'Tis the season to hump all of the things. If you get caught, you can blame it on all the wine and eggnog.

Here's a little secret about me: I hate to have my picture taken. Really, I do. I know that's hard to believe, due to the huge amount of photos that I post of myself on this blog and on my Facebook page. But believe me, it's true.

Here's another little secret about me: I love to have my photo taken. Really, I do. I know that's hard to believe, due to the fact that I just told you right up there ^^^^ that I hate to have my picture taken. But believe me, it's true.

Confused yet? Well, it goes like this: I hate to have my photo taken when it's for anything serious. Or normal. Or regular. But I love to have my photo taken when I am acting like a dork. Or wearing something stupid. Or doing something totally weird and/or inappropriate. 

If you ever need a volunteer to do something ridiculous and/or embarrassing for a photo, I'm your girl. 

There is something wrong (or maybe right?) with my brain, which makes me constantly scan my surroundings for photo ops. If you can climb it, hump it, be humped by it, dangle from it, kiss it, lie on it, ride it, or hug it, I am so totally in that it's not even funny.

This is me in L.A. when I asked the driver of our Hollywood Star Homes Tour if I could hop off the bus and hump this statue that was in someone's fancy Beverly Hills yard. Obviously the driver/tour guide was down with it.

This addiction really gets put to the test during the holiday season. 

Starting at Halloween, and continuing all through Christmas, everyone is covering their lawns with things that blow up, light up, make noise, move, and just BEG for my photographic attacks. It's especially hard to resist those giant inflatable things that everyone has in their yards. They are everywhere in my neighborhood, and it's honestly stressful for me to see them every day and not totally molest them for sport. 

Last Saturday night, my friends and family and I did a Mobile Xmas Carol Assualt of our neighborhood. We took donations for Toys for Tots in exchange for giving the gift of song and dance. We had a big light up trailer/hayride situation that pulled us 'round the 'hood while we shared our angelic voices with our lucky neighbors. During that tour of our neighborhood, I saw at least a hundred holiday decorations that I wanted to hump, but since there were children on board the assault vehicle, I had to refrain. It was difficult. I mean, seriously difficult. It was like dangling a bottle of Jack in front of an alcoholic. I'm not gonna lie to you guys... I still get the shakes when I think about it. At one point we slowly drove past a house with a giant inflatable dog in the yard, that just so happened to be in the perfect position for me to give it the business from behind. Even my friend Kris mentioned that it was truly made for me and my mad mad surprise buttsecksing skillz. But alas, I had to turn away, tear in my eye, and say "I'm being strong for the children. I must behave myself and set an example for the children."

Being appropriate really sucks, you guys. It is totally not my forte, but I've proven that I can do it when I have to. I am nothing if not amazingly thoughtful, mature, responsible, and a superior role model.

But my point here is this: 'Tis the season for doing inappropriate things with holiday decorations, and I want YOU GUYS to get in on this action. I would like you to molest some inflatable yard decor, Santa statues, light up reindeer, whatever you can find, and send me the photos. Be creative. Be unique. Be funny. I will accept photos until January 1st and I will announce a winner a few days later. The winner will get some totally ridiculous crap from my Zazzle store, as well as the public humiliation of having their photo posted on my blog and Facebook page, as well as bragging rights about how you won a contest because you are the #1 Holiday Decoration Molester. In the whole wide (Insane in the Mom-Brain) world. 

I got a little funky in my neighborhood yesterday afternoon, and I hope it will inspire you to trespass and inappropriately pose on a stranger's cherished holiday paraphernalia. 

'Tis the season.

***Send photos to me at pattibrain@gmail.com***

The Insane Holiday Spiral. It's the reason that so many people try to keep a nice buzz going all winter.

This is the time of year that I go swirling deep into what I like to call The Insane Holiday Spiral. 'Tis a time of year when whoever the heck it was who decided that these were all holidays anyways, also decided that it would be awesome if the big ones occured back to back. And I'll tell you one thing: I can pretty much guarantee you that the people that caused this craptastrophe were dudes. 

