'Tis the Season

We're still tying up loose ends of things that need to be taken care of before getting back on the boat (and we're really hoping that Hans' new Canadian passport gets here on time!), and believe it or not I've been doing a little bit of sewing. But instead of boring you with those details I'll post about the holiday season instead.

Christmas has come to mean many things to me over the years.


When I was in the first grade it was the sheer excitement of making paper chains for our Christmas tree out of green and red construction paper, watching The Grinch and Rudolph on TV, fighting with my sister over who got to hang what on the tree, Santa Claus, and of course all those wonderful presents.


When I had kids of my own, it was all about waiting until they were asleep (which seemed to take forever) so I could try to quietly sneak all their presents under the tree, and I can still remember how thrilled they were when I (with a lot of drama) complained that Rudolph and his cronies had left chomped up bits of carrots all over our deck, and did anyone happen to see Santa's sleigh tracks (made at around 3 AM with a broom handle) on the deck?


Then I was suddenly single with two jobs, and three kids who didn't care if I put up a tree or not as long as they got presents. Honestly, I tried to keep the Christmas spirit alive, but it's tough when December was the month the township snowplow knocked over my mail box and when I called my dad for help, I had to first get past my mother (who doesn't have a job but wants to tell me about what a bad day she's had and how my father is driving her crazy). It's the December where it snowed every single day and I found myself shoveling the driveway (in between my two jobs) at both 7 AM and midnight thus leaving me feeling like a wrung out dishrag, or the infamous December when the muffler fell off my car and the starter on my daughter's car died, and the only time I had left to shop for presents was Christmas Eve.


And finally, December is the month of the company Christmas party. The entire month.

Oh sure, Christmas parties are just peachy keen and tons of fun when you're an attendee of one or perhaps two, but just try being a waitress for an entire month times ten years of them and then see how you feel.

Putting up with beer deaf drunks, bossy wives who envision themselves as Mistress of the Manor, discovering the freezer is broke when it comes time to serve 48 scoops of liquid ice cream, struggling with fifty pound trays of dirty dishes on your shoulder all night long because for some reason everyone wants to congregate in the only narrow doorway to the room...


I did this for over ten years and I'll never forget the weekend I clocked in over 32 hours (in addition to my full time job) from Friday night to Sunday evening at a beautiful private club. I still remember how tired I was on Friday night (and was already wondering how the hell I would make it through Sunday) after the first party ended at around 2 AM and we still had to tear down the banquet tables and put up round ones for Saturday's brunch.


After Saturday's brunch we tore down those tables, completely rearranged the dining room, ordered pizza, and folded about a thousand napkins in preparation for The Big Party. The Big Party was thrown by a wealthy local contractor who employed a lot of townspeople, and we were to be on our best behavior.


I knew it would be an interesting night when I saw men arriving in everything from filthy jeans and flannel shirts to leisure suits and cowboy boots, to women in ball gowns and homemade tattoos to flannel shirts and cowboy boots.


At these parties the waitstaff is usually given three to four tables of eight to ten people each. The menu is set; meaning everyone gets the same soup and salad, and a choice of three entrees (beef, fish, chicken, and the occasional vegetarian dish). This allows everything to run smoothly (for the most part) and hopefully a good time is had by all.


I immediately knew I was in trouble when I discovered that one of the men I had to wait on had such tremendous BO that it made my eyes smart and I felt like I had my nose jammed deep in his armpits all night long. He exacerbated the problem by dousing himself with an entire bottle of Aqua Velva and I then spent the rest of the night taking a deep breath before launching myself at his table, expelling it after I left, and ended up feeling like a Japanese pearl diver for the remainder of the evening.

I felt very bad for the man at my next table who had a terrible speech impediment and I acted like I didn't notice it at all and was very patient even though we were expected to get our orders to the kitchen 'yesterday'!

No one understood that their Prime Rib would be 'medium' (and no I can not turn medium into rare!) and all the men ordered an end piece. Just how many end pieces do you think a prime rib has I wanted to ask.


