How To Be Jolly (Corkscrew Required)

As you can all tell from the picture, I am in Missouri for Christmas. Spending quality time with the family, and super-duper-quality time with my wine. This year the Christmas Angels gave me a gift, and that gift was the knowledge that wine is the key to a merry holiday season. Night one at my mom's house = 2 bottles. When we got to the in-laws house I made a wine run and got 6. The amount of empty bottles is directly proportionate to how well I am handling all of this togetherness. I love my family, but I love them even more when their edges are blurry. And I say that in a very jolly and Christamassy voice. Ho ho ho.

Since Christmas is a time when I am either buzzed or dealing with family members all up in my grill, it is not really a great time for me to write a blog. You know, since I like to make sure that I am in tip top shape, i.e. have all my wits about me so I can be politically correct, non-foul-languagy and really appropriate with my blogging. No matter how much fun you guys might think it would be for me to write you a blog after a bottle of wine, it would undoubtedly cause me nothing but problems. And people might not give me gifts if I piss them off. And I really, really, really like gifts.

So since I don't have much to write at the moment (obviously), I will just share a few Awesome Holiday Must-Haves with you instead:

There's a song on this album called "Deck My Balls." I'm sure there is someone on your xmas list who needs the heck outta this. And if there is, I'd probably keep an eye on them around all of your expensive gifts. And maybe lock up your medicine and liquor cabinets.

These people obviously agree with me about how to make it through the Holidays. Money tight this year? Can't afford gifts for the family, a tree, AND the necessary alcohol to make it through the season without losing your mind? Get a twofer with the Beer Bottle Tree. Due to the fact that you'll be drunk off your butt by the time you get enough bottles to make the big ass tree that your family demands, you won't be able to stack them without major breakage, so give that task to the kiddos. You can have an assembly line of chugging and stacking. Turn on some holiday music and you're good to go. 

Sometimes I get so discombobulated during the holidays that I lose track of my menses. NOw I shall never again worry if Aunt Flo shows up unannounced, because I'll be wearing Maxi Pad Christmas Slippers. If Shark Week suddenly hits, BOOM, stick your shoe in our underpants and you're good as new. It's the perfect last minute gift for all the pre-menopausal women in your life. It will make memories that last forever. 

Babies are boring. And if all they're gonna do is sit there, you might as well use them as a Christmas conversation piece. If they already know how to walk and/or crawl, this will basically act as a festive holiday baby straightjacket and keep them safely in one spot so you can have the freedom to do what you please and really get your drink on. If I could find one big enough for The Boy I would buy it right now. And I would probably get a spare to keep with me in case any other family member is getting on my nerves.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS! 

How My Parents Totally Effed Me Up Yet Brought Out My Geniusness At The Same Time (AKA Christmas Is A Lie)

When I was 5, aside from carrying around the burden of being adorably big-eyed and cute, I was also  blessed/cursed with being extremely smart. Oh, and also independent. As a matter of fact I was so cute, smart, and independent that I even considered moving out to live on my own. And if it hadn't been for my fear of dogs and fireworks, my extreme mega-fear of those two fears combined, the fact that child-labor laws prevented me from getting a job and there were no cage fighting rings for 5-year-old's with which to make money off of my mad street fighting skillz, I may have actually followed through. I totally could have been the shorter, blonder, sassier Mary Tyler Moore. With more bad-assness. And a killer groin kick.

The Buster Brown haircut and big brown eyes that say "Don't make me stab you!" 

So basically, when you're this world-savvy by age 5, it's difficult for your parents to keep you down by lying to you and trying to turn you into a naive idiot by telling you things like once a year a big fat man who needs a shave and a haircut flies around the world with magic reindeer and sneaks into your house to leave you gifts. Oh, and he also watches you. Like, all the time. Probably even when you're taking a bath or a poo or getting dressed. Because he needs to know if you are naughty or nice. If you ask me, if there really was an old, hairy, creepy dude out there spying on children and committing like, a bazillion B & E's and enslaving midgets (I mean little people), then it's the grown-ups who would be idiots for not forming a vigilante group and taking this a-hole down.

Since I was probably, like, 2 when my parents told me about Santa, I really have no memory of it or what I thought about it. And it's not like I can ask my parents for their retrospective on the event, because neither one of my parents can really even remember what they ate for breakfast by lunch time. Even though I have no memory of the exact moment my parents decided to tell me that I was being stalked by a guy with a penchant for red velvet who would give me gifts and candy if I was nice and sat on his lap, I do clearly remember the moment when I realized that they were big, fat, liars. Yep. I was 5.