Here's why:

Halloween? According to the church school I was unwillingly forced to attend as a child, that holiday is all about The Devil. And guess what? He wants you to dress up like a whore. And guess what else? The Devil's a dude. 

Then before you can even come down off the satanic sugar high from all that hell candy, here comes Thanksgiving. Now, I don't claim to know a whole lot about Thanksgiving, and we can blame my Christian school for that. Alls I really learned there is that God invented turkey's so that we could brutally murder them cuz they are delicious. Of course there were also ships and Pilgrims and Indians. And although the Indians were made out by old cowboy movies to look like jerks, I'm pretty much on their side because those white guys were a-holes. Plus, Indian outfits were way cooler than the Pilgrims, all day, errday. But in all those Thanksgivingy pictures in books and crap, who's the main focus? The dudes. The pilgrim chicks are always in the background setting the table or holding some food or something. 

Then, before you even begin to climb out of your triptophan turkey coma, boom! It's Christmas. And that's all about dudes too. Even though Mary, a virginal young girl who popped out a baby in a pile of hay, did all the work, she really got the shaft on all this Christmas carol stuff. I think it's a travesty that Mary doesn't have a really rockin' Christmas song. Even the background players got Christmas songs written about them. The 3 Wisemen got one. Heck, even the little drummer boy got one. I don't doubt that one of those cows in the manger even got a song and I just haven't heard it yet. So where is Mary's song about going about her business and getting magically knocked up and dealing with it like a champ? Where is her "THIS GIRL KICKS ASS" song? 

When I was in church/school, I was usually drawing pictures of unicorns and writing awesome poetry about Ricky Schroder instead of listening, so I can't claim to know ALL of the religious details of the holiday. And I do admit to totally falling from grace in my Christian school when I decided to listen to Madonna and watch The Facts of Life, and never looking back. So there might possibly BE a Merry Christmas Mary song, but if there is, it must suck, cuz I haven't heard it. But I DO know that "Merry Mary Christmas" would kick ass waaaayyyyy better than that pa rum pum pum pum situation. Even Bowie couldn't make that jam. Let's face it: The kid in the song played a drum, and we all know that with the exception of that little long haired Mmm Boppy Hanson brother, when kids play drums it sounds like ass. And as far as the Wiseman are concerned, they walked through some fields and moors to bring some really non-newborn appropriate gifts to Baby Jesus, and even THEY got a song. A boring ass song about walking a long ways. The only thing worse than walking a long ways, is listening to a song about someone else walking a long ways. If they wanted it to be catchy they shoulda done it more like that whole "I Would Walk 500 Miles" song. That song rocked. Plus, if they were that wise they woulda ridden horses or hopped on a wagon or something. That's what 3 Wise Women woulda done. And they would have brought gifts like blankets and booties and diapers instead of whatever the frick myrr is.

Christmas, fail.

And finally, after everyone's broke from gift giving, and exhausted from talking behind everyone's back about the crappy/cheap gift they got from so and so, comes New Years. A time to get loaded, do stupid things, then tell everyone that you're gonna do something amazing this year, and never follow through. And, as I assume you all know from that awesome 70's cartoon "Rudolph's Shiny New Year," Baby New Year is a boy. Surprise, surprise.

And yet with all of this sexist holiday information, WHO does most of the baking, decorating, organizing, card sending, planning, etc....on these holidays? The women. 

Falalalalala-sporktotheballs.

