Actions and Words Speak Louder Than Nonsense

Is anyone else sick of commercials insinuating a woman's love can be bought? Ask around. Most women I know would rather a good, stiff bone job over a vacuum cleaner any day of the week.

Emphasis on the *good*.

Two thumbs up for anything that pokes fun at our rampant overconsumption and commercialization. Whether such parody takes the form of a movie or humorous print ad.

Which leads me to this week's theme. (No, not your wife's fat ass. That's next week's theme.)

Here goes: The best way to celebrate the birth of your Lord, the miracle of lights, the new year or life in general is to show some gratitude toward the people we care about.

It really is as simple and as difficult as that.

Gifts are okay, but to be made to feel like we *have* to get the most expensive presents for children, spouses, etc. is ridiculous. Come on, our love is better than that.

If you, like me, have difficulty saying "I love you" to more than, like, maybe three people on the planet - that's okay. There are other ways to show our compassion, gratitude, and love without making everyone feel all awkward and shit.

We can
--write thank-you notes for all the gifts, thoughtful comments, and uplifting sentiments bestowed on us this year. Let the people who take time out to shower us with affection know that it means something.
--give extra-long kisses and hugs.
--send a friend a funny link that reminds us of them. Let them know that in the noisy confusion of life, they crossed our minds.
--call just to check in. (In our family, we call it a love check.)
--send an email or card when birthday time rolls around.
--say we're sorry. And mean it.
--bake some cookies for the person who delivers our mail, teaches our kids, takes away our trash, deposits our money, or cleans our homes.
--post a comment or write a letter of encouragement to someone who patrols our neighborhood, writes our favorite column, or blogs our favorite site.
--vote.
--call the customer complaint line and compliment.
--send holiday cards to everyone and their mother.

Not just once a year, either. As often as possible. I would say once a month, but we can't all roll like me.

I got this email yesterday from a reader I've never heard from before: "I have loved reading your wit and wisdom over the last year. So fresh and alive. Keep up the great work."

Twenty-one words that probably took less than a minute to write and click Send.

And yet it made my day.

Never underestimate the power of a kind word or action. Love rockets through the universe and comes back to us in ways we never imagined. And even if the person we reach out to doesn't return our affections - do it anyway. I used to think that the fewer people I loved, the more special those precious few would feel. What bullshit. As I get older, I realize my heart is big enough to include so many people. People I'd rather not live without. So take it from me - those who close themselves off emotionally need love just as much as anyone else. And eventually they'll get their heads out of their ass. I did anyway.

I'm grateful for each and every family member and friend. Lucky to have them all. And I take great comfort knowing that I've shared my love, in one way or another, with each and every one. Even if they didn't realize it at the time.

Look at that list again. You're in there somewhere. And probably more than a few times.

None of my above ideas are as great as a good, stiff bone job.

Emphasis on the *good*.

But my ideas are better than a giftwrapped piece of nonsense. Nonsense that is so soon and easily forgotten.

Happy New Year.

Booty Call

How can a perfectly fine ass...

look so awful?
What is it about denim, spandex, and sweatshop labor that makes finding the right pair of jeans so difficult? It's a topic tackled by Oprah, countless websites, Saturday Night Live, and my friends.

Are good jeans an urban myth?

Is finding them an impossible task?

Not one to shy away from a challenge, I dragged Becky out shopping recently to find the perfect pair for my tiny tushie.

Easier said than done.

We went to The Promenade Shops at Briargate, a sort of upscale mall 'round these parts, to peruse their offerings. Banana Republic, Ann Taylor, and White House Black Market were out. Such selections made my derriere look like a half-eaten donut.

Then we hit Gloss - A Denim Bar.

Upon entering the posh boutique, dozens of denim delights made my head spin. Decisions, decisions. High or low pockets? Sequins or gemstones? And which style would make my butt look better - the kind that slinks down to show a thong or the kind that hugs hips and hides my junk in the trunk?

Becky and I needed an expert.

Elizabeth* suddenly appeared to make sense of it all.

She was a tiny little thing, no taller than 5'4", with long black hair and a rich Spanish (as in Europe, not Mexico) accent.

Elizabeth obviously knew her ass from a good pair of jeans.

She led Becky and me to the dressing area. We sipped beverages, gazed at ourselves in flattering mirrors, sat on velvet cushions, and shared with Elizabeth my deepest and darkest desire - to sport a badonkadonk that would make a black woman proud.

Elizabeth went to work.

She came back with a half-dozen options. These were not the Jordace or Gloria Vanderbilts of our youth. These premium pants had names like True Religion, Joe's Jeans and Paige. After taking twenty minutes to get into a pair of Gloss' finest, grunting like a porn star, I got up on the, righthandtoGod, *staging area* so Becky and a few professionals could assess the assets from all angles.

I sucked in with all my might and pulled up my shirt. Even bent over a few times. Which gave me a special thrill because I could see Focus on the Family's headquarters through the store window.

"Suck this, Dob-"

Then I saw the tag and choked on my organic refreshments. Size 27? An hour earlier I was a 2. What the f*ck was Gloss trying to pull?

Elizabeth explained something called "European sizes."

Then I saw the price and spit out my organic refreshments. $355? What the f*ck was Gloss trying to pull?

Elizabeth explained something called "credit cards."

"These are your babieeees," she cooed. "They are an investmeeent. You must love theeeem and care for theeeem. They will last foreeever. I promise youuuuu."

