The Thirteenth Day of Christmas

So there I was slogging my heavy basket of wet laundry up my snowy/icy driveway in the dark Saturday night, tears streaming down my face, and all I could think was "What a shitty, shitty Christmas!" I'd been stuck in the snow twice already, was stuck again - in snow AND mud this time. I was days behind in work, and I still hadn't finished up my Christmas shopping. And I was doing my laundry at the laundromat.

My neighbor, who drives a big-ass truck with monstor tires went into the ditch trying to help pull me out the first time. A passerby, also in a big-ass truck, tried to pull my neighbor out and nearly pulled him over sideways.

Jody spun out the freeway trying to get home on Christmas eve; her car is now sporting a black eye in the form of a lenseless headlight that will cost money to fix. One of her tires popped the previous day, also costing money; her car got stuck later and another tire punctured while we were digging it out of the ice and snow and blackberry muck. All four tires ended up being replaced this week. $360.

And, like some twisted version of The Twelve Days of Christmas, my work computer was dropped from a substantial height and now reboots every 20 minutes. NO-freakin'-EL.

I reassured Jo, though, that I would see the silver lining soon; Jody is my third of four kids. And strangely, therein lies the silver lining.

Having kids is hella work, and messy too, yes? It's no secret that pregnant women are emotional creatures, full of insecurity. And why shouldn't they be? They look (or think they look) like fat cows! Their clothes don't fit, they can't sleep on their stomachs and they have constant heartburn, morning sickness and the urge to pee.

Their nipples are sore. They can't drink or smoke. People touch their bellies all the frickin' time. And that's just the pregnancy part of it! Then labor begins...

First the contractions, which are like no stomach flu you've ever experienced. They are menstrual cramps from hell. And while things are contracting, other things are spreading painfully inch by inch, and your spine is strangely curved the wrong direction. And then your head spins and you speak in other voices, demonic voices, telling everyone from the nurses and doctors to your spouse/parents/other children, whoever happens to be in sight, to BURN IN HELL YOU SONS OF BITCHES, and then a calm descends and everyone holds their breath while you hold your breath and push and then there is a squeak and everyone cries and hugs and life is grander than grand and you love everyone including the doctors and nurses you just told to go to hell.

That is, of course, if you are living in the 21 century and having your baby at Overlake Medical Center.

But what if you weren't? What if you were pregnant and traveling across country with a man who wasn't even the father of your unborn child. What if, in these last few hours of an extremely controversial pregnancy, with aching bones and swollen feet, you find yourself riding a clop-footed donkey for hours and days, traveling more miles than you've traveled in your entire lifetime, and right in the middle of it, you go into labor...on a donkey's back.

And your husband, what about him? A newlywed trying to take care of his new wife who is in extreme pain. And he can't find a place to stay, can't find even a single room at the diviest of inns, and all he can offer his new bride is a bed of straw in a manger with a stinky cow and some grub-infested sheep.

Did the local innkeeper bring them clean blankets? Fresh straw? And who carted away the bloody straw and buried the placenta? Who wiped all that gross nasty wax off the baby? WHO CUT THE UMBILICAL CORD??

No nurse to help the poor woman focus on her breathing, no doctor to suction out the baby's lungs, no wise men to congratulate the new mom and give the baby it's first terry-cloth sleeper with bears on the feet. No one but the mom, the dad and the baby...in a stable far from home.

Having a baby is a brutal, bloody process, chock-full of icky stuff. And yes, women the world over have been giving birth in less than optimal conditions. Still, to do that for the first time in a horse's stall under such conditions...well, that just makes me a tad bit ashamed of myself for calling this past week a "rotten Christmas."

Whatever bits and pieces you believe in the Christmas Story, or whether you believe any of it, there still remains this truth for me - I live a rich and wonderful life. My family is doing well, my friends are all safe; I have money for food and clothes and a decent home. And even if I can't afford to take a vacation right now, I've been to Europe and Hawaii and Mexico and even the fifty-first state of Canadia. I have health insurance, car insurance, homeowners' insurance...and thankfully I don't need them at the moment.

Turns out the only thing shitty about this Christmas has been my attitude.

Makin' a list, checkin' it twice

I'm pretty sure I am not on the "nice" list. If I am, I likely won't be after this blog...

It's that time of year for making item-specific lists. Now doesn't that just take the fun out of gift-giving?? I mean, for christsake, what is wrong with putting a little thought into what you are getting people??

I'll tell you what's wrong with it:
1. Time
2. Money
3. Sheer numbers

We simply do not have the time to think of a unique and/or meaningful gift for every single person who means something, anything to us. AND if we DID have the time, we WOULDN'T have the MONEY...unless you are a developer for some huge software company based in Redmond, Washington.

So, I'm gonna help you out.

If you are a kid, ask your parent for a can of worms. My oldest angelina did this one year and it made me laugh so hard I bought her everything else on her list.

If you are an adult, DON'T ask for world peace. That's smarmy and everyone knows it's code for "I want the best you can give but wish to look humble to you." It's overused and no one will fall for it.

If you are trying desperately to come up with unique gifts, you're in luck - the irish lass and I have plenty of good bad ideas, and she has provided a doozy this holiday season. Check it out...