But before I got sidetracked explaining all of the holidays that you already knew about, I was telling you that I go into The Insane Holiday Spiral, which means that I start to get even more forgetful and ADHD than usual. I know. It seems impossible. But it's true. For one thing, I have severe sensory overload. The lights! The smells! The sounds! The glittery, colorful crap everywhere! I am super duper distracted. And when I have a lot to get done, like I do during  xmas, I start doing one thing, then something in that one thing reminds me of another thing. So I pause that one thing and run off to do that other thing before I forget what it was. Then THAT other thing reminds me of the next thing, so I run off to do THAT thing. Then I repeat that whole scenario, like, a thousand times. What ends up happening is that nothing gets all the way done. There is, however, a bunch of crap that is partially done and left to rot, because this girl does not look back. The good news is that if ever I were to disappear over the holidays, be it running away or being kidnapped by one of the psycho trolls who have found me via the internet, any CSI team worth their salt would be able to track down my whereabouts in no time, by simply following the trail of half done tasks that I have left in my wake. 

Point is:  It's a really difficult time. Which is why I stock up on wine.

One of the 1,374,289  things on my "To Do" list this week was to sell our old Xmas tree. Here is the ad I wrote for neighborhood website:

Magic Tree For Sale

I'm not sure how tall it is. Maybe 7 1/2 feet? Maybe 7? It's taller than me but shorter than a giant. It's also fatter than me, yet thinner than Jabba the Hut. It's about 6 years old. It's pre-lit but some of the lights are out, which means it will take patience to fix which is why we are getting rid of it because at my house we don't have that trait. The Hub wants $50 for it but I say best offer. Even if that's a case of Modelo and a dry hump. It's sitting up in our garage so you can come take a look if you want to. It looks ugly as ass cuz it's undecorated and I didn't primp it, but you'll get the picture. Cover it with a bunch of crappy ornaments that your kids made, and it will look amazing. Or it will look like an ugly ass tree with crappy stuff your kids made strung all over it. Either way, it's a win/win. And by win/win, I mean sooo totally not a win. At all Just come and take my damn tree, please. And P.S. I'm pretty sure it's magic, cuz one night last year after I had too much eggnog, it spoke to me. It told me I was crazy, then it sang Have a Holly Jolly Christmas to me, in Chinese. A few nights later, as I was innocently strolling past it, it kicked me and threw an ornament at me. The next day I put 2 and 2 together and realized that I'm pretty sure this tree is possessed by Bruce Lee. If your husband is a Bruce Lee fan he would love this tree, and you can give it to him as a gift. He might not even care that he has to fix the lights because he'll be so excited to have a genuine Bruce Lee Possessed Tree in his living room to show off to his friends on man night. Boom! I've already done your Xmas shopping for you. You're welcome.

And guess what? I totally sold it. Just like a few months ago I sold my Treadmill Time Machine.

Once again, I have no idea why I have yet to be snapped up by an advertising agency. 

And last and totally least, my Zombie Babies want to wish you an early Merry Christmas. They are so festive. They really keep me perky through all these holidays. I highly recommend that you all open your hearts and adopt some next year. No family is complete without a couple of scary babies that sit in your living room year round and freak the crap out of visitors. 

****The winner of the contest to win the prints from Leroy's Place was picked using a random number generator at random.org. The winner is the following reader:

AnonymousDecember 6, 2012 10:47 AM

Love Serene's stuff and she's sweet to boot!
Kristy

Please get back to me ASAP via email at pattibrain@gmail.com so I can send you your prints! YAY! 

Patti The Purfumerarianist

The year was 1978. I wanted this for my birthday, and I wanted it bad. THIS was my calling. I would be a perfumerarianist. A maker of smells. I would make smells the likes of which had never been smelled since the beginning of time. Smells that smelled better than Sweet Baby Jeebus's little baby noggin. Smells so glorious and hypnotic that when I wore them to school, kids on the playground would be drawn away from their games of four square to sniff me and look at me in awe. Strangers would stop me on the street and ask me how it was that I came to smell so fantastic. I would reply "I am a perfumerarianist, and I own my own perfumerarary." People would beg to buy my bottles of amazingness and their nostrils would delight in what they inhaled, as their nose hairs danced a happy jig. I would become rich. People around the world would be wearing my smells. I would go down in history as the most successful perfumerarianist EVER.

That was the dream. The dream I saw as clearly as if it had already happened.