Good lord. It takes all my energy just to love and care for my real babies. The ones who might not appreciate "I would pay your college tuition but mommy wanted to look hot" talks.

And ummm, how does one properly love denim?

"You wash them by hand and let them dry naturally," Elizabeth patiently explained. "These are your babieeees."

I gotta admit, it was tempting. Expensive jeans feel better and my fanny, according to Becky, looked fabulous. Ultimately, we thanked Elizabeth and I promised to think about it. We're gonna hit a few stores in Denver and could possibly make it back to Gloss again. I don't think my work there is done.

Bending over in front of Focus while wearing $355 jeans was sorta fun.

The ultimate goal is to buy a pair that My Man would want to rip off anyway, right? Makes me think I should just walk around in my thong and save a buck or two.

But it is goddamn cold here.

And so the quest continues...

Chanukah Gifts - An Assessment

The boys did good this year. They made kick-ass dreidels for house decorations and gave a chunk of change to St. Jude's Hospital. (Sorry, ACLU, maybe next year.)

They stocked up on ice skates, hockey lessons, gift cards I will use to purchase Chinese and Chess lessons in the form of computer games, maps, Rubik's cubes (that their daddy keeps solving - showoff), a ton of long underwear and socks.

Not to mention PSPs for long car trips.

To the store.

So Mommy can hear herself think.

Then someone, an aunt, I believe, got them Guitar Hero 3.

Nonsense, I tell you. Nonsense.

I try to turn them toward Heart.

"Oh look," I say, "let's hear some Cream or maybe Black Sabbath?"

Hours later, I have to stop eating organic, vegetarian meatloaf long enough to explain that "Suck My Kiss" and "Talk Dirty to Me" aren't appropriate for the dinner table.

They are my children, after all.

Year In Pee-Yoo: 2007

So many of you lucky bastards receive my annual wrap-up in the mail. The rest must read it here.

Enjoy.

Or not.

Completely up to you.

The time has come once more to look back over the following twelve months, sigh, and say, “Wow. That sucked.”

Come with me, won’t you? As I chronicle that which rocked and that which blew. Step by painful step.

December 2006: Oldest and Youngest played soccer and immediately needed a lecture on how, “While I’m young, jackass!” is not appropriate feedback for other six year olds. Someone nominated Katie to be Team Mother. Big mistake. She immediately banned sugar-coated snacks and outlawed verbalized, group prayer. Husband continued living in Becky’s house where temps were in the teens and adult cable didn’t work in the basement. For winter break, the children and Katie left a perfectly reasonable winter season in Florida to visit Husband in Colorado. Upside: met Sister’s new baby. Downside: frozen snot.

January: Husband sent us back to Florida and pretended to be sad about it. Oldest and Youngest turned seven. They lost their first teeth-


and finally fit in around Pasco County. The following weekend, Children flew with their grandparents back to Colorado to witness the new baby’s christening. Our kids still don’t understand how they turned out Jewish. Everyone enjoyed themselves – especially Katie, who was home alone in Florida. She spent the weekend dancing around the house and enjoying clean bathrooms.

February: New realtor announced that all the creatively colored rooms must be repainted a whiter shade of pale in order to sell the joint. Broke Katie’s heart to live in a bland house, but hoped the family would soon be reunited as a result. So someone else could read “Harry Potter” out loud, every single night, for a goddamn change. On President’s Day Weekend, Katie flew to Colorado Springs so she and Husband could rekindle the magic. They watched fifteen hours of television and slept for two days straight. So hot. Boys started piano lessons. Grandpa was lectured on how, “Only fruitcakes play piano” is not appropriate feedback for seven year olds.

March: Husband came home to Florida for a few weeks so Katie could get her breast reduction and tummy tuck in order to wear a bathing suit without causing eyeballs to bleed. Surgery went fine and Katie spent Spring Break trying not to sneeze.

After lying in bed for three weeks without being able to feel anything below the neck and forced to endure hours of reality television, she became addicted to YouTube and is still seeking professional help. Husband spent entire trip babysitting and attending to moans and groans. And sometimes he helped the boys, too.

April: Oldest and Youngest met Barack Obama and Youngest’s picture even turned up in Time Magazine. This is something to use against him if he ever decides to work for George Bush’s great-grandson in forty years. Some advice for people looking to go the surgical route: Tegaderms or steri-strips that cover your wounds will itch. The only real comfort will come in the form of localized massage. This is not something you can do in public without being brought up on charges, so grin and bear it. Or go into your office, draw the curtains, and play with yourself while moaning with relief. Co-workers *love* that. You won't feel like eating much. People will worry that you're wasting away. Especially Mom, who says she's seen better legs on Ethiopian children. When your appetite finally returns, you will eat three pieces of pizza in one sitting only to hear Dad say, "Keep eating like that and your tummy tuck will have been a huge waste of money."

And since nothing makes recovering from surgery better than catching strep throat, eat extra yogurt or something. The massive doses of antibiotics gave Katie something doctors called: C-Diff. Something our boys called: The Poops. Katie was rushed to the hospital, admitted, and dodged death by a few days. Husband caught making wish list with insurance money.

May: After Katie got out of the hospital, the house was sold to a couple who offered $140K less than it was worth. When Husband asks Katie how much she loves him, she now has a figure to relate. The boys finish first grade and earn a yellow belt in Tae Kwon Do. Anonymous stranger fires tennis balls at the house...

in retaliation for Katie’s op-eds in the Trib, the boys’ increasingly loud football games in the backyard, or Husband’s habit of washing cars in his underwear.

