Dinner With February

Christmas is over and packed away.  January is winding down and the dreaded month of February is rearing its ugly head.  NO ONE likes February.  There is nothing magical or lovely about it.  Oh sure, there’s Valentine’s Day but that’s brief and fleeting and overly annoying.  February is fraught with unpredictable weather (at least here) and blue moods, and muddy porches and dirty windows and bone chilling cold.  What exactly is there to like?  Even the dog can’t stand February.  It’s too cold to go outside to pee, she is cranky that she can’t get in her walks and she gives me that sidelong look when I try to get her to play.  At all.  It’s like she’s too tired to even lift her head from a pillow and why would I even suggest she chase that stupid ball?!  

DON’T YOU KNOW IT’S ALMOST FEBRUARY?!  

It’s like I’m being ridiculous for even mentioning life goes on and it’s worth trying to make the best of it, isn’t it?  

NO. NO IT ISN’T.  IT’S FEBRUARY.

The least favourite of the more popular months, February is like the annoying relative that nobody likes and dreads him arriving to any family gathering.  It’s like the other 11 months are sitting around the dinner table all reveling in their own positive energy, and then HE walks in. 

 There’s December holidaying it up and drinking eggnog.  January is still recovering from ringing in a new year with December who steadily hands him water and Ibuprofen, not to mention January trying to keep up with all the resolutions he said he was going to make, but didn’t bother because there was just. Too. Much. Wine.  March is sitting stoicly playing with his grean beans because he is both feared and loved.  The older generation is adhering to the “Beware the Ides of March” bullshit and the younger ones are readying the beer kegs for March break.  Duuudddde.   Then April is laughing hysterically at the other end of the table about the first day for all the foolish pranks, the rain that will undoubtedly ensue and the whole Easter Bunny charade that brings CHOCOLATE.  Then he turns to May and starts talking smack about how one affects the other.  “There would be no flowers without my showers, you idiotic twat!”   May sits and laughs because there’s Queen Victoria’s birthday and the traditional May 2-4 weekend which brings yetanother camping extravaganza.  Duuuude.  June is warming up to July and August who all sit glowing in their inner warmth and bestowing happiness and rainbows to September, who has hit menopause.  Her hot flashes give way to cold snaps.  One minute she’s too hot and the next she needs a sweater.  October is chillin’ it and scaring the crap out of November with a Jack-o’-lantern he just carved and November resumes her knitting of a beautifully multi-coloured blanket of red, gold and orange.   There they are, all sitting waiting for HIM to walk in.  Finally, the door swings open and in strides February, soaked with freezing icicles dripping from his nose, his face blue with depression and a random red cinnamon heart stuck to his chest.  He takes a seat and his hands shake from the cold.  

Everyone stops what they are doing and stares.  “Oh.  You’re here” they say.  “Yeah.  What’s for dinner?” says February.  And then he starts, “Hey, January are you STILL hungover?!  HAHAHA!!   Pass the beans, March, don’t hog them.  Hey, October that’s one ugly whattya-callit?  Geezuz, JuneJulyAugust, can’t you three stop all the happiness and sunshine and rainbows bullshit?!   IT’S A BIT MUCH DON’T YOU THINK?”  

They all roll their eyes and continue with their dinner.  When it comes right down to it, as annoying as he is, he’s family.  “Gaawwwdd, did you guys SEE the amount of ICE I brought to the partay??!!  It’s EPIC!”  

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All I Need For Christmas Is A Goblet of Wine and A Comfy Pillow

 

Christmas is around the corner and the anxiety and stress has hit full frontal without even the tiniest iota of grace.  All the joy and heavenly peace of the season flies out the window when shopping and baking and cleaning and wrapping takes precedence.  I’ve decided to not give two fucks and buy stuff that they ‘better absolutely love with the totality of their beings’ and not hear ‘any itty bitty words of shit’ on Christmas Day, or my life as a parent and woman of quiet dignity and strength would be shattered along with my mimosa glass.   Be warned, adults of mine.  