Here's the reality: 

After months of incessant whining about how desperately I needed this, and even though my mom thought it was a stupid waste of money, she gave in so I would not fulfill my threats to sell our fine china in order to acquire the contraption that was going to make my whole life worthwhile. After opening it, I ran immediately to my lab, AKA perfumerarium, AKA playroom, to make the dream happen. No matter what portions of what smell I mixed together, it smelled like a dead animal's bunghole. So I went to get some extracts from my mom's baking cabinet and threw a few drops of those in. That made it worse. It was like the bunghole of a dead animal that ate a lot of cake. So I got some mouthwash and mixed that in, and nearly vomited because it smelled like the bunghole of a dead animal that ate a lot of cake, then died, then had a case of Scope mouthwash poured on his carcass. In the end, I dumped out my creations, rinsed out the bottles, opened my Love's Baby Soft, and poured it into the Barbie bottles. I then drew my name on the labels in marker, and went door to door and sold them for about 50 cents apiece. I told the buyers that when they were done I was gonna need my bottles back. Which they never gave me. Sometimes dreams are bullshit, you guys. Total. Bullshit.

P.S.

Visit my store and buy something this month, cuz all proceeds go to Project Night Night

OR...If you don't want any of the amazingly stupid stuff that I sell in my store, you can just go straight to Project Night Night on the interwebs and donate there.

Thank you to everyone who has ordered things the past 2 months. In case you didn't know, ALL money made from my Zazzle store goes to charity. I will choose a different one each month. The money from November goes to the Fisher Center for Alzheimer's Research Foundation, and October's earning were for Breast Cancer Research Foundation.

THANK YOU!! xoxo

My latest art boner. Yes, it involves unicorns.

You guys know a lot about me. Like, a crap load about me. Literally. Just read the poop blog I wrote last, and see.  I tell you (and my Facebook readers especially) all about my weird thoughts and happenings, in sentences that ramble on and on like they were written by a psych ward inmate. Yet here I sit, totally free in the world. I don't know how or why, but I sure am glad I slipped under the radar of the people who make those decisions. If there's one thing I've learned from watching this season of American Horror Story, it's that I couldn't handle it in an asylum. At all. And 'm pretty freakin' sure that they don't allow you to have sporks in there. And this girl has gots to have her sporks. I also learned while watching that show, that even when his arm gets ripped off by a scary-ass monster, Adam Levine is still sexy as heck. He's so sexy that you don't even notice that he's screaming and waving a bloody stump around.

I get lots of email. They send me pictures, links, articles, kind words, they tell me their problems and want advice (Yikes!), and they ask me questions. One question that a few people have asked me, is, what would people be surprised to know about you? The answer to that is this: A helluvalot. So much so that I can't write about it in a blog. I gotta save that stuff for my book.

But one thing that you might not know about me is that I am artsy. Artsy, as in, I used to paint anything I could get my hands on, and people actually paid me to do it. I did canvases, furniture, murals, etc... and I loved it. Then, since I am flighty and fidgety, I got bored. Then I started to write my blog. I guess creativity is creativity and it comes out in different ways at different times. I think I finally found my "thing" though. It's much easier to sit at my desk and type a stupid story about how I am constipated, than it is to climb ladders and inhale fumes and paint a bunch of stuff on a wall for days and days until you feel like your body is 90-years-old and arthritic.

My mind is a jumble of odd pictures, songs, and stories, and it never really stops working. It's like some strange, colorful, picture book in there that is almost impossible to keep up with. Some people call that creativity, and I am happy that such a kind word is used to describe it. I have a soft spot for other people who are "creative", and I also get excited when I see someone come up with something that is so amazing that I hate myself for not thinking of it first. I am in awe of some peoples minds and ideas, and I like artists who make me smile and get a bit jealous of their skillz. Case in point: Sebastien Millon, who designed my new blog header. It's like he draws what is going on in my head. His talent makes me giddy.