By the end of the month, we attended a few going away parties, packed our bags and took off for the wild, wild west. Minivans, ho!

June: Stopped in New Orleans. Not nearly depressing enough, we went to Oklahoma City to tour the memorial. Quite a vacation. Next stop, kids, the birthplace of tuberculosis! Arrived in Colorado and stayed with Becky while house hunting. Husband turned 39, but the wife and kids were too busy freezing their asses off to notice. Started house-hunting and tried to avoid areas near New Life Church, Focus on the Family, and neighborhoods with signs warning “Bears in the Area.”

July: After one interview, Katie got a teaching job. She got this job because the interviewers were impressed by her humor and positive attitude. And because no one looked her up on the Internet.
Moved into new house and met five neighbors – three of whom asked about our church group. Can’t wait until Chanukah.

August: Boys started second grade, thrilled to be in our own house with daddy’s pancakes on weekends instead of mommy’s organic oatmeal.

September: New elementary school scheduled Back to School Night on Rosh Hashanah. Katie informed the PTA and asked them to get their sh*t together by Sukkot. Nominated her to be Room Parent. Twice.

October: Katie flew to Pennsylvania to reconnect with family members and attend Aunt Marie’s funeral. Husband and the boys enjoyed chocolate ice cream in front of the television for three days. Husband and Katie celebrated 12 years of marriage and fell asleep in each other’s drool. The family attended a Democratic dinner and Katie wrote about it. The wrath of hell descended upon her - in the form of hate mail and nasty letters to the local editor. Feeling more like home every day.

November: Tired of corrupt literary agents, Katie put her story online at http://www.oliviaskiss.blogspot.com/ and is hoping a naked foot will attract readers. She turned 38 and tried to explain “middle-aged” to her children. Tried to explain it to Husband as well, but he fell asleep.

And started snoring.

Fun Conversations with Co-Workers (Part Three)

I miss such talks while on Winter Break...

Co-Worker #1 - You know, I've been thinking.

Me - Uh-oh. A scary sign.

Co-Worker #1 - My wife told me I shouldn't be having these conversations with you. I've called you elitist, picked on your politics, and ragged on your religion. We've been around a long time, my wife and I. And people sue sometimes when things happen. Should I be concerned?

Me - Just make sure I don't get fired, sweetheart.

(long pause)

Me - I'm kidding.

(he's obviously concerned)

Me - Let me tell you a story. Few years ago, I had this crazy-ass department head. Lots of people wanted her fired. I had no problem because, as you can see, I kinda like crazy.

(flicker of a smile so I continue)

Me - We're all in this meeting when I stand up and crazy-ass department head says, "Sit your J.A.P-ass down." In front of everyone.

Co-Worker #1 - You're not Japanese.

(this is where I take a moment to once more educate my co-worker on items of interest outside his four square walls)

Me - Anyway, I didn't think anything of it. Just laughed it off. Within days, I was called to my principal's office where she and the assistant principal tried to get me to press charges. I knew they wanted Crazy Ass out and this was a convenient way to do it. They told me her comment was antisemitic. I said, "It wasn't antisemitic. It was stupid. I've returned diamond bracelets and look forward to raising my own children. So, obviously, I'm not a J.A.P." You see, if we shout racism or sexism or antisemitism when it doesn't exist, people will soon care less when it does.

(long pause)

Me - I keep forgetting you are an evangelical and sorta need sh*t spelled out. In other words, Homeboy, your nonsense is safe with me. So keep it coming.

Gotta have something to write about, after all.

Merry Christmas

From me to you.

Do You Really Want It?

These are my favorite Christmas songs. Why? Because...

-Annie Lennox has one of the best voices ever and Al Green shines love and hope. They're both so beautiful, I can't stand it. And the movie rocked.

- old school rap makes me want to shake that thing. Always a good sign.

- church music evokes something mystical and inherently good in each of us. And yes. I count this as church music.

- her voice gives me goose bumps. And praying for peace is good. Even if she is goddamn crazy.

- my first fantasy was Simon LeBon. That's why.

- a good cry never hurt anyone.

- he's the best that ever was, could, or would be. Speaking of a good cry...

Peace be with all of you.

One of the Guys

Back in the late 80s, after graduating from high school, I hung around a group of guys almost 'round the clock. Although my mother wasn't thrilled with the idea of her little girl among so many young men, The Guys treated me like a sister.

Okay, I dated *one* of them. And by dated, I mean we drank together at keggers and made out in his car. But Jeff dumped me after four or five months because he had needs and when I said no, I meant no.

Anyway, the rest of them were my buddies. Heavy metal types: long hair, poetic souls, beat-up vans, and hearts of gold.

I loved them dearly.

One of The Guys was Steve Seriel. His long black hair fell down to his shoulders and when he scowled, his dark eyes could look menacing. Most of the time, though, he smiled. At me. At our friends. I was the only one without a car, so Steve always made sure someone picked me up because it made him nervous to see me walking by myself. When I got mad about something, he would always say, "Don't be mean, Katie. You're better than that."

Took me to see Whitesnake. And bought me beer.

Steve was a good guy.