I think the more-than-fifty-year-old me, has taken the whole meaning of peace and love at Christmas to mean it better be peaceful and lovely around ME.  All of the damned time.  Mags has even gotten fed up with humanity and taken to growling at the air. I hear ya, girl.  She’s middle-aged, too so I’m thinking we are now miserable together.  Nice to have company.  Growling at the air has its merits.  The adults decide you have had enough stress for one day and pat you on the head and put you on a comfy pillow. They wrap you in a cozy blanket by the fire and sit silently beside you while you close your eyes.  Or, they back away and leave you to yourself.  If it was me, wrap me up, pour the wine and walk away.    Next time I’m feeling overwhelmed, I’ll be more like Mags and growl at the air.  I’m thinking an ambulance would be called and people will be asking if I need any medication.  Yes.  Yes please.  Or maybe, just some chocolate?  Wine?   A little Aretha Franklin singing Natural Woman?  Any and all of these things.

Clearly, a little breather during this hectic time of year is warranted. Hence, I have exercise classes where Coach dances and demands we bow to her will during fast feet (ugh).  Then there’s binge drinking Saturday nights and I-Don’t-Give-A-Shit-Fridays which entitles one to eat chips and chocolate chip cookies simultaneously, whilst binge watching crappy Christmas movies on the W channel. I do believe these are actual days on the calendar during this time of year.  Look it up.    I FUCKING LOVE CHRISTMAS!!

So, for all of you pre-stressed and already stressed anxiety-ridden folks who just want A LITTLE PEACE AND QUIET IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK?!  I give you a celebratory toast from my goblet of wine and happily share my chips and cookies with you.  May you go forward with kindness in your hearts, wine in your glass and crappy Christmas movies on the TV to numb the nerves.   Oh, and try intermittently growling, if for nothing else but to make them all think twice about asking to be driven downtown or looking for dinner.    

ITS CHRISTMAS DAMMIT!  ENJOY! 

*GRRRRR…*

Just NOPE

I’m a big ball of frustrations these past few days with little explanation for it. Not sure if it’s the adults who occupy my world, or if it’s just me. The weather may have some kind of influence on me. It’s a total shitball of crap. 

 The cloudy/rainy/drizzly/foggy/never-gonna-see-the-sun-again weather is getting exhausting, so I would rather be hiding under the covers in my bed with a bottle of Cab and some chocolate, than doing anything that requires my immediate and undivided attention. I don’t want to drive anyone anywhere, pick anyone up, cook anything, clean anything, buy anything or sell anything. I don’t want to order anything, pet anything, feed anyone, pick anything off of the floor, wipe the dog’s arse, clean the toilet, fill up a washing machine or have anything to do with any kind of motorized shitty moving appliance. I don’t want to sprint, run, jump, pull, push, sit up, sit down then stand up again, dance, flail, or otherwise move in an unconventional Gawd-did-not-intend-my-body-to-move-like-this kinda way. I don’t want to hear complaints, idle shitty gossip about the lady that didn’t like her husband’s car so she drove it off the ledge and into the bottom of the lake kind of story that I just made up in my head so don’t go looking for that headline in some newspaper because it doesn’t exist; I don’t want to hear a bad joke, good joke or any kind of humorous anecdote or “OMG THIS JUST HAPPENED AND YOU WON’T BELIEVE IT” because, no. Nope. I don’t want to be nice, or mean or happy or sad. I don’t want to be excited or surprised; guilty or upset; worried or anxious; gleefully joyous or blissfully ignorant…

Although, I MAY want to be that last one.

That pretty much covers it.

Have a nice day….ugh.  

A Practical Guide to Surviving Holiday Parties

 

Christmas is a wonderful season full of good will and good friends and family.  Parties and social gatherings are a given at this time of year, and getting together at work socials and/or a spouse’s work social can be a stressful and anxiety inducing event.   Here are my top tips for enjoying these special occasions while maintaining your dignity and Christmas spirit and enthusiasm for the season.  Enjoy!

