What is figgy pudding anyway, and no, don't bring us some.

So, I woke up this morning singing, “We Are the World.” I suppose that’s an improvement over the millions of Christmas songs that have been dancing in my head over the last month, but not much of one. I need some heavy duty rap. Stat.

You know, I like the holidays, I really do, but damn, it’s a lot of work. From the decorating to the shopping to the cooking and baking. To hosting Christmas Eve. I’m tired.

But, even though it’s tiring, there are some things I look forward to every year. Breakfast at Mom’s on Christmas morning afternoon, playing whatever new board game we got that year, decorating the house. I have boxes and boxes of decorations stacked up in the basement, it takes an entire weekend to put everything up. The decorating weekend consists of taking stock of what I have, making a list of things I need (that may have broken last year [or have broken while stacked in the basement]), remembering where it all goes, putting it out and, finally, cleaning up the chaos I’d just created. By the end of the weekend, I am covered in enough glitter to moonlight as a stripper. But it’s pretty.

Of course, it’s not all fun and games. And stripper poles. I hate the shopping. While I love giving gifts, I don’t like the actual shopping for them. One, it’s hard to decide what to get the people who a) want nothing because they b) have everything already. My sister-in-law is great at finding gifts for people because she’s? A Shopper. I usually get her opinion before I start.

Working in retail for 8 years, I can appreciate what those mall workers go through every holiday season. And going to the mall around Christmas reminds me of those days and makes me appreciate that I don’t work there anymore. Last weekend, I spent a total of 16 hours shopping. It was just like when I worked in the mall, except I wasn’t getting paid. Only at the very end did I want to cry, which is an improvement for me. And then, on Monday, my sister and I hit the outlet malls. I didn’t get home until 10pm. P.M., people. I didn’t even eat dinner. But I? Was on a mission. And, I’m happy to say, my shopping is done. Normally, I’d still be shopping on Christmas Eve, so this is, in fact, a Christmas miracle. If I’m not wrapping presents at 2am Christmas morning this year, I will indeed believe in Santa Claus again.

And then there are the parties. We host Christmas Eve for my husband’s family. While I like the idea of being home, I’d much rather mess up someone else’s house this year. God bless my husband, though, who likes to cook. Because I think that would send me over the edge this year. Did I mention I’m tired?

But the kids make it all worth it. I have to admit, I got them some pretty awesome gifts this year (read: no clothes). I’ll be happy just to watch their reactions when they see what they got.

And I'll be happy when it's all over and I can take a long winter's nap.

Tired. Yeah.

I am Mrs. Brady

So, as I had written previously, I had broken up with my old hairstylist and had begun the long, painful journey to find a new one. I thought I had found one with that great haircut, but then she got pregnant and screwed up my friend’s hair. So, I decided to continue my search.

You have no idea how hard it is to find a good stylist. You can’t just enter any old salon willy-nilly and ask for a haircut. I mean, you can, but just know that you’re opening yourself up to days of tears and weeks of hats. It ain’t pretty, people.

So, you do the research. You ask your friends where they go. You ask your friends’ friends where they go. You ask strangers on the street (the ones with great hair – not the crazy homeless guy who just peed on the building next to you) where they go. Finally, you throw caution to the wind and make an appointment. And, if you’re lucky, you find a keeper... if you’re not, you find a great hat.

Enter Brad.* I learned about Brad from a co-worker. Her niece is a colorist at this salon and recommended Brad. So, I made an appointment. Our first meeting was uneventful. I thought he did a fairly decent job on my hair. Actually, I thought he did a great job. As I mentioned, I have the crazy cowlicks in the back and, somehow, Brad was able to tame them. Every time I moved my head, my hair fell beautifully, back into place. It was a great cut.

Additionally, Brad was entertaining. He’s awesomely gay. Have I ever mentioned my desire for a gay best friend? No?  Weird.  Alas, I have never been lucky enough to find one. My co-worker has one and he’s exactly the way I pictured my imaginary gay BFF. Someone who would look at me and say, “Oh, honey. That outfit? N-O.” Or, hopefully, “Honey, you look fab-U-lous!” Our first meeting, Brad was quick to compliment my top. And this last time? My boots. I like him. I know it’s his job and all, but it sounded sincere and I like my boots, too, so… he has great taste.