As I was madly clearing soup cups, dropping off salads, refilling water goblets, and serving drinks, a man from a neighboring table (not mine) flagged me down, and since I had to be polite and couldn't say "Sorry you're not my station," I was forced to acknowledge him.
He was of the 'filthy jeans' club and he and his cronies were having quite the wild time. He was laughing so hard he could barely speak but unfortunately he did. "I want you (by now he was doubled over with laughter), I want you (snicker, snicker) to take this ( he held up his cup of untouched french onion soup) to that table ( he pointed to a table clear across the room) and tell them (snicker, snicker, and by now his friends were guffawing with laughter too) that it's from me." I was stunned, decided to take my chances (after all it was my word against his), said, "No," and walked away.


In the middle of trying to serve the main entree one of my customers stopped me and instructed me to watch him. He then went through a very dramatic demonstration wherein he performed a magic trick and bent a spoon. By now I was numb with disbelief as I'd realized earlier in the evening that this particular group of construction workers were the very ones responsible for building the elementary school that all of my children had attended. I still thank God that I never possessed that nugget of information when my kids were younger or I probably would have ended up with ulcers because I surely would not have been able to afford send them to private school.

Anyway, the magician waited with bated breath for my praise."Wow!" I exclaimed, and he glowed with pride. "Honest to God!" and here I placed my hand over my heart and he sat up even straighter. "I haven't seen that trick since the sixth grade, and I wasn't impressed with it then either!" As I walked away his friends howled with laughter and punched him in the arm.


I did feel horrible though when the man with the speech impediment gave me hell on one of my trips to his table. He had been shut off at the bar for being drunk, was very upset, and implied that I was the one responsible. I'd only served him one beer and having no idea what he was talking about I assured him I'd done no such thing, but he never did believe or forgive me.


After dinner, along with clearing tables, we were required to continue running drinks for everyone. I was standing at the bar waiting to place an order when the bartender, without missing a beat, and while shaking a whiskey sour said to me, "Laura, would you please go into the kitchen and see if you can find the remainder of this gentleman's tie? He seems to have misplaced it." It took me a moment but I looked at the man next to me and nearly died when I saw that his necktie did indeed stop short about three quarters of the way up his shirt front. I felt my face burn and I waited in horror for the 'gentleman' in question to raise hell about being insulted. Instead, he gave me a big smile and after he left I realized he was same man who'd been ordering CC & gingerale from me all night long (and lucky for me I hadn't noticed the tie issue since he'd been sitting down) but was really getting 'well' whiskey and 7UP because the bartender said he'd never notice.


An executive and his wife got into huge fight and she retaliated by flinging herself all over the dance floor in a very low cut gown with one of the construction workers, who having no idea he was being used, turned beet red with the unexpected pleasure of being chosen, and the exertion of trying to keep up with her.


The last of the guests left at around 2 AM and once again we had to rearrange the whole dining room for Sunday's brunch. Only then were we finally able to sink our exhausted bodies into the comfortable sofas of the darkened bar and enjoy the moon sitting low over the frozen lake. With beers in hand we gossiped about the single 'sequined evening gown' who seemed to spend quite a bit of time with the married 'Fu Manchu mustache', found out some of the guests had taken bets on which would happen first; the executives wife's dress would 'fail' or her dance partner would drop dead, and we all tried to figure out a remedy for getting the smell of sour sweat out of my nostrils.


We got through Sunday's brunch, and re-set for a late afternoon company party which I'm sorry to say was very staid and therefor very boring (ie: no sequins, magic tricks, cowboy boots, or dirty dancing), and finally after cleaning up the dining room from that party I went home.


I'm still not overly fond of Christmas, mostly because I will never forget the overwhelming feeling of futility I endured for so many years, so it shouldn't be a huge surprise to hear that I still don't put up a tree or decorate (but I'm not a complete Scrooge and have stored all my treasured ornaments in a box in my sister's basement).