How to make bedroom slippers out of maxi pads (see pic below):

You need four maxi pads to make a pair.
Two of them get laid out flat, for the foot part.
The other two wrap around the toe area to form the top.
Tape or glue each side of the top pieces to the bottom of the foot part.
Decorate the tops with whatever you desire, silk flowers (this is most aesthetically appealing), etc.

These slippers are:
* Soft and Hygienic
* Non-slip grip strips on the soles
* Built in deodorant feature keeps feet smelling fresh
* No more bending over to mop up spills
* Disposable and biodegradable
* Environmentally safe
* Three convenient sizes: (1.) Regular, (2.) Light and (3.) Get out the Sand Bags.



What's cool about these is they resolve the issues of time, money and numbers. One jumbo pack of maxi pads runs less than $20 and will make enough slippers to outfit all your family and friends. Average time to make a pair runs 3.7 minutes. And different varieties have a cool pink or blue strip down the middle so you can color-coordinate for the recipient. Neato, eh?

Of course, there are lots of good bad ideas out there. Send me yours and the irish lass and I will review and pass along accordingly. And remember, when you are down to your last buck fifty and your electricity is about to be turned off, buy some brewskies and make your own garden lanterns.

These good bad ideas brought to you by the irish and thus (environmentally) green.

Monkey Shine

Gibbons are fascinating creatures. They are apes, not monkeys, classified as lesser apes to be specific. They exhibit many of the general characteristics of primates: flat faces, stereoscopic vision, enlarged brain size, grasping hands and feet, and opposable digits; and many specific characteristics of apes: broad chest, full shoulder rotation, no tail, and arms longer than legs. At least a handful of these characteristics apply to a certain monkey we know, one that hails from the north.

Gibbons are by far, one of the cuter ape species, even with their unusually long arms. This extremely agile creature enjoys a physically challenging environment; provide a gibbon with some rope or a pillowcase, and the gibbon will find a way to become tangled. Wrist restraints are childsplay to a determined gibbon.

Gibbons are the fastest tree-dwelling mammal in the world. Their agility does not save them from occasional mishap, however; while they have unerring ability to snag a branch midair, they don't always manage to hold on. Perhaps their unusually long fingers were wet? Ours quite often falls off the bed, wet fingers and all.

In fact, researchers estimate that nearly all gibbons will break one or more bones in their lifetime. Hm, has anyone noticed the scar on our gibbon's right arm?

Still, the gibbon seldom minds a tumble, and will dart quickly to safety when it's all said and done. In fact, the tumble appears to be a form of play to the gibbon, and a swift recovery may even be followed by a second, more aggressive tumble. If you can keep up with a gibbon, you will definitely enjoy the ride.

Gibbons are masters of locomotion, specifically brachiation (swinging from limb to limb). It isn't uncommon for a gibbon to hang from a limb by one long arm while using the dexterous fingers of its other arm to tweak the...em, ears of an innocent kitten. Taking on two at a time does not present a challenge to the silly imp, although he seems disappointed when the pussies get tired of his capricious nature and stroll elegantly away.

A gibbon's toes are long as well, remarkably so!, and they present more possibilities for play than one might imagine. A gibbon will try anything once, and some things he may repeat if they brought a pleasant response.

Gibbons have an enlarged sac that can inflate to equal the size of their head. Located in their throat (you dirty-minded individuals), it is used as a resonating chamber to call a mate or warn off an interloper. Our gibbon uses it to announce that Elvis Has Left The Building.

Gibbons are relatively small, slender, and agile. They have fluffy, dense hair, which ours likes to have ruffled by Amy. Gibbons are not sexually dimorphic in size; they are quite happy to mate with someone of equal stature. During the mating process, the gibbon will use its resonating chamber to sing to the object of his affection. No comment :)

Less than 6% of all primate species are considered monogamous; the gibbon is within that minority 6%, being considered a pair-bonded primate. Their social structure consists of a mated pair and up to four offspring, well would you look at that! If a gibbon was born under the sign of libra, their monogamous status would be fairly secure - libras are described as being flirty/frivolous, but loyal in marriage.

Gibbons are an endangered species, a result of deforestation. They are also hunted for their value as a beguiling pet, easy to understand if you've seen one up close. Kinda makes you wanna bring a cage to pool tonight, eh?

Ding! Ding! Ding! WINNER!!

Ever play GoogleWars? That's where you enter two key words (for instance, Nintendo and Microsoft), or names (Michael Jordan, Magic Johnson), click the button and see which one is more popular. Let's try it, shall we?

Take, for instance, the key words MAYONNAISE and m...m...iracle whip. ('scuze me, I threw up a little in my mouth...)

KEYWORD #1: MAYONNAISE
KEYWORD #2: m...m...that other stuff

Well, would you look at that!

Popularity Report on MAYONNAISE vs. m...iracle whip
RESULTS:

MAYONNAISE 7,390,000
miracle whip 475,000
Total Pages Searched: 7,865,000
GoogleBattle winner is MAYONNAISE

The internet has spoken. Now go make me a sammich, bitch.