Thanks For Nothing, Santa

So, here's my thing: I have no issues with Santa. He's cute and fat and jolly and if he calls me a "ho" a lot and eats all my cookies and milk and steals carrots for his reindeeer, at least he leaves presents in return. I'm fine with him. He's fine with me. It's all good.

However.

When, in the course of his travels on Christmas Eve, Santa picks up hitchhikers and allows them access to our home, my goodwill towards men starts to be tested. Because while the give and take we have established with Santa is a positive one and leaves us both feeling as though we have benefited, the opposite is true of my experiences with his fellow travelers, the Stomach Flu Fairy and the Common Cold Angel.

Everyone in the house received an extra special gift from one of those two guys. I was gifted with a visit from both of them. And let me just say that it's bad enough trying to keep your stomach from turning inside out without any outside influence, but when your Turtle wakes up in the middle of the night, having puked all over his bed and you have to clean it up? It's that much worse.

So next year? When Turtle writes his letter to Santa? I will be sure to put in a post-script reminding him that while he is certainly welcome and we don't mind if he brings his reindeer in for a breather, we'd rather he didn't let anyone else in the house without running it by us first.

Just Say No

You know you've hit the motherlode of Office Holiday Parties when a spirited debate breaks out at the dinner table between Person A and Person B about how your spouse might respond to his first ever bong hit. Person A claimed he would just mellow out. Person B claimed he would feel completely weird and out of control but that he would think it was the most awesome thing ever. Advantage? Person B, who pointed out mid-debate that SOME forms of pot would make him mellow out, but this particular one they were talking about would, in a person who had never done pot before at all, make him freak out a bit.

Seriously. Best. Office. Party. Ever.

Edited to add: It should be noted that Oscar has never smoked pot before and did not smoke pot that night. It was suggested that he should try it and Person B did, in fact, offer to bring him some the next day. However, Person B is not accomplished at rolling joints, and knew Oscar would need detailed, illustrated instructions if he were to construct a bong, so the idea has been abandoned until after the holiday, at least. Apparently that wasn't clear from my original post. Thank you.

The Fine Art Of Marital Negotiations

"So I found a problem with the new dishwasher...."

"Oh?"

"Yeah...the previous dishwasher had a feature that this one doesn't have."

"Really?"

"Yeah. The old dishwasher would occasionally prompt the male member of the household to empty it from time to time. This one doesn't seem to have that feature...."

*glare in my general direction* *feeble excuse making* "Yeah, okay. I'll empty it next time."

"Thanks, honey."

I may not be subtle in my campaigning, but I am effective.

The List

While we're on the subject of fantasies and being completely turned on by superficial traits, I thought I might get back to what started this whole brouhaha about my obsession with McSteamy in the first place. It all started when I be-bopped over to the Boyfriend's blog and found a recent post in which he set his "List" down in writing. This would, of course, be the list of people that would exempt him from his wife's wrath, should he meet one of them and have wild monkey sex. Or, you know, whatever else he might do upon being introduced. Seeing his list in writing made me consider my own. I haven't had a formal list in quite some time. In fact, I think the last time I had a formal list, I was in high school and Snark's Mistress and I were creating our New World Order, in which we decided the celebrities we would take into the bomb shelter with us when we realized that our world was hopeless and we had to nuke everything to start over. We were a cheerful sort in our youth.

That's not to say that we haven't discussed the list at all. I've discussed the list many times, both with Oscar and with Snark's Mistress. It's just been mostly abstract discussion. For example, SM has her own personal code of ethics as it pertains to the list: she will not choose anyone who is married. I was with her on that for a while, until it occurred to me that this is my fantasy, and if I'm cheating on my husband, I'm obviously not overly concerned about the sanctity of marriage in this whole scenario. They're on their own to explain it to their spouses. I've got mine covered. He's even offered to man the camera.

In any event, seeing the Boyfriend's post and subsequent comments made me think about those celebrities with whom I might want to do completely dirty, naughty, unspeakable things. The kind that might even force me to go to confession (despite the fact that I'm not Catholic). Not that being a stay at home mom in suburban Arizona puts me in prime position to meet anyone on my list and start paving my path to Hell, but whatever. It was something to do. So without further ado, here is my current "I would SO do them and Oscar can't say ANYTHING about it" list:

1. Taye Diggs. Hearing that he did tequila shots with Ashlee Simpson almost made me reconsider his placement on the list, particularly since it started a spate of nasty rumors that he was cheating on his wife, Idina Menzel. I love me some Idina and I don't generally condone cheating (unless it's with me, in which case, Viva La Infidelity!) On the other hand, the idea that he might actually hook up with Ashlee Simpson almost made it seem like I had a chance with him.