But Hans is a whole different story. You can see Hans has put up not just one, but three trees!! I just shook my head and said, "Fine, but you're the one who gets to take them down after Christmas!"

So on that cheerful note, I would like to wish you one and all a Happy Holiday Season!

Doggies, kitties, and a little bit of sewing

I made this doggy coat as a Christmas present for a friend's dog. However, as careful as I was in my measuring, it was still too small. That poor fat dog! The band that goes under the belly was so tight that when she modeled it for us it hiked her back end up in the air and she walked on her back tippy toes. She looked so embarrassed and I'm sorry but we couldn't help laughing at her. Anyway, the coat is back here in the apartment awaiting alterations and we decided to put it on Duncan just to see how it looks.

It's too big for my boy (actually if the bands were made smaller it would fit) but it doesn't matter anyway because he hated it! He ran in circles, nipped at it with his teeth, and I'm just lucky he didn't tear it. Vet Tech Girl says he doesn't like it because he feels like he's not in control. Hmmm, as far as I've ever noticed, he's never been in any kind of control.

This is another Day Bag. A Vet Tech friend of Vet Tech Girl wanted one so I managed to finish this on Christmas Eve.

It's black corduroy and if you want to drive yourself nuts go ahead and sew BLACK CORDUROY!!!!! I remember laughing at a grandmother who complained about how hard it was on her eyes to sew black fabric.

Well, God is getting even with me.

And in addition to killing my eyes, the lint brush got a heavy workout, thanks to Chlorox.

Once again, the hard bottom that I like so much!

A view of the inside.

Last week the lady I work for, and I were cleaning a house that has two cats.

Two cats that hate us.

One is an ancient torty who growls at me, and the other is a long haired gray kitty who hisses at me.

Not exactly Welcome Wagon material.

Anyway, a contractor was there working on the steps in the foyer and somehow the cats had escaped from the basement where they were to spend the day.

"No problem," we said," hitching up our pants, and readying ourselves for battle. "We'll take care of it." We then spent about 15 minutes setting up barriers and planning our strategy. My boss was to flush the kitties out, and I was to shoo them down the steps. I wasn't worried because the cats always bolt for the basement as soon as we get out the sweepers or heaven forbid talk to them. But something went wrong because they ran in hysterical circles, jumped over our barriers and disappeared into thin air. It does embarrass me that the torty, who is old and fat, and runs like an old woman whose shoes are too tight was able to get past me.

"I don't think we're going to be able to add cat herding to our resumes." I told the owner and we got back to work.

I needed to get my boss a gift for Christmas and decided a bottle of wine would be nice. I was going to just whip up a fabric sleeve for it when I remembered that a couple of the double wine bags I made were still hanging around.

That meant I would have to get two bottles but it still made my life easier.

Even though I love wine, I have absolutely no idea of what's good and what isn't so I look for fun labels.

Hey, it works for me.

I was just getting ready to grab a couple of bottles of Little Penguin when I spotted a label that stopped me cold.

Check it out.

Herding Cats!!!!!!

Can you believe it???!!!

I bought a red and a white.

Here's what it looks like when you're carrying it.

The bottles are very snug and don't bang into each other.

Needless to say when I gave it to her and she pulled out a bottle of the herding cats, she screamed.

Herding Cats will do that to you!

We survived Christmas

I'm ashamed to admit that I didn't even wrap presents until Christmas Eve. I used to complain that if I only had more time, I'd have everything done ahead of time.

Well I do, and I didn't!

I didn't even buy name tags so Hans had to improvise with this.

I think he did a fine job!

Christmas isn't relaxing to begin with but it was even less fun to drive a nerve wracking 2 hours in 'almost' freezing rain to my parents' house. Since I'm the kind of back seat driver that can make even Hans (the most patient man on the face of the earth) want to toss me out of a moving vehicle, I drove.

Even in the pouring down rain all the highway signs still had festive icicles hanging from them which made me nervous, and also made for a very tedious trip.

Look at the smug face on Miss Kissy Pooh, my parents' obnoxiously spoiled doberman.