Anyway, Brad is also into theatre and musicals. He performs a lot, in addition to his day job. And he likes to sing along to the music playing in the salon. I love him, really. We spoke of Lady Gaga and how we totally want to be friends with her, even though she’s insane (mostly because she’s insane... and rich - an awesome combo). And he’s modest, to boot. When I walked into the salon yesterday, he said he thought to himself what an awesome cut I had (which he had given me, obviously). Hilarious.

This time, I decided to go to my co-worker’s colorist niece as well. This salon is different than any other I’ve been to because they all have specialties – color or style, whatever. So, if I want a cut and color, I have to see two different people. It’s probably a pain for the people scheduling, but it’s nice to know they all have their areas of expertise and you’re most likely going to come out with a great cut and color.

This time, I came armed with a picture. Most of the time, I never have an idea of what I want. What I want more than anything is for someone to look at me and say, “THIS! This is what you need!” But, whatever. It’s never going to happen. So, fine. Carpe diem. I’m going to do it myself.

And guess what happened? I was talked out of it.

The problem with me is that, while I want good hair, I’m pretty lazy about it. I never keep up with my highlights and my hair is usually so overgrown by the time I go back, it takes 2 hours to whip it back into shape. And, because of that, my new colorist suggested I go for a more natural look.

Which, let’s face it, is probably better for me. Because, while I used to be able to pull off funky hairstyles in my youth, I’d probably look pretty silly driving carpools in my minivan with pink hair. So, I let her do the responsible color.

3-1/2 hours I was at the salon. Have you ever seen the Brady Bunch movie from the 90’s? Mrs. Brady (played by Shelley Long) goes to a new hair salon and gets David Spade as a stylist? 7 hours (and a blowtorch) later, her hair looks exactly the same as when she walked in?

That’s me. That’s my hair.

I really should embrace it. It’s not a bad cut. It’s not a bad color. I just have to stop expecting something different than what I have because I must have already found perfection and didn’t know it.

Right?

* Name change to protect the fabulous.

While we're on the subject...

After my last entry, my siblings and I reminisced about our past Halloween costumes. My brother only remembers being a hobo and our father (not at the same time [although, when we talked about it, he wore a pair of blue workman’s pants and the filthy plaid jacket my dad would wear when working on the car, so I’m thinking my brother used the same materials, just tried to be creative by calling them different costumes]). My sister remembers being an 80’s chick, but it was the 80’s, so that wasn’t very creative. So, we pretty much suck at Halloween.

But, as a family, we are good at drinking (which is mostly why none of us can remember our costumes), and that made me think of Halloween last year, or as we now refer to it in my home, "The Drunken Debacle". And now I will share the story so you can all read my shame.

I like to fix people up. Well, sort of. I like to fix people up when it works well. If it doesn’t… I had nothing to do with it. And don’t bring it up to me. Ever. Again.

Anyway, my girlfriend was going through a divorce and feeling pretty low, so I thought a great date would cheer her up. I had the perfect guy. He’s a friend I’ve had forever, always up for meeting new people, always fun to be around. I figured he’d be perfect for her first time "out there" in 15 years.

So, I put together a happy hour at the local wine bar the day before Halloween. I think I’ve mentioned this wine bar before – they sell a wine that doesn’t give me hangovers? Right. Anyway, my co-workers, my brother, his girlfriend and my girl and guy friend all got together after work for a few drinks.

My brother, God love him, thought that ordering bottles of wine would be cheaper than buying by the glass. That, of course, is true, but you run the risk of the never-ending glass of wine. I normally know the number of glasses of wine I can handle, but since there was never an empty glass (due to my brother [God love him] filling my glass), I couldn’t keep track. I just figured I was a slow drinker that night. Or, most likely, I was drunk and didn't care. The wine was going down fiiiine.