2. Gina Gershon. Although my brother once compared me to k.d. lang and made the erroneous assumption that I was having a torrid affair with Snark's Mistress, I am not at all inclined toward the Sapphic. However. There is a very small, very select group of women who make me reconsider my love for the penis, and Gina Gershon is one. I'm not sure what it is about her, but she makes me want to be naughty, just so she'll turn me over her knee.

3. Patrick Dempsey. I don't think it's really possible to be a fan of Grey's Anatomy and not put Patrick Dempsey on your list. The hair alone is reason enough. But when you add in the eyes and the smile? Game over. In my fantasies, I generally go for the type who look like they could throw me up against a wall, manhandle me a bit and make me like it. That's not Patrick. Instead, he looks like the type who could charm me out of my underwear before I even realized the belt on my pants was undone, and how can you really resist that?

4. Nick Lachey. The power of Nick Lachey's charm is such that he even made Jessica Simpson look appealing. Even when he had his shirt on. Enough said.

5. Christopher Meloni. I love him in Law & Order: SVU, in which he plays the Angry!Detective! with a soft spot for kids and I love him in Runaway Bride in which he plays the affable, jilted fiance. But I particularly love him in OZ, of which I've never actually seen an episode, but for which I scoured the internet looking for screen captures, just so I could see him in all of his naked glory. His ass could have carved rock in that show. H.O.T.

6. Angelina Jolie. The Boyfriend and I were talking about what kind of woman I would go for if I was at all inclined to go for women. I said, "Women who won't put up with my whining about how I've never done it before and I don't know what I'm doing and instead would grab ahold of my head and direct the action, reaching over me to smack my ass with a riding crop and bark 'Get to work, bitch!'" Angelina Jolie is the epitome of that kind of woman.

7. Michael Shanks. For those of you who don't know who Michael is, he is the actor who plays Dr. Daniel Jackson on Stargate SG-1. Of course, he only made my list after the first season of the show when he cut his hair because man, that haircut he had in the beginning was enough to kill anyone's fantasy. In the earlier seasons of the show, he would have made my list for being the geeky, somewhat nerdy, unconventionally attractive type. But the older he gets, the hotter he gets, and there have been episodes where he's been wearing a sleeveless shirt that have made me praise God for arm porn.

8. Salma Hayek. Forget Scarlett Johansson. Salma Hayek has the most perfect breasts ever. And she runs the gamut from completely adorable to smokin' hot, depending on how she wants to play it. She's got a confidence and a smoldering sexuality that makes me want to do her in the vain hope some of that rubs off on me.

9. Hugh Jackman. Bonus points if he wears Wolverine's sideburns and leather. Woof.

10. Eric Dane. Ahhh....McSteamy. What can I say about McSteamy that I haven't already said? The man makes me seriously consider taking up stalking as a profession. And he's one of the few people on my list that wouldn't even need to say anything to get me on my back with my legs in the air. All he'd have to do is look at me and grin. In fact, just thinking about his grin right now is making me....................*ahem* I think you get the picture.

Anyway, G-d knows, I will more than likely never meet any of these people. And even if I did, I would imagine that I'd make such a complete ass of myself, they wouldn't even give me a second thought. But in the very unlikely scenario I do meet one of them and he/she is interested in getting me horizontal, Oscar is on notice. He can't say a word. Unless he's asking to either join in or man the camera. In which case, I'm open to negotiations.

Way To Kill My Buzz, There, Stewart

So there I was, staring slack-jawed and drooling over my picture of McSteamy, when I received a comment from Stewart that, I must confess, kind of shamed me. For those of you who missed the comment, go ahead and take a moment to go read it, then come back. I'll wait.

...

...

Ready? Okay.

So here's the thing: Stewart is totally right. I was getting completely obsessed over the Hotness that is McSteamy for totally superficial reasons. I have no idea how intelligent McSteamy is, nor do I know if he kicks kittens for no particular reason at all, nor do I know whether or not he and I could have a 3 hour long conversation about Stargate SG-1 without him making fun of me for being such a fan-girl nerd. Hell, for all I know, he's a serial killer in his spare time. But it didn't really matter to me, did it? The only thing I could see was the Hotness.

I'm kind of ashamed of that, because in my real life, I'm really not the kind of person who values style over substance. In real life, I'm completely drawn to those quiet, kind of geeky, nerdy types, who are fanatical about sci-fi, probably don't date much, are attractive in an unconventional way, probably work with computers and are smarter than I am. In real life, I probably wouldn't give McSteamy a second look. Well, okay, that's not true. I'd look. I'd look a lot. But then I'd go home with Oscar, who is a quiet, kind of geeky, nerdy type, who is totally into SG-1 with me, never dated much, is completely hot in an unconventional way, works with computers and, it can be argued, is smarter than I am. And I would bless the good fortune that brought him into my life.