She's quite pleased with herself because she ended up causing a scene and getting her cousin Rambo in trouble.

BTW, that's her Christmas present lying there between her legs. It's a squeaky duck, and as always she opened her present all by herself.

Here's Rambo the offender.

This sweet and very meek guy got into trouble for 'attacking' Kissy Pooh.

But I bet I know exactly what happened.

I think Kissy Pooh stuck her tongue out at Rambo and said, "NaNaNa!! I got a present from Sandy Paws and you didn't!!! I got a toy, and a sparkly gold collar, and I'm pretty, and I have an expensive supply of blood at the vet's because the people I own think I'm a hemophiliac even though I've been bitten by woodchucks, and one time by a muskrat, and I have yet to 'bleed out', and I get birthday cakes every year..."

And that's about the time Rambo the Husky had heard enough, and fixing his icy blue eyes on her said, "I'd hate to see that blood supply go to waste." And he charged her.

That's it. Nothing happened but, oh my what an upset! What a commotion! Kissy Pooh was stunned! She nearly turned herself inside out, and then my dad ran to my mother and tattled on Rambo. My mom burst into the room, and with a cigarette hanging out of the side of her mouth she shouted, "Goddamit! We don't put up with bad manners in this house!" And Rambo got sent upstairs for a time out.

Smoky the cat was the survivor of the day as far as I'm concerned.

Here he is on the kitchen table (his favorite hangout) after a wild bout of wrestling with the green catnip mouse that Sandy Paws brought him.

"Man, that was some good stuff." he said.

My parents' TV was on full blast all day long and I caught Hans doing this just about the time Ralphie and his Red Ryder BB gun was playing for the umteenth time.

Hans and I don't appreciate the same movies and I forced him to watch Ralphie (he'd never seen it from beginning to end before) the previous night.

Poor guy.

While Rambo was in time out, the ever innocent Miss Kissy Pooh checked out my niece's birthday cake. Her birthday is on Christmas day and when she was little she used to say, "Jesus was born on my birthday." She's never lacked self esteem.

I'm glad to report we had a much easier time on our ride home. Hans drove, and after he informed me that he knows how to use his high beams, I shut up! After unloading our junk we fished a very upset and crying Countess von Chlorox out from under the bed, and I have no idea what was wrong. Even the lure of Greenies wouldn't budge her.

All is now well, I've had my bourbon, Hans his beer, and The Countess finally ate her treats and even purred a bit.

Next up; New Year's Eve!!!!

I can't wait.

Why not just one more dysfunctional Christmas story.

Last year I wrote a post about this disaster.


I guess it shouldn't be a surprise that I have another one as my entire life has yet to be anything even close to normal.

When my kids were little I tried to make a point of going to the library once a week. It took a chunk of time out of my schedule that should have been spent doing laundry and whatever other endless things moms with full time jobs have to do (at least moms with husbands who didn't help around the house). And even if we didn't read all the books we checked out, we still went back and got new ones. Actually I'm like that now; I'm in the process of reading a Nevada Barr (titled 13 1/2, and it's riveting!), and I have a Kate Wilhelm, and a Michelle Spring waiting in the wings.

Anyway, Christmas was quickly approaching when I stumbled onto Hans Christian Anderson's 'The Little Match Girl'.

What drew me to this book was the unbelievably rich illustrations, and I am a sucker for illustrations. As a child I'd pour over every detail of every picture in my books, and if there was just one imperfection, by God just one, I'd be furious. But this book? The Little Match Girl? Every page was heavy with detail. The colors in this book were beyond vivid and I swear the pages pulsed with life. But what really hooked me was this; The Little Match Girl looked a lot like my Baby Girl. Beautiful long blond Barbie Doll like hair cascaded down The Little Match Girl's back, very much like my daughter's did.

I had to have this book.

Unfortunately I didn't remember the plot of this particular story.

Once we were home I got the girls settled, one on each side of me, and I started reading.