After starting college, I moved away from heavy metal and into the patchouli-scented arms of the hippie/activist crowd. I still invited The Guys to parties, and showed up at theirs with petitions for everyone to sign, but I lost touch with Steve.

My friend Cathy still talked to him. She had dinner with Steve just a few weeks ago and showed him pictures of my children.

Steve said, "They look just like Katie! Hopefully, they'll grow into their foreheads."

A few days later, Steve killed himself. And no one really understands why he did it. Seemed to be happier than most and content with his life.

Suicide leaves behind so many mourners with unanswered questions. It's easy to characterize those who take that route as selfish or uncaring. But my heart breaks for a guy who felt so alone and miserable he had to end his life with a bullet to the brain.

*He* was better than that.

And so, rest in peace, Steve.

You've Been Jewgled!

I'm always feeling holy.

Now go call your mother.

Rich Tosches, Meet God.

Perusing The Independent this weekend, I came across a column by Rich Tosches: Who fired that gun?

Interesting, to say the least.

Here is my response -

Dear Editor,

I am writing in response to Rich Tosches’s column about the well-armed security guard, Jeanne Assam, at New Life Church. Ms. Assam “prayed for the Holy Spirit to guide” her and so, apparently, God came through and she shot Matthew Murray on December 9th, saving untold numbers of lives.

Mr. Tosches wondered, “When did it become OK to say God helped you gun someone down?”

With all due respect, Mr. Tosches, you must not have been paying attention during Catechism. Or World History class.

Ms. Assam’s version of God may not seem like the familiar and reassuring deity you pray to each night, but He’s the same nonetheless.

As a self-professed “old kind of” Christian, you belong to a religion whose very foundation is built upon violence supposedly brought forth from God against those who would destroy Christianity. Centuries ago, soldiers believed their hands were guided by the Holy Spirit as well. Those very hands gripped swords that beheaded Muslims, Jews, and other heretics. In this country alone, women were burned at the stake, slavery was endured, and scientists demonized – all in the name of the Christian God.

Don’t get me wrong, Christians have come a long way, baby. But this idea that Christianity is, at its core, a peaceful religion is not true.

Peaceful religions exist. But the three most powerful and popular religions of our time – Christianity, Judaism, and Islam – have holy books that celebrate violence. The literal translation of the sixth commandment is You Shall Not Murder. In certain instances, however, killing is not only condoned by God, it’s required. And anyone with a rudimentary understanding of the Inquisition, the Crusades, and witch burning frenzies must chuckle when you proclaim that Jesus wouldn’t aim.

Perhaps he wouldn’t, but religious folks have, for centuries, killed on his behalf. And, they have been convinced, with his help and approval.

Express outrage over such expressions of faith. Yes, cringe when people imply that God wants them to kill. Point out the inconsistencies of an “all-powerful” God who would help an armed security guard instead of protecting innocent children shot down by a lunatic.

What kind of Savior would help knock other people out, indeed? These modern day questions, I’m sure, were also shouted in horror back in the 1200s. What have we learned? Such notions sound barbaric and we should, in the 21st century, be a bit more evolved than that.

Be whatever kind of Christian you want, Mr. Tosches, but don't ignore that these violent reactions to dangerous people, both real and imagined, lie in the foundation of your faith. It’s the oldest part of Christianity there is.

What's Wrong With Republicans?

If I were a right-winger, God forbid, I'd give this guy some serious consideration. I mean, come on, he's better than Rudy.

At least John McCain's holiday greeting doesn't have a subliminal floating cross in the background.

Plus he includes everyone - instead of just talking to those who share his faith.

Mitt or Huck over this guy? Really?

I don't get you people.

Buy Union for the Holidays

Enjoy high quality food and wine this holiday season, while knowing that the workers who picked it for you will have a happy holiday too. UFW contracts provide good wages and paid holidays for farm worker families. When you buy these union labels you help make union companies successful, and encourage non-union companies to get with the program.

When you go to your next holiday gathering, why not put a smile on the hosts’ faces with a thoughtful gift of union wine?

Union-grown produce makes a great side dish for your holiday table.

WINE
Chateau Ste. Michelle
Columbia Crest
Saddle Mountain
Farron Ridge
North Star
Snoqualmie
St. Supery
Dollarhide Ranch
Scheid Vineyards Inc.
Balletto

ALMONDS
Montpelier

STRAWBERRIES
Coastal Berry Co. LLC
Swanton Berry

ROSES
Armstrong
Jackson and Perkins
Meilland Star Roses

NURSERY/FLOWERS
L.E. Cooke

VEGETABLES
Andy Boy
Muranaka*

APPLES
Mann's CA Apples
Elwin R Mann

DATES
Patos Dream Date Garden

MUSHROOMS
Monterey Mushrooms
Prime Mushrooms
Ariel Mushrooms
Family Farms Mushrooms
Del Fresh
California Mushroom Farms Inc.
San Martin Mushrooms

CITRUS (Lemons, Oranges, Grapefruit, Tangerines)
Sunkist*
Sunworld*
Airdrome*
Big Jim*

*Only with the UFW Black Eagle.

Assbag of the Week - Doug Bruce

Last week, House Speaker Andrew Romanoff called the newly *appointed* State Representative Doug Bruce. Speaker Romanoff asked Doug to report to work on the 1st day of session, which is Jan 9th, to be sworn in.

This is a reasonable request, starting a job on the same day it begins.

Doug decided he will be sworn in on Jan 14th instead.