So I kind of feel like I owe you an apology, Stewart. I would hate for you to slink back to your comic books thinking all of us women are vapid, shallow, status-conscious nitwits, concerned only with how physically attractive and financially solid you men are. There are those of us out there who are actually more concerned with whether or not you think Daniel is to blame for the deterioration of his close friendship with Sam over the last few seasons of SG-1 than we are with whether or not you would be cast as the arrogant but sexy plastic surgeon on ABC's hit television series about surgical interns. Besides, I checked out your profile and you're too cute to be sitting at home alone.

Update

Sorry to disappear. I have no real excuse. Honestly, I was looking up images to go along with my latest post, but I got stuck on this one:



Upon viewing said picture, my toes curled up, and my mouth dropped open, and I don't really think I've had a coherent thought since. Sorry. Back to regular posting when my hormone levels drop back down to normal. Which, considering that I keep looking at this picture, may take a while....

(Holy Mother of God, that man is HOT!)

(Can Santa bring HIM for Christmas? I promise I'll be very, very naughty good!)

(I've never wanted to be a towel so much in my life...)

(Okay, I'm done now. All of this talking is interfering with my viewing enjoyment. Really, check back tomorrow. I'll try to stop staring at the picture long enough to come up with something clever to say. With any luck, that something clever will be something other than "Eric Dane is smokin' HOT!" But no promises...)

Thar She Blows....!

Nothing makes you think longingly of the diaper-changing days quite like a pottying experience that goes like this:



So much for my clean bathroom...

Santa Baby

I got this in my e-mail this morning from Mama Jo:



I'm wondering if she's starting a subtle campaign to get me interested in giving her another grandchild, because immediately thereafter, I had the following IM exchange with Oscar:

Me: Danger, Will Robinson, danger. My mom sent me an adorable photo of Santa passed out on a couch with a little itty bitty munchkin in a red elf outfit passed out on his chest. I'm jonesing for a baby. Good thing I'm a) not ovulating right now, and b) heading up to Snark's Mistress's tonight or I might rape you and make you fill me with your little babies!!!

Him: LOL

Do you think I should warn him that I'm serious, or let him be surprised when I tie him to the bed and start doing unspeakable things to his body?

Overheard At The Hospital

"You know, if you wanted some attention, you could have just called me up. I would have taken you to lunch or something. Getting yourself admitted to the hospital is a little extreme, don't you think? You big drama queen."

Those Horsemen Look Familiar...

I went to the gym today. And this time I remembered to notify the Four Horsemen. What I failed to mention, however, was that Oscar planned to come with me. Luckily, they called me on my cell before setting off on a ride, so we were all good.

Now, while I had been quite consistent about going to the gym prior to my summer vacation, and had even made periodic efforts to get back in the habit of working out regularly over the last few months, Oscar has not been to the gym in over 8 months. So what inspired him to commit to straining his muscles and feeling like a girly-man for the 45 minutes it took to work through his routine? Well, he and McMama are having a Weight-Off. They each took their starting weights last Monday, and whoever can lose the most weight in a four week period wins. I've been helping him out so far by fixing him meals that he can take to work, ensuring that he is getting a balance of fruits, veggies, protein and carbs. But the exercise portion of the program was sadly lacking until today.

Of course, the Weight-Off was reason enough to get back to the gym, but there was a secondary reason, for me anyway. Mama Jo called today to let me know that her mom, my Nana, was in the hospital. She had symptoms of a heart attack, though, thankfully, the doctors have determined that she did not have an actual heart attack. She's on the mend now, and will be going home tomorrow. But considering that this is the second family member in less than two years to have heart issues, and my cholesterol level is a bit high, as is Oscar's, I'm certainly getting more serious about changing my lifestyle. Not that I'm giving up all of my vices completely. Come on, now. Quantity of life is nothing without quality of life and nothing says quality of life like a big serving of creme brulee, with all of its artery hardening goodness.

Still, losing my uncle a year ago and this scare with my Nana has made me a lot more conscious of the choices I've been making with regards to food. Although, honestly, could this whole new awareness of health have come at a better time? Christmas is around the corner. I'm afraid to make cookies, lest they mock me with their white flour and sugar and butter. I don't know what to put in the stockings, now that candy is off the list. And who wants to get an apple or a head of celery in their stocking? That's like opening the biggest gift under the Christmas tree and finding out it has socks and underwear in it! So I will be making an effort over the next month, but I don't expect that a complete overhaul of my lifestyle will really be realistic until at least after the holidays. Avoiding sugar and starch is nice and all, but did you ever wonder what made the Grinch so bitter? He was on a diet through Christmas....trust me on this.