The story took place in England and The Little Match Girl was poor. She lived with her mother, her siblings, and her miserable, rotten, ignorant excuse of a human being, stepfather. Stepfather sent The Little Match Girl out on Christmas Eve to sell matches, and she was told not to return until every match had been sold. The Little Match Girl didn't have a pair of shoes so she had to go out in cold slushy weather wearing her stepfather's slippers. She hadn't gotten very far when some hooligans chased her and she promptly lost a slipper. Slogging along with a bare foot was very difficult but she couldn't go home until all the matches were sold.

The day wore on and finally The Little Match Girl who hadn't made a cent, realized that if she went home with no money, her stepfather would beat her. She found shelter in a recessed store front and huddling deep into a corner she tried to stay warm.

It was right about this time that I started to wonder just where this story was going. But both of my girls were leaning into me and gazing intently at the book so I kept on reading.

The Little Match Girl was so cold that in order to try to stay warm, she, out of desperation, started lighting the matches she hadn't been able to sell earlier. Each time a match was lit a beautiful scene opened in front of us.

There were Christmas trees with limbs groaning under the weight of gorgeous ornaments, and elaborately wrapped gifts were just begging to be opened. Another match was lit and we were treated to a drawing room full of plump, overstuffed furniture basking in the glow of a roaring fireplace. Another match illuminated a dining room table surrounded by a happy smiling family, and a table so full of food it should have collapsed.

The Little Match Girl was nearly frozen and she had only one match left. The streets were dark as everyone had gone home to their families, and left all alone, she finally lit it. Now appearing in front of us was The Little Match Girl, and her hair fell down her back and over the ruffles of her holiday dress in glorious blond curls. She was reaching her arms out to a gray haired woman who was in turn reaching out to The Little Match Girl. The story went on to explain that the only person in the world who had ever truly loved The Little Match Girl was her grandmother, who had unfortunately died a few years earlier.

I may have been puzzled about where this story was going before, but let me tell you I knew right then and there exactly where it was going now.

But I couldn't stop.

The grandmother was smiling and happy, and inviting The Little Match Girl to come with her. The Little Match Girl, in her pretty dress and clean hair couldn't wait to go with her grandmother, and the final picture is of them happily hugging each other.

At this point I was openly sobbing and I had to put the book down. Tears were running down my face and I couldn't get the image of that adorably sweet and innocent little girl in her filthy tattered clothes and one slipper, huddled in that dirty alcove with her pathetic matches, out of my mind. For God's sake! Who the hell writes this crap, I wondered.

I had to close my eyes and take some deep breaths to calm down. I didn't feel any motion beside me but when I opened my eyes Baby Girl had leaned even closer and was almost in my face. She was absolutely giddy with delight, she'd never seen her mother quite this worked up, and she was enjoying every minute of it.

On Christmas Day, The Little Match Girl is found frozen to death in the dirty store front with a smile on her face, and she's surrounded by a pile of burned up matches.

To this day I can not tell this story without getting choked up and even as I wrote this I found myself in tears.

You know what? I'll take Dr. Seuss's Grinch over old Hans Christian Anderson any day because even though The Grinch steals the last can of Who hash and doesn't even leave a crumb for the Who mice, at least he can't make me cry!

And on that note, I do wish everyone a very merry holiday, whether you celebrate it or not!

My finished purse and a Christmas party.

Here I am with my finished bag that I posted about here.

I can see that mine is a little more rectangular than the one I copied, so if I ever make another one I'll adjust my pattern a bit and make the next one a little more boxy.

Other than that, I really do like it.

On a whole different note, ignore all the chaos behind me, our apartment is so full of junk we have no real good place to take pictures.

Hans is trying to play the piano at our host's house. However it was pretty out of tune so he didn't last too long.

The last time Hans was in Europe he bought a new sport coat and pants, and believe me he was long overdue for some new clothes! He's still amazed and impressed that the salesman at the store he went to, took one look at him, went to the racks, and pulled out the exact size pants and jacket for him.