My girlfriend and guy friend were seated (I’d like to think strategically, but I’m just not that good) together, with me across the table from them. I got the ball rolling, telling them each a little about the other. But, the more I drank, the more I liked the idea of them together. Man, they were cute. Did I say the following:

A) “You guys are so cute!”

B) “You have dark hair, he has dark hair! So cute!”

C)“You are tall, he is tall! So! CUTE!”

D) All of the above

If you answered D, you’d be correct.  

Gaah, I’m an idiot.

After a while, for whatever reason, we decided to go somewhere else. I always find this to be a mistake. Example? My sister’s bachelorette party 10+ years ago. We were having a grand ol’ time at our favorite neighborhood bar. My sister was appropriately attired in various penis bride-to-be paraphernalia and dancing on top of our table. But, I decided our favorite jukebox didn’t have enough rap/hip-hop music (a doy), so I wanted to go to another bar close by that offered dancing. What a mistake. We got there and everyone started to sober up. It got so bad, my sister tried walking home. So, yeah. Leaving a bar where you’re already having fun is a bad idea.

Same happened here. In those short minutes it took to drive to the next bar, I got extremely tired. I don’t even remember who picked the place or why. Since it was Halloween weekend, this bar was having a costume party. Not really fun for someone who was a) way drunk and b) didn’t have a costume. I spent my time at this bar drinking loads of water. Or, I wish I had been that smart. This part of the night was pretty hazy. Here’s what I remember of the 10 minutes we were at this bar.

1. I peed for a very long time as soon as we got there (in the bathroom [which, at this point, I considered an accomplishment] [I also picked the right icon on the door for "girls", another major accomplishment]).
2. In the time I was in the bathroom, I lost most of my party.
3. My girlfriend’s estranged husband showed up at the bar and took her home. Don’t know how he got there, don’t know when she had a chance to tell him where we were.
4. If I remember correctly (which I don't), my guy friend got my girlfriend's number before she left.
5. My guy friend was stuck having to drive my drunkass home – a half hour or longer out of his way.

The next day was spent... not in a good place (I'll spare you the details). My sainted husband took the boys away for the day so I could suffer in silence recuperate in peace. I felt like death warmed over twice (like twice baked potatoes) and couldn’t handle caring for myself, much less little people. The most I accomplished that day was watching 8 hours of MTV while sprawled out on the couch. And the only reason I watched that much MTV was because I couldn't muster the strength to find the remote control.

Luckily, I felt like a new person just in time for trick-or-treating.

Happy Halloween!

My favorite Halloween

Halloween is my third favorite holiday (Thanksgiving and Christmas are #1 and 2, respectively, [like you care]). I really looked forward to this Day of Free Candy every year as a child. Not the dressing up so much as the caaaaaaandy. As a lifetime member of Chocoholics Anonymous, you can imagine my pure happiness at the mere idea of getting my grubby little hands on those delicious mini Snickers and 3 Musketeers bars just by walking door to door in my neighborhood (good gravy, that was a long sentence). Why was this only a once a year thing?

Now that I'm an adult (boo), I can buy snack-sized candy bars whenever I want, but somehow, it's just not the same. I never have to look through my bag of candy for razor blades or crack cocaine (seriously, I grew up in a quiet Midwestern neighborhood, was that really necessary?).

Sigh.

Anyway, my 6-year-old is now in Kindergarten. Yesterday, the principal sent a note home with the kids, educating parents about "appropriate costumes" for the school's Halloween parade/party. Apparently, costumes that might scare the crap out of other children are a no-no. Speaking as someone who couldn't sleep for a week after watching "Thriller", I'm on board with that rule. Additionally, masks or anything that would inhibit children from seeing and/or breathing are also not acceptable.

Does she think we are idiots?

