head.

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A much sweeter one attached herself to Sari.

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After successfully blowing up the container (which gave off a fantastic boom that probably gave a few goats a heart attack), we detached the little monsters and headed home.

On Sunday morning, we woke up and finally had our family Christmas. My mom made us wait three whole days after Christmas which can only mean that she hates us. My dad got really pissed that I had wrapped the gifts in glitter paper, so he made us unwrap them on the porch like savages.

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I gave Sari a sleeping mask, so now I can sneak in and scare the bejeezus out of her at night.

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I got a vest, some pre-flavored noodles, and spatulas because I like pasta and vests and making cookies. It’s like they know me.

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Bardot didn’t get anything, but she hasn’t been a very good Christian this year.

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Sad face me all you like.

Santa cat watched from the safety of her raffia manger.

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And with that, Christmas was finally concluded. Happy New Year’s Eve! Be safe and take some Advil!

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I Need An Intervention

I’ve decided to conduct an experiment using myself as the sole participant. I realize that severely limits the degree to which I can generalize my findings to other populations, but I don’t have IRB approval to try it on anyone else, so the public will have to trust me. In the interest of the forward progress of nutritional science, I am going to answer the age old question of whether or not humans can survive solely on cookies.

output_Cj8qDCAnd… cocktails.

So, I’m on week three of that. I’ll let you know how it goes come January. Well, if my fingers aren’t too fat to type. I may have to get a voice to text system going. You would think I’d stop eating cookies all day because it makes me feel ill, but you would be wrong. I spent all of Monday grazing on cookies, then had leftover peach cobbler for dinner. That’s it. No other foods.

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That’s not entirely true. I would never want to quit cookies for real.

And, just in case I run out of freshly baked cookies, my generous coworker gifted me with a two pound bucket of chocolate chip cookie dough with Reese’s Pieces.

IMG_6439[1]It’s like she knows me.

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I straight up screamed like I had won the lottery. Who needs pants that fit? NOT ME!

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Too many cookies is a good problem to have. Unless you’re diabetic. Running has been a bit sketchy the past couple of weeks. I’ve managed to run approximately three-ish times each week. Last week might have only been two, but the week before was four times, so going with the mean, we will say three. My priorities have always been questionable. It’s just hard to run at night when there are so many social events and it’s even harder to do so in the morning with a sugar hangover. Just sugar. No other sorts of overindulgence have happened mid-week….

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Seriously though, drinking solves awkward hands, gives you an escape route when your glass is empty, and makes speaking to strangers so much easier. Anyway, tonight is my last holiday party of the season (not counting actual Christmas gatherings), so tomorrow I should be able to get my ass in gear (but probably not in a pair of jeans).

I think I finally hit rock bottom yesterday morning when I went to a meeting with cookie crumbs adhered to my sweater. Cookies for breakfast is not the best start to the day. If you can’t be a mess a Christmas, then when can you be?

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A Party of Sweaters

This weekend I had actual friends over to my home for the first time in a million years (not counting Bunco because my house wasn’t even unpacked). I had some friends who had never even been to a place I lived and we have known each other for five years. It’s nice to be back in civilization again. So, Saturday night, I invited a few people over for dinner and cheese.

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And peppermint bark.

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I was worried that I had way too much beer, but I quickly realized that that is a problem that no one has had in the history of time. Unless, of course, “having too much beer” really means “consuming too much beer,” then that’s a problem many have had.  Except for me, of course.

And to really make sure my friends die a slow and painful death from type 2 diabetes, I fed them chocolate and sprinkle covered marshmallows.

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Merry Christmas and enjoy those medical bills!

The theme was supposed to be “awkwardly fabulous Christmas attire,” but someone made it into “sexual predator sweaters.”

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That’s just gross.

Other people thought it was a “Harry Potter rockstar caped badass” theme.

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Clearly, I failed to communicate the message.

My sister and I both wore shirts painted by our mother circa 1995, while other ladies sported the ever-fashionable vest look.

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Our photo session took several tries, thanks to a bevy of distractions.

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The exasperation is palpable. A man dancing in a tight sweater is one of the things I think I can live without seeing for the rest of my life.

Bardot was being a grump, so she had to be partitioned off from the festivities. She had a tiny visitor, but he was confused as to her species. He kept telling her, “hi pig” and “bye pig.” She was less than pleased.

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After dinner, we took some photos. I got the perfect family portrait of these weirdos which is titled, “The Creeper, Bitchface, and Sir Better Things to Do.”

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Happy times. After dinner, we played games late into the evening like all cool and awesome adults do.

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Now you know my secret.

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Holly Jolly Fat-mas

On Christmas day we woke up and got our Christmas on as usual. Some people weren’t cheerful because some people weren’t nice this year and Santa didn’t come see them. I’m not pointing fingers.

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My dad got a roof for his Polaris Ranger and a Paula Deen skillet. He’s an enigma.

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We bought my mom an iPad, she was quite surprised in case that isn’t extremely obvious. She can’t use it or turn it on, but she sure has had fun holding it and imagining all the things she will do when she figures those steps out.

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That little monster found a little Reese’s cup and ate it in .078 seconds. She couldn’t even be bothered to unwrap the damn thing. So uncouth.

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My dad requested an outdoor broom for Christmas. When I was carrying the wrapped broom to my car on Friday, a guy in the parking lot asked if somebody was getting a Nimbus 2000 for Christmas. I replied that it was a Firebolt and that he was going to be my new best friend forever. You can’t hide from my friendship sir.

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My mom gave me a copy of my award winning artwork. Oh, you didn’t know I was an artist? Well, I sure am. In 1992 I won $50 for depicting a day in my dad’s life.

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I am a great American treasure. I also got a lot of things for my upcoming trip, including the all important and much appreciated cash donation.

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For the big finale, my sister got her boyfriend a motorcycle.

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Lucky man. After the presents, we installed the roof on my dad’s Ranger, and took a ride in the freezing cold air (It was below 40 degrees after all).

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After the wild ride, I headed in for leftovers and to get started on my dad’s Christmas present.

So far, it’s n0 killing Lincoln. Sad times. A cold front blew in during the afternoon, so while I read, others enjoyed some napping by the fire.

Can you find the fat napper hiding in the background of that photo? God forbid they have to sleep on the same side of the stove. Noooooooo, that would be too easy.

Someone overdid it on the catnip.

We wrapped up the day with some leftovers and a trip to see Django Unchained.

It was amazing. If you loved Inglorious Basterds, then you will not be disappointed. It was so incredibly funny,yet so unbelievably graphic (as expected). It was just perfect. Also, ol’ Leo was such a super creepy creeper. Could not believe that was my sweet faced Jack Dawson.

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