I recently came across another artist that made me mega happy. her name is Serene Bacigalupi. Her stuff is so creative, unique,  and magical that I fell in love with it immediately. She takes vintage paintings and paints things on top of them. Here are a few of my favorites:

I would have done way more Bible reading if this had been in there.

Dear Hollywood, this is better than 90% of your ideas.

I mean, COME ON! It's a monster sitting in a pond, having a refreshing beverage!

After stalking all her stuff, I totally fan mailed her and basically told her that I was in mad mad love with her, and instead of calling the po po, she was kind enough to write back to me and  I told her that I wanted to share her with you guys ASAP. Well, she liked that genius idea, and she wanted to give you a discount code for her Etsy store as well as 2 prints of some of her most popular pictures to one of you guys. Yay for nice people, right? Nice people give you free stuff. And who doesn't like free stuff? An idiot, that's who.

To enter to win the prints, leave a comment with your name and email address in it, and I will draw one of you randomly with the help of computery shit that my pathetic brain can't even begin to understand. Also, please go like Serene's FB page HERE and her Etsy store HERE. You can use the code MOMICORN to get 10% off anything in the store. FYI she has some Hall and Oates earrings that are pretty amazingly badass. Seriously. Bad. Ass.

Winner will be announced Monday, 12/10.

Good Luck! 

And P.S. I moderate comments so it might not post right away. Be patient. It will. lease only enter once. xoxo

***Contest ended on 12/10/2012***

Dear Universe, Stop Taunting Me: A Story About Poop

WARNING:

This post is in no way appropriate. But since when am I appropriate? On a mature day, I have the mind of a 13-year-old boy who got held back a few grades and has irresponsible parents.

If you can't handle talk about poops, or the lack thereof, then I suggest you stop reading now. But if you CAN'T handle talk about poops, then honestly, I have no idea WTF you're doing here. Because it's kinda something I talk about. A lot. There's a reason that "Everyone Poops" book became such a huge seller, and that reason is, duh, everyone poops. It's right there in the title, you guys. Holy balls.

As my avid readers know, I have a thing about poop. That thing is that if I don't have a morning one, it can and will, throw off my entire day. I learned from my dad to call this special morning time "My Morning Constitutional," which seems totally appropriate considering that one of the definitions of "constitutional" is "beneficial to ones general physical well-being," and a good poop is nothing if not beneficial to my well-being. It keeps my clothes fitting well, it keeps me healthy, and it keeps me from sporking idiots in the nutsacks. So actually, my morning constitutional is beneficial to not only me, but to everyone around me, too.


So last weekend we went with some friends to the Texas Renaissance Festival. I love the RenFest for two reasons:

1) It's a total freak show
2) They have food on sticks

So the day we went to the RenFest, I did not have my morning constitutional. It was just literally, a no go. I could barely move. My pants wouldn't button right, and I felt all discombobulated and frumpy and slow. I even broke one of my cardinal poop rules and tried in vain to make a deposit at a McDonald's along the way, but some woman beat me to it. Nothing ruins your shot at a good poop like someone else stinking up the joint so you can't stay in there long enough to give it a go.

Basically, by the time we got to RenFest I wasn't feeling the traditional Patti Perk.

And ya know how when you've just had a bad break-up or something, every song that comes on the radio is about a break-up and you feel like The Universe is taunting you and your pain? That's how I felt at the RenFest. Every sign I saw made me curse my inability to perform on the potty.

The photo on the left is of me (duh) in front of a Hot Tamale stand, and the red circle is around a sign that is advertising Fudge Puppies. The photo on the right is of me (duh, again) in front of a pewter stand (pooter is a fart, you guys).

This is a photo of me in front of Ye Village Flutemaker. Oh, how I envied that flutemaker.

This is a photo of me in front of King of the Log. Need I really say more?

THEN the tide turned. The clouds parted and the Heavens shined down on me:

I think these two speak for themselves.

(A big shout-out to my friend Jenny R. for taking these photos and laughing with me at all of the signs, and not cringing when I constantly talk about poop.)