No measuring (and no small feat)!

And they really do fit well. Nothing like you get here in the states or from catalogs.

They make him look very prosperous and successful, and not at all like someone who's currently unemployed.

Which probably explains what happened while we were at the party.

There was a woman there this year whom I haven't seen at any of the past parties.

Let's just say that she stood out in a way that made me, well... wonder. She didn't appear to be with a husband or a date, and she certainly wasn't wearing a HO HO HO sweatshirt (although maybe she should have). Her hair and manicure said $$$$$, her youthful face did not match her 'not so youthful hands' (ladies, our hands are dead giveaways to our age!), and I just knew she was on the make!

She'd been cruising the perimeter of the party and just as I was exiting the room, she was entering.

Now, I'm not the smartest bulb in the box, but by golly I know women so I just stepped back and watched.

She zeroed right in on Hans (I knew she would! Didn't I say he looked prosperous?), immediately introduced herself, and then tossed out her anchor.

I was polite and gave her a couple of minutes before I returned. Shortly thereafter she took her cue and moved on to other prey.

Was I really surprised to later learn that she's the ex-mistress of a locally prominent physician whose wife found out about their escapades and gave hubby an ultimatum? Listen up people, in the end husbands will almost always choose the wife. Can you say: Alimony? Child support?

Hans couldn't figure out why she was at this particular party (she came with a friend) and I pointed out to him that this was a perfect venue for someone like her. A lot of successful business men all in one group? It's like shooting fish in a barrel!

I told him that the next time we go out he can wear his WalMart sweatsuit and I'm going to make a point of telling all the women that he doesn't have a job right now!

Me, Hans, and and the untuned piano.

Now this was funny! One of our friends arrived very late and brought a spicy, hot dip.

I took this picture with no flash so you can see the lighted red knife that's sticking out of it.

It's there as a warning because something got lost in the translation in the making of this dish.

It wasn't until a couple of guests tasted the concoction that the problem was discovered.

Honest to God! Just drink a bottle of hot sauce and you'll know what it tasted like. It was gross! Our friend was a good sport about the whole thing and remarked that at least she'd given us something to talk about.

Someone thought it was a good idea to feed it to the kids (all well over 21!!) who were playing beer pong.

Not a bad idea.

Well, I have a purse or two that I need to sew, along with some pot holders (and I have an easier pot holder pattern that I'll blog about soon).

They're all Christmas presents, and I if I'm not mistaken I'm running out of time!

Oh what the heck, one more contest before Christmas!

Today is Vet Tech Girl's twenty third birthday.

Of the three times I was in the hospital having babies, this one was my favorite. Her birth was a thousand times easier than my son's and I was up and walking in just a few hours. My mother brought in a huge tray of her homemade cookies, and doctors and nurses would drop by all day long to pick out their favorite. It was Christmas time, everyone was in a very festive mood, and my roommate was a friend of mine who'd also been in my Lamaze class.

As a matter of fact we ended up with about four of us from Lamaze in the hospital at the same time and we had a ball! This was when you actually stayed in the hospital for more than a few hours after giving birth. Heck, three years earlier I was in for five days when my son was born.

And even though Vet Tech Girl was Ugly Baby Girl, I still loved her to pieces!

Don't worry! She's a beautiful girl now but I wasn't so blind as to not be able to see that she was an ugly baby then!

She had what are referred to as 'stork bites'. One was between her eyebrows which is a common area. One on the back of her neck at the base of her head, and she had a huge one on her tail bone that scared the heck out of me! The one on her tail bone is the only one that didn't go away but it did end up fading a lot.

She had broken blood vessels all over her face and even in her eyes. And speaking of eyes; hers seemed to work independently of each other which was very disconcerting because oddly, they reminded me of pin ball machines!

I will never forget when my roommate's husband came in our room one night. Their baby was a little pink dream with blond hair (She's still pretty, she ended up with black hair, and I can't believe she's now a young mother herself!) We both had our babies and Husband came over to me and said "Oh, let me see the baby." I pulled the blanket away from Ugly Baby's face and he stopped in his tracks, cleared his throat and said, "Well, isn't she nice."