But, it made me think of my various costumes over the years. I'll admit, my mother wasn't one of those creative types. Love her, but she wasn't like my friends' moms who spent hours painstakingly sewing together coordinating outfits for their children. I have a terrible memory, so I'm sure I'm wrong about this and I'll get in trouble later, but I only remember being 3 things for Halloween:

• a gypsy (every year until I was 11 - and every year until I was 11, I would wake up the next morning with swollen eyes from the crack whore-amount of makeup [note: I don't know if crack whores wear a lot of make-up. Maybe I should say 80's-rock-band amount])
• a hippie (as a tween - and I put that outfit together myself [tie-dyed shirt and jeans - done!])
• a blue Crayola crayon

This was, by far, my favorite costume. And, I'm sure, my mother's biggest nightmare, as she spent hours painstakingly sewing together this costume to coordinate with my BFF, a red Crayola crayon.

Oh. Hey! My mom was awesome!

While my mother slaved over the sewing machine, my BFF and I made our gigantic crayon box out of yellow poster board, which we stood inside and held up with shoulder straps. Man, my BFF was we were creative! I was sure we were going to win for best costume in our school parade. But then little Timmy Trafficlight (note: not his real name) won for his costume as... a traffic light. Complete with working lights and everything. I mean, come ON! That kid didn't make that costume himself. He should have had points deducted. We used poster board! We made our mothers stay up late sewing! The contest was rigged. I'm pretty sure Timmy's too-involved parent paid off the... principal? Who was the idiot judge anyway?

Nevertheless, that was a pretty fun Halloween. I got to trick-or-treat with my BFF, attached as we were to our homemade crayon box. Our pillowcases were full of tasty treats. And, thankfully, no razor blades.

While we're on the subject of pillowcases full of candy... even now, I am baffled how my brothers were able to still have Halloween candy at Christmas. What was wrong with them anyway?!

Put a little Krazy Glue on it

So, the other day, I was cutting an apple for my 6-year-old. I had gotten the apple cut in half, was working on quartering it, when I decided to slice my thumb along with the apple. Which, of course, resulted in frenzied bleeding. I had never cut myself that badly before. Sure, I've nicked myself plenty while cutting vegetables. I'm particularly dangerous with a peeler. But this was a gusher. I was slightly worried I'd have to get stitches.

I paced around the room, applying pressure to the wound with a paper towel. I consulted my inner MacGyver, trying to figure out how I could fashion a tourniquet with one good hand and some Silly Bandz. I put my SIL on alert. If I had to drive myself to the ER, I needed her to take the boys as the husband was out of town. Eventually, I got the bleeding under control and had to tell my son I was very sorry, but he wasn't getting an apple that day.

The next morning, as I was emptying the dishwasher, my hand grazed the same knife, cutting the middle finger on my other hand.

Son of a...

Is it me or the knife? I mean, I know we're not supposed to put these knives in the dishwasher, but it can't possibly be mad at me for that, could it? I would think the knife would enjoy a little steam bath.

Stupid knife.  I mean, gooooood little knife.  Please don't hurt me.

So, over the past 3 days, my thumb has been bleeding on and off. And Band-Aids suck. They a) don't stay on if you get it the tiniest bit wet and b) don't stay on if you keep it dry (I'm pretty sure Johnson & Johnson won't be calling me to work for them anytime soon). I've gone through an entire box of Band-Aids, trying to keep the wound under control. Yesterday, I bled all over a top I was thinking about buying bought at the store.

And then, today, a miracle happened. My co-worker taught me the wonders of Krazy Glue. As I am not schooled in the history of Krazy Glue, he informed me that it was invented during WWII to bond body tissue. So, he glued my wound shut. His wife, a doctor, is not happy that he performed surgery on me, but I'm hoping she'll give me a shot of antibiotics for my future infection.

I've lost all feeling where the wound is, but at least I'm not going to bleed to death.

Ode to a toothbrush

So, the husband was at a dental convention this past weekend. When he goes away, he almost always brings back gifts for the boys and me. This trip was no exception. In addition to a refrigerator magnet and a sweatshirt, he brought me home a new toothbrush.

I know what you're thinking. A toothbrush? Who gets excited over a toothbrush? But, this isn't just any ordinary toothbrush you get from your dentist's office after a routine teeth cleaning. This is a Philips Sonicare FlexCare Plus with UV Sanitizer. I mean, a toothbrush that has 7 words in its name has to be impressive, right?