I was in my bunk bed trying to be good girl and get those damn sugar plum visions to dance around in my head, but was afraid to go into a deep sleep due to the fact that (a) one should always be on high-alert when you know a stranger in coming into your house, and (b) my sister, who was on the bunk above me, sometimes rolled off in her sleep. And what kind of loser wants to miss that action?

So at some point during the night I heard a ruckus and decided to crawl into the living room to check things out. If it was Santa I figured we could have a chat. Possibly about what he feeds his reindeer and whether or not his elves are the same ones that live in the trees in the summer and make those cookies that I liked, and if so why did he need all of us to give him cookies on Christmas Eve when he can get them for free because that's pretty lame. Not to mention selfish. And I figured that if it was a burglar, I'd save my sleeping family from impending doom and get to kick some ass. Either way I win. 

So I crawled down the hall and through the kitchen, at which point I heard voices. Two voices. And I was pretty sure that one was a chick and that she was kinda bossing the dude voice around. So I peeked into the living room and saw not a fat pervert with a big, red, sack, but my skinny parents in their pajamas arguing over how to put out the "Santa" gifts. AKA the pile of lies.

This was decision time for me. I--like most people-- had always wanted to have the occasion to jump out and yell "Aha!" and if there ever was such an occasion, this was it. But I also knew that my parents would be upset. And the thought of upsetting my parents made me sad. Either that or I thought that if they knew that I knew that there wasn't a Santa, I would get fewer gifts next year. It was definitely one of those. But lets not get bogged down in specifics here you guys. The point is, I was 5 and I was a genius. And also a sudden realist. Who was, frankly, pretty relieved to not have to be worried about all the being spied on and all the do-gooding that this imaginary hairy guy required. I could live life my way. Follow my own rules. Poo in private. The only thing I was pissed about was the Elves. A world without Elves is a world without Elves. I don't even think I need freakin' metaphor here, people. We're talking about tiny little dudes with pointy ears and jingly bell shoes. JINGLY BELL SHOES, YO! The fat man can suck it. These guys are what Christmas was all about.

Well, at least I still have the ones that make the cookies. Wait.....

Crap.

Deck The Halls With Furry Balls (And other ingenious uses)

So, a few weeks ago I went with some friends to Houston's annual Nutcracker Market. A place filled with food, crap to buy, crap to eat, and lots of people to make fun of. I love it. This year at the market, my friend Anne decided to purchase a sweater/jacket even though when she modeled it for me I told her I hated it. The jacket was cute and all, but in addition to a furry collar that I didn't like, it had two strings from which dangled two furry balls. And aside from the fact that furry balls really aren't super sexy, they landed in a spot that I just didn't think was very attractive...

This is my friend, Anne. This is a very artistic interpretation of what she looked like in the ball sweater. And yes, they dangled right there where real furry balls dangle. If you were a dude. And you walked around in crotchless pants. And were in major need of a ball wax.

 Well, in a supreme act of defiance,  Anne bought the sweater anyway, but made me a promise that she would castrate the furry balls. Since she obviously doesn't care about me and my feelings, I didn't have a giant amount of confidence in her promise, so I told her that I would need the furry balls as proof that she had followed through. A week later, I had the balls in my possession. And oh what a time we have had! I realized that in addition to dangling from a sweater and making a cute woman look like she's undergoing a sex change, furry balls have lots of uses. Here are a few of the non-xxx ones:

Ear Muffs For Cats-------------Play Toys For Cats  ---------Hair Ball/Barf For Cats

Because nothing is more fun that chasing your annoying cat around the house and forcing her to pose for photos with furry balls.

Hairy Ear Ball--Furry Corsage For Shirt---Fancy Decoration For Sunglasses---Beautiful Hair Accessory

Admit it you guys...you totally want these balls.

Old School Sock Balls--------------Furry Decorations For Shoes
Flashback to the 80's. A time when sock manufacturers actually gave a damn about us and our sliding down ankle socks. These balls keep them up, and make your heels look sexy. 

Frolicking Finger Monkey
When your husband doesn't understand your absolute NEED for a Finger Monkey, what do you do? Well, you use your friend's castrated cardigan balls to make yourself a surrogate Finger Monkey to carry around and talk to in the hopes that your husband will decide that he'd rather you have a real live, breathing monkey instead of having to deal with the embarrassment of you going all over town talking to two furry balls taped around your finger.

Bath Puff For Baby
Because everyone knows that nothing gets a newborn cleaner than a bath puff made out of a dead animal's fur.  