The previous State Representative Bill Cadman's midway point for this term is Jan 13th. If Doug waits until a day after the midway point he can serve an extra two years - meaning four terms total vs. three terms that are currently allowed.

This will also set him up for a senate run when the current Senator becomes term limited.

The House is now putting forth a bill to prevent this from happening in the future.

Mr. Republican and Enemy of Taxes is causing us to spend more tax money on a bill to stop similar tactics.

Another Republican politician using the law in an unethical manner. We have had enough - haven't we?

Whether you are in House District 15 or not, please send an email right away to Mr. Bruce to let him know your disapproval of his actions and urge him to start his job Jan 9th.

Encourage your friends and family to do the same.

And while you're at it - wish the b*stard a Merry Christmas from me.

Thanks.

Unacceptable

On so many different levels.

Will *your* presidential candidate fix it?

Mine will.

Why I'm Supporting Him Too

John Edwards for President.

Fun Conversations with Co-Workers (Part Two)

Co-Worker #1 loves coming into my classroom with fears of President Hillary Clinton dancing in his head.

And I'm supposed to comfort him how? I mean, I'd prefer President John Edwards. But given the choice between Huckabee, Rudy, Mitt on the right and Hillary, Edwards, or Obama on the left - I'd choose left any day of the week.

Really, who wants creepy minister/politician with the creepy floating cross/bookcase in the background all large and in charge? Not me.

Co-Worker #1 also likes to discuss religion. Dude is in it to win it. His holiday card even gave thanks that "we're all able to commemorate our Savior's birth."

Cracks me up.

Anyway, the other day we were talking about the wonders of the Lord (rather, he was talking and I was politely nodding and smiling - which always encourages crazy talk) and I agreed with him about something.

Dude almost passed out.

"I think Christianity did a great job," I said, "of bringing monotheism to the masses."

"Why didn't Judaism do that?" he said. "I mean, that's why God chose them, right? They were supposed to be a light for other nations and they really just kept to themselves. They were sort of elite about it, weren't they?"

I could have gone on about how Judaism didn't appeal to the masses because of its emphasis on behavior. The masses being lazy asses and all. But, instead, I shook my head and explained something called *antisemitism*.

I am a teacher after all.

We discussed the hatred for a small group of people who wouldn't worship or bow down to false idols. People who were enslaved for hundreds of years. People who were made to give up their land, take jobs no one else wanted, and the jealousy and hatred that rose up when those people thrived. We talked about how the Inquisition, pogroms, and that pesky Holocaust all may have had something to do with "keeping to ourselves." Kinda hard to convert the planet when said planet wants you dead.

Elite? Had nothing to do with it. Compassionate, conservative Christians love to blame the victim.

"I'm not saying elite is bad," he said. "If I were part of a group that God chose for great things, I might be a bit full of myself too."

"We're not full of ourselves because we're God's chosen people. We're full of ourselves because we know better than to buy retail. And anyway, chosen doesn't mean we'd get great things - obviously. It means we have a responsibility to care for the planet, ourselves, and others. This is God's world. And we take that position seriously. You might flaunt that kind of position if you were in it, fine. Just one of many ways we're better than you."

Gonna miss defending my life choices for a few weeks. Whatever will I do to keep busy...

Is Elia Smoking Crack?

Teachers in Hillsborough County are busting their asses to get through the next few days before taking some well-deserved time off.

Time off that includes, but is not limited to, grading papers, completing paperwork, tutoring, coaching, sponsoring club activities, attending student events - oh, not to mention spending the holidays with family and urinating whenever they want instead of having to wait for a bell.

So this is supposed to be some kind of consolation?

Elia feels your pain, people. Color coordinated sympathy. The best kind.

She wants pictures of teachers at work for the new district home page. Perhaps every department head should send her pictures of that week's nervous breakdown? How about the holiday party where LooLoo threw eggnog at a mouthy co-worker and then blamed it on stress? Or how about blurry visions of teachers running to potty during class change, mowing down students and still not making it back on time?

But seriously, that story about the bike got me all choked up.

Merry F*cking Christmas, MaryEllen.

Strain Your Nuts

Getting a good share of teasing from the masses for Saturday night.

Not all of it has to do with tequila.

Becky got on me because I didn't take my shoes off all night and dragged in cat litter.

Who knew? I was too busy drinking them out of house and home to notice.

Melissa's exact words were something like, "There was a lot of good food there. But I can't believe someone brought green beans. They just dumped a can of green beans into a casserole dish! Can you believe that?"

Ummm - not all of us are gifted in the culinary arts. I dumped a *bag* of green beans, not a can. (Frozen veggies are about 89 cents while Del Monte is well over a dollar. You do the math.)

Plus I sprinkled some salt and pepper up in there. That's gotta count for something.

Husband's apparently not thrilled with the shaggy do's the boys were sporting. Too much gel.

"Hi, we're The Robinsons. My children just got done swimming. Here are some green beans that taste like twigs. Where's your good sh*t that I'll be drinking all night? Pay attention boys, this is how you get by on personality alone."

I'm also hearing several variations of the same theme: "I told you about my dog the other night. Don't you remember?" or "We had this exact conversation at the party. Were you just pretending to listen?" and the ever popular "You said you'd babysit anytime I'd like. And you said it'd be free. How's tomorrow afternoon?"

Good times.

Then Donna sent this entertaining email. Finally, a recipe I can master.