  • Be prepared ahead of time by drinking a few cocktails before leaving your house (ensuring you are transported safely by a designated driver…I’m all about safety) that way you will be more at ease and further inclined to tell better jokes…which invariably leads to you laughing at them yourself…at least SOMEBODY will find you funny!
  • Wear your festive garb with pride. Nobody likes a fuddy-duddy and nothing says getting into the Christmas spirit more than wearing that fugly sweater with matching flashing earrings and socks.  Remember…everybody will be drunk eventually and will laud all over you with sentiment and admiration for your bravery….and awesome fashion sense. You will rock that partay.
  • Stash the Elf on the Shelf dude in a hidden place with a half empty bottle of whiskey during the party. The host will have fun discovering it later when she cleans up and then instantly blames her husband for his awful taste and poor judgement….and wasting a perfectly good bottle of Jack on a stuffed elf.
  • Be sure to bring a party favour for the host. Christmas is about giving so bring something nice along to thank her for inviting you.  Like wine.  Wine is good. Be sure to crack that bottle open at the party when she’s not looking, that way you can taste it and make sure it’s suitable!  Then you can toast your good taste and generous spirit by drinking her gift.  You rock!
  •  Compliment her Christmas tree and decorating finesse during the party.  Later, when everybody is hammered you can ‘fix’ it by rearranging all the ornaments to look like her three year old snuck out and got creative.  She’ll be sure to admire it  after she finds her angel face down in a bottle of Peppermint Schnapps and tinsel strewn around all corners of the house.  Again, she’ll blame Hubby…
  • Find a nice quiet corner to sit and contemplate the true meaning of Christmas whilst watching everyone else drink themselves silly and discuss why Joan Jett would sing Silent Night and the Little Drummer Boy, but not Santa Baby….hmmm….then get more wine and circle the gathering by humming ‘I Hate Myself for Loving You’…spread the Joan Jett Joy.
  • When eating boxed chocolates, read the chocolate guide to ensure you don’t eat the yukky cherry cream, or orange sherbet stuff or coconut cream ones. Leave those and eat the other caramel filled yummy ones.   Then replace the missing ones with the orange sherbet and coconut filled chocolates from the bottom tray.   Throw out the now empty tray and leave the one full tray of orange sherbet crap and coconut filled ones on top, that way everybody will think the box is half full, when really, it’s half empty….or it IS half full…of crappy chocolate.  Either way, it’s a psychological thing.  They’ll be happy that they scored a full load of chocolate and you’ll have already eaten the best ones!  Win-Win!  You’re all about spreading Christmas cheer….

 

There you have it.  You are now all set for the Christmas parties that are sure to come your way!  Enjoy yourself and remember, elves and Jack go together like wine and me…sweet and…well, we’ll just leave it at sweet. 

 

 

Confessions of a Chocoholic

SHARE?!!  I think not!

SHARE?!! I think not!

For centuries, chocolate has been portrayed as a natural luxury food. A treat that can only be consumed when broken hearted or stressed. For example, your fiancee just ran off with your maid of honour and you are feeling lost and abandoned. Instead of crying on your Mommy’s shoulder, however, you head to the nearest variety store and buy one hundred Mars bars to help ease the pain. After just one bite, you feel a bit better. Not ready to jump back into a relationship with the store owner’s son…but, not really wanting to throw yourself from the nearest bridge, either. Your blood sugar has evened out. Your mood has improved. You no longer feel the need to be all stabby…your best friend is not so lucky, but it can’t cure EVERYTHING. Scientific fact.
Example two – your boss just landed a huge project on your desk – due tomorrow. What do you do? Why head to the nearest vending machine and throw every quarter you have into it and buy all the chocolate you can find, of course. You sit pie-eyed eating mounds of chocolate hoping one iota of an idea can enter your wee brain before it explodes into a dark chocolate haze. That idea comes slowly at first, then in a wave of undeniable clarity, an idea springs forth from the depths of your magical imagination that is sure to make you the boss’ pet. You type the best proposal in a wild moment of such intellectual fortitude the likes of which you have never seen before. The serotonin in your brain has just had a metaphorical kick in the ass, and you are on the fast track to partnership. Scientific fact.
The wonder drug?
Chocolate.
You betcha.
There’s something about chocolate that eases my pain, or takes away that bit of grief or stress that often hounds me. It has a magical property that I just can’t live without. Maybe it’s the high sugar content; maybe it’s the caffeine; or maybe it’s just a wicked combination of both to which I’m addicted. Either way, I can’t help myself and fall a victim to its power… daily.
Chocolate has become sexy, have you noticed? Any commercial advertising a chocolate bar or the tiniest square of chocolate, has a sexy model with deep red lipstick, licking her lips and staring sensually at the camera. I realize, we all wear out lipstick when we eat chocolate and go around licking our lips because of its deliciousness, but I hesitate to think it as any type of aphrodisiac…but maybe it is. Maybe in some ancient time, chocolate was considered such a rare type of magical treat, that women used it to ‘get their man’. Maybe Cleopatra seduced Mark Antony by putting chocolate in his drink, or slipping him a bite here and there…
Since this post is titled “Confessions” I must confess the lengths I would go to get me some chocolate goodness…So, here:
I eat the chocolate chips right out of the bag. There is no chance any cookies or baked goods will contain chocolate chips unless you buy them and immediately use them. Truth.
I stash bags of chocolate in my car glove compartment for emergencies… like driving.
I keep quarters in a Styrofoam coffee cup on my desk for times when I have to make an emergency run to the chocolate almond vending machine…like three o’clock every afternoon.
Halloween used to be my fave time of year…until all my kids grew up and now don’t go trick-or-treating. Now, I buy extra treats knowing I’ll have some left over after the big night. Unless I leave Hubby in charge as I head to the neighbours for a drink or three, and he happens to find it and gives it away to the last few trick-or-treaters who come to the door.
Dammit!
Christmas is right around the corner and I am confident that there will be some chocolate goodness in ma stocking…or under the tree for me. It’s pretty much a given.
There are no lengths I will not go to get a bit of chocolate sweetness, so next time you have a sweet treat around…watch out. I could be following the scent….