So, yes. I was excited. I used the toothbrush for the first time yesterday. It was such an experience, I had to wax poetic about it.

And you all get to enjoy my poem. About my new toothbrush.  You're welcome.

O, Sonicare FlexCare Plus,
You brush my teeth with no fuss.
With your 5 brushing modes,
You work a boatload
To clean every tooth within me us.

And after the 2 minutes are up,
I put you back into your cup.
(Well, it's not actually a cup,
but it's all I could find
To rhyme in a bind
And, by the way, this is why I'm a poetic schlup.)

But the best part of this brush
Is the sanitizing flush.
You put the toothbrush away
Into its holding tray.
Hit the button and see
The 99% germ-killing spree
Which will keep bacteria and viruses far away from me.

I hope.

Think Philips will hire me in their Marketing department?

I still want my MTV

So, I am part of the MTV generation. Sort of. I remember a life without MTV. We actually didn't get cable until I was in the 8th grade, so I went years without it. But, I knew of cable. My friends all had cable. I slept over my friends' houses so I could watch cable.  I saw Michael Jackson's "Thriller" video at my cousins' house and couldn't sleep for a week (those yellow eyes at the end of the video coupled with Vincent Price's laugh? Scared the crap out of me).

Once my family joined the 21st century and got cable (and call waiting at the same time - it was like Christmas!), I balanced my time between watching MTV and watching MTV while on the phone with my friends. I was one of those people who spent hours video taping her favorite music videos. Yeeaaahhh. I know.

Then MTV changed. They stopped with the all music, all the time and started producing reality programming. Nowadays, you're lucky if you see a music video. Not that all the shows are bad. I was an immediate fan of The Real World. Oh, how I loved when people stopped being polite and started getting real. Those first seasons were awesomely entertaining not to mention trying to raise social consciousness, before the roommates became ridiculous caricatures of themselves.

But, my love of The Real World had to end. Either I got too old or the roommates got too dumb, I'm not sure. Probably both. Plus, I couldn't stand those ungrateful bitches living in decked out houses in great cities, getting drunk and basically making fools of themselves. And, by the way, living in their own garbage. Ever heard of washing a dish? Aren't they at all embarrassed that their parents might be watching?

Yeah, that statement right there just proved I have gotten too old for this show.

I will, however, still allow a little Real World/Road Rules Challenge in my life. When I know it's on anyway. Because, sad to say, the people I remember, and loved or hated dearly, are still doing these ridiculous challenges. I mean, Beth from LA? She has to be eligible for Social Security by now. Since I haven't seen her lately, I can only assume she has broken her hip and can't compete. She's actually from a neighboring town and used to hang out at a bar where my sister worked, waiting for people to recognize her. Yeah, whatever. She was easily one of the most annoying characters in Real World history. I mean, that birthmark alone. Yeesh.

Gaah, I just looked her up online and learned a few things:

• The birthmark is gone.
• Someone actually married her.
• She has a child!

Okay, I'm sure she's a lovely person in real life. Don't email me.

Come to think of it, most of the cast members from Ohio were utter disappointments. While my sister and I agree that Texas is #1 for the sheer quantity of reality show contestants, I'm pretty sure Ohio is #1 for the dumbest. Mike from Parma? Sigh.

And so, another season of The Challenge (it's no longer RW/RR as no one cares) is upon us. Holy good gravy, this is the 20th season, too. They're in Prague this time, embarrassing their parents and the United States yet again. Oh, and throwing random Prague citizens down stairs.

Of course.

But, I have to admit The Challenge still a guilty pleasure of mine. I feel like I know some of these contestants and am happy when I get to see them a) win a challenge or b) get drunk and start a fight or c) get drunk and hook up with their teammates. Plus, there's something about watching these idiots in the (way way way) off chance they'll actually win $250,000. I watch, hoping this money will save them from their mounds of credit card bills, which they've no doubt acquired from taking too many head shots for failed acting auditions or fixing botched boob jobs (ever heard of getting a real job?).

And if they don't win? Well, at least they got to go to Prague, hook up with teammates (opposite sex or not), and get into fights with each other while I enjoy every delicious minute of it.