My Favorite Christmas Cookie Recipe

1 cup of water
1 tsp. baking soda
1 cup of sugar
1 tsp. salt
1 cup of brown sugar
lemon juice
4 large eggs
1 cup nuts
2 cups of dried fruit
1 large bottle Jose Cuervo Tequila

Sample the Cuervo to check quality.

Take a large bowl, check the Cuervo again, to be sure it is of the highest
quality. Pour one level cup and drink. Turn on the electric mixer.

Beat one cup of butter in a large fluffy bowl. Add one teaspoon of
sugar.

Beat again.

At this point it's best to make sure the Cuervo is still OK. Try another
cup...just in case.

Turn off the mixerer thingy.

Break 2 leggs and add to the bowl and chuck in the cup of dried fruit. Pick
the frigging fruit off floor. Mix on the turner.

If the fried druit gets stuck in the beaterers just pry it loose with a
drewscriver.

Sample the Cuervo to check for tonsisticity.

Next, sift two cups of salt, or something. Who giveshz a sheet. Check the
Jose Cuervo.

Now shift the lemon juice and strain your nuts. Add one table. Adda
spoon of sugar, or somefink. Whatever you can find. Greash the oven. Turn the
cake tin 360 degrees and try not to fall over. Don't forget to beat off the
turner.

Finally, throw the bowl through the window, finish the Cose Juervo and make
sure to put the stove in the dishwasher.

CHERRY MISTMAS

Better than green beans, I suppose.

Top Environmental Story of 2007

Why, Al Gore of course.

Disagree? You would've gone with the bees?

Vote for your own story here.

For the Liberal on Your List

During my tequila tirade the other night, one of the things I remember vividly is when Becky gave me these delightful mints for the holidays.

With instructions.

She insists I am to display them on my desk at school. Every time a conservative comes into my classroom to bash my political heroes, hairdo, or "hippie clothes" - I am to offer them a mint.

And smile.

Last Chance of the Year

Come join Drinking Liberally at The Coffee Exchange, 526 S. Tejon, at 7:30PM for beer, wine, coffee and political talk amongst Colorado Springs' best gathering of liberals, progressives, and others.

Three other items of interest:

The Drinking Liberally holiday sale is still going on, and the website now features our new designs - Beer, Not Feer; No Drinker Left Behind; Party Politics; and Drink Liberally. Visit here to check out all of the DL merchandise. We're being told that any orders placed by tomorrow will arrive before Christmas, so get all your leftover Christmas shopping done in one spot, while supporting Drinking Liberally!

The second Colorado Springs chapter of Drinking Liberally - a more northernly version of DL - begins life next month, January 8th, to be exact, at Champps restuarant, at 7:30PM.

If you missed it, last week's Independent had an article featuring Drinking Liberally member John Walter and his journey back to Iraq for his third deployment. You can read the article here, and if you're interested in keeping in contact with John over the next 15 months, send us an e-mail and we'll give you his e-mail address.

A Holiday Classic

Jeff posted this last year and so I went looking for it again because, really, what says "holiday" more than that friendly face from Burger King?

Listen just once and you'll be singing this nonsense all day long - "Ding - fries are done!"

Little Bits of Nothing

Can't wait to give this Linus Speech to my nephew.

h/t QuakerJono

So This Is What A Hangover Feels Like

"Are you drunk?"
"Just a little, boogie boogie."

The last time I got drunk was back in 1997 at my ten-year high school reunion. Too much red wine on an empty stomach. I acted belligerent and threw up on the side of the road.

So not hot.

The next morning, during fun lectures from Husband and Becky about the importance of using kind words, I decided that tipsy was acceptable every once in a while. Tipsy was fine.

Drunk was not.

Ten years go by - which brings me to last night.

Oh. The. Horror.

Husband's holiday party.

I mingled. I charmed. I laughed.

I spotted the tequila.

And then Becky's husband took out the good sh*t.


I'm only human. How many times am I supposed to pass by such a tasty treat, lemons, salt, and shot glasses? Well. Seven or eight times I definitely *didn't* pass them by.

Seven. Or eight. Times.

Good news is that ten years of "knowing when to say when" has softened the nastiness that too much drinky used to bring out in me. I didn't throw a single shot glass or kick anyone in the shin. I didn't insult Becky's old boyfriends. I don't think I grabbed anyone's ass.

I did, however, discuss how, as a young woman, I made my future husband wait five long years to *get with this*. Surely his colleagues enjoyed *that* conversation.

Oh, and I opened my car door as Horrified Husband drove down the Interstate because I "needed some air."

Fell down in my closet trying to get out of my clothes. Must've looked charming.

What am I forgetting?

Apparently, I threw up on the side of the road.

Still not hot.

But I'm sure that's because I ate something undercooked. Had nothing to do with the seven or eight shots of incredibly smooth and tasty tequila. Tequila I never want to look at again no matter how long I live.

'Tis the Season

And Now For Something Completely Different

A toking teacher in Tampa.

Sorry, I'm not joining the holier-than-thou crowd to demand his head on a platter.

Cause I've been in high school classrooms. I feel his pain. And there but for the grace of God...

Speaking of the holier-than-thou crowd, my friend Michelle sent this report to me and noted "supposed do-gooders tell themselves they are entitled to special rewards for their piety and virtue (therefore) they make ethical breaches more frequently than the mere 'common sinners.' Reminded me of a certain city we live in, hmmmmmmm........."