Wine Bottle Stopper
Not that I ever have wine left in the bottle once I've opened it. But if I ever did, I'd totally protect it with a giant hairy ball.

Funky Pen Topper For Mount Stachemore Pen
Like a water-filled pen with Mt. Rushmore and a floating mustache isn't sassy enough?  Go balls to the wall and add an animal fur afro into the mix. 

Spaghetti And Furry Balls
Unfortunately, the purchaser of the Furry Ball sweater came up with this before my brain even got to foods. She may purchase sweaters with crotch balls, but she's got some ingenious ideas.

Furry Make-up Puff
Finally an excuse to rub animal balls all over your face.

Big-Ass Furry Spider
First, you make a giant and disgusting spider with which to scare your child. Then you have it attack your baby just for kicks. Because it's late, your husband's out of town, you had a bit of wine, and were bored.

Dead Birdie
Step 1: Place dead animal fur bird on sidewalk
Step 2: Tell your child to come out and see what his cat did
Step 3: Give your child ice cream to make up for lying to them and totally freaking them out.

Paul McCartney Is Trying To Kill Me

This post isn't really a post.

I know I haven't written anything in a week but I am in holiday shopping mode and my brain is frazzled. I can't focus. At all. I have a sneaking suspicion that Christmas music may be at least partially responsible. Every time I hear that Paul McCartney song where he keeps singing about how he's simply having a wonderful Christmas time, a little part of my brain dies.

And it really doesn't help that my cat (Ethan's cat) is totally killing my zest for life. She's insane and she won't be happy until I am insane too. And not in the good way like I already am. The really insane way where you eat your own hair, wander around the neighborhood naked, and shout weird things like "Beam me up Scotty" for no reason. I'm not there yet but I'm getting close. (More on her in a later blog)

And according to the iPeriod Ap on my iPhone (yeah, that's a real thing and it's awesome), I am entering the land of  PMS any second now. And I know that it knows what it's talking about because (a) Last night I dreamed that I was trapped inside a giant Reeses Cup and had to eat my way out, (b) I'm seriously considering trying to trade this cat on Craig's list for maybe an empty bag of Cheetos or an old battery and telling Ethan that The President wanted her for a top secret mission, and (c) Today I cried because I saw a dead deer in the road. Then I realized it was a cardboard box. Then I kept crying because it looked like something was in the box and I was sad for whoever had lost it.

And you people think I'm hard-hearted.

Right now I have a glass of wine, a new episode of American Pickers, and Soft Blue Esquire (my favorite blanket) waiting for me in the living room, so let me get to the point: I will write you all something real by the end of the week. I swear. But for now I just wanna say thanks for being patient (except for those of you who weren't), and thanks for all the email I got for my Oprah blog. You guys are a bunch of weirdos. And I think you all like chocolate even more than I do. Which is crazy.

Anyway, the winner of a big, fat, pile of delicious Hippos is Ashley Reina. She won because she is hard-core serious about wanting those freakin' hippos. And she said really awesome things about me. And she is my #1 fan. And she is in love with me. And she works for a company that owns a restaurant that I love that makes queso that I love. And I'm hoping she'll do me a solid and queso the bejesus out of me. But even if she doesn't, I still dig her and she deserves the hippos.

Congratulations Ashley!!

Oprah Can Totally Suck It

Oprah. Where do I even start? I used to love her. Not in a lesbian way or anything, just in a she's really great and nice and seems to really care about people way. I even went to her show once and made all the facial expressions they tell you to make if you want to get on tv. I was concerned. I was shocked. I was dismayed. I got my 15 seconds of fame on tv for basically whoring myself out. Because in all reality I wasn't concerned, shocked, or dismayed. At all. I was bored. And I was acting. But the producers bought it and I got my screen time. So I guess that means I am an amazing actress. Probably better than Oprah. I could have totally played Sophia in The Color Purple. And if only the Emmy's had a category for most concerned audience member....that little gold man would be on my bookshelf right now.  Next to Mr. Stachey the Snow globe and my flying pig. But life isn't fair, people.  I got screwed and Oprah has a bazillion dollars.

Last season was when she really started getting on my bad side. She told everyone to stop talking on their cell phones when they were driving. Like her. A woman who has a chauffeur. And minions to make all her calls for her. Then she had a few interviews where she told the movie star how awesome their new film was when in all reality it blew super chunks. And you know she thought so too. And she was obviously lying. Which is totally lame. If I had a show I would be like "Julia, you're cool and everything. And I like the fact that you tiled your own kitchen and you're all earthy and real and stuff. But you know what? That movie sucked balls. Saggy old man balls. And I know you know it. So enough with the bullshit." I think that not only would the viewers appreciate this approach, but the actor's would get a little reality check. Which they need.