Happy Anniversary To Us....Continued

The installer called on Tuesday, our anniversary, to schedule a time to come out and deal with our dishwasher situation. I was very excited to tell them that Wednesday between 10:00 and 2:00 sounded perfect to me and please, oh please, oh please come rescue me from handwashing my dishes and God bless them and their families and their mechanical know-how, while we are on the subject. And when the installer called at 11:30 on Wednesday to ask if it was still a good time to deliver and install my new "Symbol of Love and Commitment," I am not ashamed to confess that I squeed a little bit. Needless to say, I was anxiously anticipating taking ownership of the latest reason my credit card is maxed.

So I imagine it should come as no surprise that when Mr. Fix-It got under my sink to start preparing to remove the old dishwasher and install the new one, he found that it was not going to be that easy. No, it wasn't going to be easy at all. Because one of the valves under the sink was corroded and was likely to spring one very large leak or several smaller leaks if he attempted to install our dishwasher without first replacing the valve. He said he could replace it for me, but it would cost me an extra $75 for labor and an extra $30 for parts, and since it was such a quick fix, he would just as soon see us save the money than pay him for it.

Now, you remember what I said about how "no matter how simple the project seems, or how easy a professional makes it look to do, any home improvement project you undertake yourself will end up taking three times as long as you think it will and will eventually result in you having to learn new languages to curse in, having completely exhausted your vocabulary of epithets in your native language?" Well, that's great that you remember, because I managed to completely forget that I said those words when Mr. Fix-It offered to save us some money by letting Oscar repair the valve.

The valve was not, in fact, a quick fix. Instead, the valve took several hours to fix and involved quite a bit of Oscar grumbling. And it also resulted in another water line under the sink springing a leak, which meant that Oscar had to make another trip to Lowes first thing the next morning. Meanwhile, my pretty, pretty new Symbol sat forlornly in the garage, having been delivered, but not lovingly placed in the comfort of my kitchen.

But hey, the valve was repaired, another water line was repaired and we were ready to go. I called Mr. Fix-It to reschedule my installation. He didn't call back. I waited patiently. He still didn't call back. I called again. I waited not quite as patiently. And when I still hadn't heard from Mr. Fix-It by the close of business and I found myself with a counter completely covered with a new set of dirty dishes, I resigned myself to another hour of handwashing. I was not amused.

I had too much going on this morning to bother calling Mr. Fix-It again, so it was a good thing he called me. He wanted to know if he could come by this afternoon to install my washer. Of COURSE he wanted to come by this afternoon. I had already committed to Snark's Mistress that I would help her with some errands. Luckily for me, he didn't anticipate being available until between 3:00 and 4:00 and I was pretty sure our errands would be done by then. So we agreed to keep in touch during the day and if it was at all possible to install today, he would install today.

Well, we kept in touch all right, but I quickly got the impression that the installation was not going to happen tonight. I called him a little after 3:30 to let him know I was home and he could come by at any time. He called at 4:00 to say that he had another installation before he could get to me and he would call me back. He called again at 4:45 and said he was finishing up the installation as we spoke, but he was worried because he stayed home yesterday because he was sick and he was starting to feel lousy again, and he knew we have a little guy and he didn't want to get him sick and it was getting cold outside, but maybe he could come home, since he doesn't live far from us, and grab a sweatshirt and then come over and do our install, but maybe he should wait until he feels better because he wanted to do the best job possible so he wanted to be feeling best when he did finally install it.

By that point, I just wanted to kill myself. Maybe I should have. Of course, if I had, I would have missed the gloriousness of having Mr. Fix-It calling a half hour later to say that he was just going to run home to grab a sweatshirt and then he'd be at my house, installing my dishwasher. So, you know, long story short (heh...like THAT happens around here), my dishwasher got installed today, a week after the old one broke. May I never have to hand wash a table full of dishes again. Happy Anniversary to me, once again.

Why Disney Would Never Hire Me

So, I had Playhouse Disney on this morning for the Turtle while I made his favorite breakfast, pancakes. In between pouring batter on the griddle, I eavesdropped on Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. I'm not completely positive of the storyline because I wasn't that invested in it, but it seemed as though Goofy reminded Mickey that it was Valentine's Day when he brought the Eared One a special Valentine's Day gift. The problem was that Mickey didn't have anything to give Minnie, and Valentine's Day is ostensibly her favorite holiday. I'm guessing Donald didn't have anything for Daisy, either, because the show revolved around Mickey and Donald trying to find something to give their sweethearts in honor of the occasion.

At the end of the episode, Mickey and Donald found appropriate gifts and Minnie and Daisy were thrilled. It was a nicely wrapped happy ending. But here's the thing: as I'm flipping my pancakes, I'm thinking how much more awesome it would have been if Minnie said, "Dude, it's not Valentine's Day. Are you feeling okay?" and sent Mickey to the doctor to have his head examined. And if the doctor was some sort of malicious evil-doer and totally faked a brain tumor and subsequent death for Mickey so he could use the Eared One as a lab rat in his chemical warfare experiments? I would TOTALLY watch THAT show. And that is why the Disney corporation would never hire me.