I laughed at his reaction and told him I knew she was ugly and I didn't care.

Our girls ended up in school together and my daughter, who started out with pitch black hair, ended up becoming a very pretty, black eyed blond.

My other daughter has coppery brown eyes and blond hair, and I'm also a brown eyed blond but Vet Tech girl's eyes really are almost black.

But anyway, everything was rosy back then and babies are sweet but... twenty three years ago I certainly never envisioned this; opening my mail today and reading a letter complaining about a past due account and how the bank is very upset with me, and that they want a payment now....blah, blah, blah!

Because that's what I get for co-signing a student loan!

Vet Tech Girl's birthday present from me is getting the bank off her butt!!

And I thought stork bites were bad!

Parenthood is not for the weak at heart. It really isn't. Here is one of my earlier posts on this subject.

So, what the heck, let's celebrate my daughter's birthday with one more contest.



This is a bag of my own design.

Now keep in mind that it's just a fun bag, something to take out to lunch or dinner. It only has one magnetic snap to keep it closed so it's not very secure.













Although you can use it as a wine bag. We have a french restaurant we love to go to and you have to bring your own wine. This would work for something like that.

BTW, the wine is not included!

Anyway I'd like to get this in the mail before Christmas so I'm going to have a deadline of Tuesday, December 15, at 5:00 PM EST here in the US.

What do you have to do?? Go ahead and just leave a comment that you'd like a chance to win.

If you have a birthday story, or a baby story that's different or funny by all means please share it!!

Keep in mind if you're outside the United States it most likely won't arrive before Christmas (if that matters to you).

Happy Birthday, Happy Holidays, and Merry Christmas, one and all!

Open mouth, insert foot, and A CONTEST!

Haven't we all, at one time or another, said or done, something completely inappropriately?

Like ask someone when she's due, and she isn't even pregnant?

Or send a scathing letter to a business (like my girlfriend did) about the poor service she received and then name the wrong employee in the complaint?

I recently went back home to get my hair cut and colored, but my beautician was going to be out of town, and she asked would I mind if her sister did it instead.

No problem, I've known all of them forever and I actually worked with their mother for several years.

Now this is a family of three women who are the sweetest people you'll ever meet, but they share a gene that causes them to say and do things, that in retrospect, are just awful!

And while they know it, they just can't help it.

My three hour appointment was spent laughing myself silly at the stories Sister Judy shared with me. Some examples:

The time Judy (who is from a very small town) went to the local funeral home for a viewing. She spent a great deal of time visiting with neighbors and acquaintances as she worked her way through the reception line, but when she got to the casket she blurted out, "Oh my gosh, I don't know this person, who is it?"

She was at the wrong funeral home.

Judy once ran into someone who had a very odd last name and she said, "Oh I remember graduating with So-and-So who has the same last name as you!" "That's my sister," stated the lady. "Oh, what ever happened to that baby she had when we were in High School?" Judy asked. The lady said, "I'm that baby, my grandmother raised me and my mother became my sister."

Top that!

But guess what? It gets better.

Back in the day, we all used to order our birthday cakes etc... from a handful of local ladies who baked and decorated cakes from their homes. We all had our favorite bakers, and Kathy (Judy's sister, and my beautician) had placed an order with her particular cake lady, and she was to pick it up in the late afternoon. This was during a time right after three devastating tornadoes had ripped through three of our small towns within minutes of each other. The results had been deadly, many people died, and we all knew or worked with someone affected by them.

Anyway, Kathy's mom heard the tornado warning come over the radio and it was in the area where Kathy was to pick up her cake. In a panic Kathy's mom felt it her mission to call the cake lady in order to warn her about the coming tornado.

The lady had no idea who Kathy's mother was.

Kathy's mom once again went over the details and the cake lady said, "Your daughter didn't order a cake from me.