TRUTH!!

TRUTH!!

Joyful Santas and Gangsta Mags Are All The Rage, Yo!

Hello, there.  What’s new?  How have you been?  Read any good books lately?  Seen a good movie or two?  Me? Nah…I’ve been doing shit.  You know, getting shit done.  This and that.  Moving and grooving…I can’t be any more specific or I’ll have to keeeeeelllll you…or something.

Get the feeling I’m rambling?  Yeah, me too.  I’ve actually been painting.  Not walls, but I decided to take up my tole painting brush and start again.  After ten years of doing nothing at all, I thought painting some Christmas themed stuff would be fun!  Yeah.  Although ‘fun’ is not the word I would use, it has been productive and relaxing.

Of course, I decided to do this in October, so searching up for supplies has been a challenge.  Did you know that nobody tole paints anymore?  Or some people refer to it as Folk Art painting.  Whatever the fuck it’s called, NOBODY does it anymore… Who knew?  Ugh…leave it up to me to pick up a hobby that died out with troll babies and Ninja turtles.  But, they made a come-back, right?  So can I.

I dug out my paints in the bowels of the basement.  They are still encased in a large wooden crate that has been half painted.  I gave them all a shake and they were as good as new…almost.   I discovered that they don’t make the paint I used, so now I have to switch. The only problem is that all of the colors are different now.  So, search up handy-dandy conversion chart and now I have to mix and match new colors and buy the ones that I simply can’t create myself.

Santa that I painted...I like him even if he looks depressed.  Joy is not his name.

Santa that I painted…I like him even if he looks depressed. Joy is not his name.

 Joyful Santa here was done on canvas.  I really liked the way he turned out despite his cheery demeanor and purplish-alcoholic nose.  Nothing says ‘Merry Christmas’ more than a framed alcoholic Santa!  Yay me! I loved him so much, I made him a part of my mantel.

Now, I’m working on Santa number two also in canvas, but once that’s finished, I have to search out some new wooden material and that ain’t easy…(I can see you when you do that, “I GOT YOUR WOOD RIGHT HERE”    Yeah.) Maybe if I lop off a tree branch and sand it down I could have something to paint…Or, my fence would be good.  But Hubby would have to tear down part of it, dry it and bring it in so I could paint it…bit of a pain.  And the dog would escape and terrorize the ‘hood, so we can’t have Mags running loose.  She’s already got an attitude with her new sweaters…I bought her a hooded pink one.  She sorta looks like Missy Elliott now.  Scary.

Gangsta Mags...she's comin' at you, bro!

Gangsta Mags…she’s comin’ at you, bro!

 Next she’ll be doing gangsta rap and looking for a posse to hang with.  All the other dogs will want to join her and we’ll have Spike, Cooper, Reese, Max, Charlie, Hershey and of course, Special Needs Petey (He’s special)  and the leader Mags with their hooded sweaters and their swagger….the ‘hood has gone to the dogs…literally.

All that from a bit of painting…*sigh*   Anyways, my apologies for ma blogging buds for ma absence as of late.  I have been reading, just not commenting.  I will return when this painting urge/thing/obsession recedes a bit and I can get back to writing and reading and socializing and being my old annoying and sweary self.  I know…miss me, yet?

And if you see any troll babies around, throw one out ma way, will ‘ya?