For once. Couldn't have said it better myself.

h/t Robin and Michelle

This 'N That

Had my first Snow Day this week. Even better? Kids didn’t.

Good times all the way around.

Being able to talk extensively on the phone without having to hang up because “Mom! He’s looking at me!” leads to some interesting conversations.

Me: I think Jennifer Love Hewitt looks great.


Blood Relative: She does look good. People are nuts. She just looks bigger than she used to.

Me: I think she looks like me. I have those hips. Most women do.

BR: You’re not that big.

Me: I don’t think she’s that big.

BR: You have a distorted body image. When I offered you a cookie the other day, you only took a piece.

Me: Yeah.

BR: A whole cookie isn’t going to kill you.

Me: I only wanted a taste.

BR: I’ve never seen you act that way before.

Me: What way? I only wanted a taste.

BR: You said, ‘I *can’t* have a whole cookie.’

Me: Right. Well. I meant I shouldn’t.

BR: I was just surprised, that’s all.

Me: My metabolism is slow. I can’t eat like I used to. And so I only took a taste. Christ. I’m fighting a certain biological destiny. And so I try to eat right.

BR: You need good fat in your diet. How are you getting good fat?

(I start to sweat.)

Me: I don’t know. Olive oil. Almonds.

BR: You look gaunt.

Who knew that asking for just a piece of cookie would elicit the kind of intervention Karen Carpenter needed?

Then I got on the phone with Becky.

For twenty-five years now, people have wondered why Becky and I are friends. We couldn’t be more different.

She’s blonde. I’m brunette.

Becky is bubbly, I’ve actually heard her giggle. I’m…not.

I like music. Becky likes Will Smith and John Mayer. And that b*tch who sings Orinoco Flow.

I read Newsweek. She reads catalogs.

We’ve never had the same taste in men, clothes, or television shows.

You understand where I’m going with this - we are polar opposites. But the following conversation illustrates why *we* work.

Beck: I have a problem with your holiday newsletter.

Me: Great. What did I do wrong now?

Beck: You hardly mentioned me. Your husband lived with me for over a year. You and the kids lived here at least a few months. I think I deserve more than just one line. Don’t you?

(long pause as I tap into the phone)

Me: Is this thing working? I mean, I usually get lectured when I *include* people in my writing –

Beck: When was the last time you got in trouble for teasing me?

(long pause while I try to remember)

Me: You know. It’s not like I don’t have plenty of material…If you want me to make fun of you more often, I can certainly do that.

Beck: That’s all I’m saying.

Me: And that’s why you’re my kind of girl.

(long pause while we bask in the light of a perfect friendship)

Me: Have I mentioned my theory about how I look like Jennifer Love Hewitt? And how I got shit from a family member because I only wanted to eat half a cookie?

Beck: I don’t want to hear your bullsh*t about half a cookie. I just ate half the contents of my refrigerator. You have a distorted body image. Oh and another thing…

Where are distracting kids when you need ‘em?

Leave Jesus Out of It

With recent bouts of violence in the news, many of us talk to each other in order to make sense of it all. Rather simplistically, I admit, in the conversations I’ve had with others, we’ve identified the causes of such tragedies as either the result of bad parenting or the absence of Jesus in people’s lives.

(Guess which theory I *didn't* come up with.)

Co-Worker #1 disagreed with my assessment that bad parenting leads to angry young men. He thinks good people can end up with bad kids.

Perhaps.

But just because someone is a good person, doesn’t mean he or she is a good parent. Unnecessary divorce (read: almost all of them), neglect, lack of discipline, and abuse are just a few of the many ways parents, well-intentioned or not, fail their children.

And society will continue to pay a price until such parents are held accountable.

Those who claim “Christ” is “The Way” – explain this one: the shooter at New Life Church was raised in a religious household. His family was so super duper Christian that he couldn’t attend public schools and his brother goes to Oral Roberts University.

I submit the home-schooling and Oral Roberts as evidence of a troubled upbringing. Obviously.

I’ve often said that Christianity does compel some people to do good who might otherwise not. An “attaboy” from The Creator or some kind of heavenly afterlife might be an incentive for some folks. But when I look at a list of people who’ve committed violent crimes against others, most of whom self-identify as Christians, I can’t help but wonder if maybe Christianity is part of the problem.

A popular bumper sticker comes to mind, “Christians aren’t perfect, just forgiven.” The ecclesiastical white-out makes even the most egregious sin forgivable. This is why so many criminals find Jesus in jail.

Which brings me to my next point.

There is one rather significant group of guys who most certainly don’t have Jesus in their lives and yet, they don’t commit acts of violence in high numbers.

Jewish men.

The U.S. data is pretty clear. Of 200 of the most violent U.S. criminals, six are identified as Jews.

Why? Can it be attributed to a more sincere focus on the family? A historic propensity to solve problems intellectually rather than with brute force? Too busy running the government, the media, and all domestic banking institutions to bother?

Rabbi Telushkin once said that he thought the reason for low incidents of violence among Jews is because of our kosher laws. Such laws took into account a concern for animals and, over the centuries, grew into a more-accepted culture of personal nonviolence.

Gandhi once said, “The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated.”

Years later, noted Jewish comedian Groucho Marx said, "I'm not a vegetarian, but I eat animals who are."

Where was I?

Oh yeah.

Kids commit violent acts for many reasons. But the source of their problems can be traced back home.