Anyway, Oprah just did her Favorite Things show. Two of them. And I got annoyed this year because (a) Everything costs too much for regular people to buy, (b) She screams alot, and (c) The audience members act like idiots. You know, if someone gives me a car, yeah, I'm gonna freak out a little bit. But if someone gives me Sparkle Uggs? I'm gonna vomit a little in my mouth. She gave them chicken pot pie and they acted like she'd just handed them a million dollars. It's a freakin' chicken pie, you guys. Chicken has no business being in a pie. And if it's something that you can get at Kroger, it's not worth crying about on national television. And she gave them bras. Which is kinda personal. And strange. But if she just had to give bras I wish she'd given them out at the beginning of the show so that the ladies coulda had some extra support before they were televised jumping up and down like maniacs. At this point I have no doubts that she could give them crap on a stick or dead kittens and they'd still go nuts. Dead kittens? Well, if Oprah likes them, they must be amazing!

Since Oprah's favorite things annoyed me, I have decided to do my own. And since I didn't get that Emmy and I don't own an Empire, I am not giving you guys these things. I'm just showing them to you. So PLEASE don't start jumping and crying and making a fool outta yourselves. But if you do, video tape it for me. Please.  And put on a sports bra first.

Patti's Super Awesomer Favorite Things

Humunga Stache. It. Is. Awesome. I don't own a dog but I'm considering buying one just so I can have him wear the stache. It has a rubber ball on the end so the dog will carry it around and look like an old timey store clerk. Who can't really sell any provisions or anything. Because, you know, he's a canine. And canine's can't talk. Or count money. But they can look fancy. Genius.

Ninjabread Men. Why did it take so long for someone to come up with this? Seriously. Aren't we all sick of those boring old gingerbread men? Those guys can suck it. Put some of them in a cookie jar with these Ninjabread Men and see who comes out in one piece.

Beer Belt. I'm crying a little. From sheer happiness. Nothing more to say.

Stache Anything. Lloyd Dobbler + mustache = a happy me. Year: 1989. Llyod Dobbler shows up at my house with boom box playing "In Your Eyes." I would kiss him. Hug him. Be flattered and all that girlie crap. Lloyd Dobbler shows up at my house with giant stache? Dry hump city.

Anti-Theft Baggies. Bully stealing your kids lunch? Co-worker who raids the break room fridge? Thwart them all with this baggie with strategically placed fake mold. Keep that bologna for yourself. Those a-holes can starve.

Creepy Porcelain Dolls. My friend Trish Bower brought these into my life. I can't even put into words how wrong yet so right these are. Who made these and why? I have no answers for you. But I kinda love them just a little bit.

Bacon Flavored Envelopes. Like paying bills doesn't suck enough. You also have to lick that horrible envelope glue which makes the chore suck even harder. Not anymore! Now you can pay your bills and get the awesome taste of bacon at the same time. This rocks. Hard.

Alien Abduction Lamp. Freaking awesome.

Happy Hippos. The most delicious PMS treat EVER. And the nutrition label is written in another language so you don't even have to know how bad the fat and calories are! They may be fat free for all I know. My only issue with these is that they are in the shape of hippos. Which is not super great for your self esteem when you have pre-menstrual weight gain. But they're so good I don't even care. Just bite that fat hippo's head off and enjoy.

Twin Peaks Mouse Pad. My friend, who chooses to remain nameless, just gave this to me. Literally 10 minutes ago. Her husband recently brought it home and she said "Patti has to have this." What does this say about me? She's too embarrassed to be mentioned in conjunction with this amazing item. And I am the first person one thinks of when they think "Who would enjoy this?" Well, I'm in no way ashamed of the fact that I think this is super-duper amazing. Hooray for you, Twin Peaks Restaurants. Hooray for you.

Polka Dot and Striped Rhinoceros Head. I couldn't find a photo but I saw it at Houston's annual Nutcracker Market and I need it. It was $250.00 of pure awesome. I would call her Henrietta Van Hooverstein. Her horn would hold my robe. We would be happy together.

Between two Ferns.
I could marry this show, get knocked up by it, and birth a hundred awesome little baby shows.
Best Sean Penn Interview EVER (Yes, EVER)
Ditto Bruce Willis (Oprah can totally suck Zach Galifianakis's balls)