"That's when Kathy's mother realized she'd called the wrong lady. "Oh thank God!" She exclaimed, "I never liked your cakes anyway!"

There are zillions of more stories but I'll stop here.

At dinner time that night, I tried to tell Hans all the stories I had heard. But when I got to the cake episode tears were running down my face, I started squeaking, and I was literally lying across the kitchen table. Hans got that 'deer in the headlights' look and I think he may have feared for my sanity.

Holidays can be stressful (how well I remember the Christmas Eve I spent alone while my kids were with their dad and his girlfriend!), so I'd like to approach this season with some humor.

Leave a comment on this post and the winner will receive a wine bag made by me. I'd love it if you would share something you've said or done that was sooooo bad, you still cringe! Or maybe you've heard a horrible story from someone else.

Even if you don't have a story just leave a comment that you want in on the contest.

I'm pretty easy!

The winner receives one of these wine totes. Either the wine cask theme or the kitty. You choose!

It can hold two wine bottles. Or you can use it as a lunch tote, although it's not insulated.

Actually you could put your knitting supplies in it too. Or maybe a pair of shoes!!

How about bubble bath on one side and a big candle on the other.

It has a seam that's sewn halfway up from the bottom that creates a kind of division in the bag. This is what keeps bottles from clanking together.

This is what it looks like on the bottom. It's pleated so it will stand up easily.

Here's the kitty version.

This is what it looks like when empty.

It folds flat.

Leave a comment by Wednesday, December 9th at 12:00 PM (lunch time) EST in the U.S.

The Countess von Chlorox will make a decision that evening and she's looking forward to it.

This month I'm suffering from one of the worst PMS episodes I've ever experienced (last night I found myself furious at Hans because he doesn't share the same taste in movies as me! His comment to me; "I can't wait for you to find a use for those tampons!" Pretty harsh for Hans!!!!) and I need to laugh at something or I might end up in jail.

Make me laugh, please!!!!

A Very Merry Christmas and a Big Surprise!

I'm sitting here in my own house recuperating from a huuuuge Christmas dinner and I feel just like a stuffed turkey myself.

We went out to my parents like we always do and this was the first year one of my kids couldn't be there. Vet Tech girl had to work a 12 hour shift so she and Duncan (who's turning out to be the worlds cutest but worst behaved granddog ever!) were not there.

Steiner (marine) binoculars for Miss Kitty.

What I like about them is; you can be looking at something far away and then close up and you don't have to re-adjust the focus. They also work in low light situations and we really could have used these a few times already, like when we were looking for a place to anchor and at the same time avoid all the crab lines. No one wants a bunch of lines tangled up in their engines and the crabbers don't want you messing with their lines! Believe me on this.

Here's my surprise, and believe me I was surprised.

Yes, indeed folks, it's an engagement ring!

Hans designed it himself and lucky for him he was able to pick it up at the last minute on Christmas Eve.

This makes up for the fact that he introduced me as his 'friend' at his company Christmas party a couple of weeks ago!! I myself was horrified and couldn't believe that he'd call me his 'friend' and not his 'girlfriend' (and for the rest of the weekend I was merciless and constantly referred to myself as his friend).

Last night he was finally able to explain himself by telling me that he'd been planning this for quite some time and knew the ring was in the process of being made and when we met his co-workers he started to call me his fiance (how did he know I would say yes?) but stopped in time and the only thing that rolled off his tongue was 'friend' because it started with an 'f'.

Baby Girl says that's probably not true.

She says Hans had to save face, ran out and got a ring, gave it to me Christmas Eve, and made up this whole story because that's the only thing that could save him.

I don't know, what do you think?


Anyway, it's something I said I would never do again (and I meant it!!) but then I hadn't counted on meeting Hans. How I was ever lucky enough to meet the perfect man is beyond me and I often tell him that I placed an order for the standard model and by mistake someone sent me the top of the line model with all the upgrades, bells and whistles, and I absolutely refuse to send him back!

This man is a keeper.