Plus Jewish men rock.

"What - in the name of all that is sweet and holy -

is this doing in my refrigerator?"


"Oh, that's a gift from our neighbor across the street."

Great.

A *Christmas* gift, I'm sure.

My Kids' Favorite Christmas Song This Year

Without a doubt.

h/t Robin and Michelle

Assbag of the Week – Laura Hagan

Some animal-rights activists give the rest of us a bad name.

Rolo, a German Shepherd who spends most days terrorizing his suburban Denver neighborhood, recently attacked a woman who was outside walking with her baby. After carefully considering the evidence and listening to many neighbors who reported the dog aggressive and feared for their safety, Arvada Municipal Judge George W. Boyle ordered the dog euthanized.

That’s when motherf*ckers lost their minds.

Read this article or visit this website and try not to throw up.

DISCLOSURE: I like animals. In fact, I like them so much, I don’t eat or wear them. I also don’t like to touch or kiss them. But that’s another post entirely.

Laura Hagan, dog owner from Loo-Loo Land, is an assbag. Of the highest order.

Hagan shouted, "Oh no. It's my baby, it's my child."

Rolo is not a child. Rolo is not a baby. Rolo is not a human being.

Rolo is a dog.

According to Hagan, Rolo attacked Kathy Hardin “only because she was screaming loudly” as Rolo charged Hardin’s baby.

What mother wouldn’t scream at such a sight?

Instead of remembering that we are made in God’s image, not Fido’s, and taking painful but necessary measures to make sure no one is ever harmed again – Laura Hagan is blaming the victim.

Meanwhile, Kathy Hardin, who’s been harmed physically as well as mentally thanks to death threats from crazy-ass fools who believe an animal is more important than a human being, has decided to move away from Arvada .

She can’t take the hate anymore.

But Laura Hagan, with misplaced priorities and twisted values, feels perfectly safe rallying against a judge who is trying to protect the people.

Hagan and her crew of Dog-Loving Dunces have been holding rallies, gathering petitions, and protesting the courthouse as well.

Here’s what the rest of us can do:

Side with innocent children over aggressive dogs.

Call the good judge and tell him that you support his decision to put people first.

Phone: (720) 898-7150
Fax: (720) 898-7164 (available 24 hours a day)

One of Hagan’s frightened neighbors made a great point: "We have to ask ourselves very, very carefully if one of the children in this neighborhood has to die to save a dog."

Don't Re-Gift This One!

Attended an important birthday party this weekend - Nephew turned one.

Parents, Brother, all kinds of friends and family members arrived in Denver to witness and celebrate with the Junior Mint.

As the party was winding down and I lamented the lack of alcohol, Sister unwrapped gifts to be sure no lead lurked from within. I relaxed back on the couch and sort of half-listened to the litany of blocks, books, and assorted whatnot.

Then Sister opened something interesting.

"Oh look," she said, "our friend from church got him The Christian Mother Goose Book."


I immediately sprang to life.

"Lemme see," I said to Brother-in-Law.

"No," he said. "You turned your back on Christ. Remember? You don't get to look and make fun."

I finally wrestled it away from him and peeked inside.

Most of the nightmare-inducing nursery rhymes we were raised with have been reworded for the enjoyment of a Jesus-loving child.

And his disturbed Aunt Kate.

For example, remember this classic?

The Christian version: "There was an old woman/Who lived in a shoe./She had so many children,/And loved them all, too./She said, `Thank you,/Lord Jesus,/For sending them bread,'/Then kissed them all gladly/And sent them to bed."

My favorite remains the Andrew Dice Clay version: "There was an old woman/Who lived in a shoe./She had so many children,/Her uterus fell out."

As I perused this tome of Christ-enhancing joy, I noticed an odd, yet slightly arousing theme in title choices.

Call me old-fashioned, but buns or bush diddling a cock-horse or willie peter while trying to bring back the forever-gone *missionary* trend is not appropriate bedtime reading for a twelve month-old child.

Works quite well, though, for his disturbed Aunt Kate.

I Expect More From NYC

Esther: "$8.99? That's a good deal."

Moshe: "Deal, schmeal. A free ham, though, now that's a dilemma."

You're Probably Worried...

But I was NOT shot today coming out of New Life Church after a rousing service of "We're saved - everybody else is going to hell" and signing petitions that encourage a third party candidate who will outlaw abortion and arm every lunatic in the country.

Repeat.

I was NOT shot today coming out of New Life Church.

Only in Colorado

Aaron says this is what makes them so easy to hunt.

Oh, Laugh a Little

Adding Insult to Injury

My parents flew 2000 miles to see their grandchildren's stage debut.

Wasn't *exactly* Broadway:

- actors picked their noses.

- the "theatre" looked an awful lot like "the gym" and smelled like stinky feet.

- decorations were made out of cotton balls and edible glue.

- children in attendance, to watch big brothers and big sisters, liked to a) scream, b) sing louder than the performers, and c) pass gas that would choke a cow.

My dad settled into his seat and immediately started documenting this event with enough electronic equipment to enrage a Japanese tourist.

A lovely scene...

I wandered around, with 30 minutes 'till showtime, trying to find a seat for everyone else on our guest list.

After scattering my children's fans into several sections of the audience, I sat down in the only seat that was left.

This was my dad's view the rest of the night.

Poor guy. No zoom lens gonna fix *that*.