Sooo, I’m Waiting for the Big Celebration!

Yeah, I’m waiting for the doorbell to ring, and the balloons to fall, and the gaily wrapped presents to tumble into my lap. Just to keep me busy, while I’m waiting, I walked the dog, cleaned the house, did a load of laundry, and got groceries.  I was pretty sure everyone was hiding in the bedroom when Diego and I returned from our desert jaunt.

I was even more sure that the backyard would be stacked with friends and relatives when I got back with bags of groceries. I even changed my top to look extra nice.

The guys are here to paint the rest of the new fence out front. I’m waiting, because no doubt they brought all the presents with them. Along with the paint.

Speaking of which, Diego loves his new fence. He runs out his back door and speeds around the house to check out what the neighbors are doing. He has a water dish in case he gets thirsty. He has plenty of shade. He likes it all. He’s thinking of what he wants for his birthday, and we haven’t yet even picked a date for his “birthday” yet. He seems unconcerned about it all.

Actually, I don’t pay much attention to birthdays. Other people’s? Yes, I pay attention to that because that’s polite. My own? Naw. The Contrarian managed to remember before the morning was over. That’s saying a lot. Heck we often talk about our anniversary and then get so caught up in living, that we forget when it actually hits.

Having a birthday now is sorta of a badge of survival anyway. I’m not sure that makes me feel a lot better about being 63 years of age. I’m smarter than I was at 36. But what to do with all that stuff stuffed in there? I have no clue. I figure when you get to heaven you get to put all that stuff in a box. I’m not sure how to make enchilada sauce is a useful thing in heaven.

We are going out to eat today. That’s what we usually do on Monday, so I don’t even get an EXTRA “out to eat” day. That seems wrong, and somehow doesn’t make today’s out-to-eat day all that special. I noted that on google search they had cupcakes and candles? Was that for me?

I got the usual number of “X posted on your wall” in Facebook. It took me a minute to realize it was the “happy birthday” obligatory if you can remember, stop by to type happy birthday. Or Have a great day! Or Hope you have a super birthday!  Or words to that effect. Do you try to come up with something a bit different to make it appear that you actual care? I do. But I confess I don’t think of the person’s “happy day” much past the click of the mouse to the next page.

I haven’ really thought about anything I “want” for my birthday. I pretty much buy what I want anyway. When you can afford to buy most things, nothing much seems very special does it? Unlike Tiny Tim and his wonder at the goose for Christmas in A Christmas Story. Or all those stories about pioneer life in the olden days when an orange and gum drop were major delights to be swooned over and enjoyed slowly and to the last drop on Christmas morning.

I got a number of “gifts” from some stores. JCP sent me a $5 dollar gift certificate. Pier One gave me a 25% off ticket. I got a bunch of tickets from JoAnn Fabrics. My broker sent a card, my dentist a $5 coupon at some ice cream palace over on RoadRunner Rd. I’m sure they all are thinking about me today. That makes me feel warm inside.

I noted that the wind stopped blowing as Diego and I walked into the desert. I’m sure it was homage to me and my desire not to walk into a head wind. I thought that was nice of Mother Nature, aka, God.

The housework went nicely, all the dust cooperated and clung to my dust cloths. Some people call their dust cloths rags, but I think that’s just mean. How do you expect a slip of cloth to do its job well when it’s referred to as a rag? I mean really. These things are important folks.

The car cooperated in my drive into town for groceries. That was a nice gift I thought. It’s been a thoroughly nice car for some time, although the engine light does like to come up a lot. That’s got to do with the catalytic converter according to the computer code at Auto Somethingorother place, which hooked her up and said she was only unhappy with her fuel mixture. It goes on and off. We can disconnect the battery and let her sit and stew in her unelectrified self for a bit and then plug her back up, and the light stays off—until it doesn’t again. She’s just petulant.

Actually I think the car is not a she. But I haven’t gotten under her to check for sure.

If you are in your twenties and reading this, boy are you in the wrong place. Unless you are studying to become a geriatric nurse. Then you can screw OFF. I’m being polite, and not using the F word. If you are in your 30-50′s, then the above is a preview of the state of mind you too will attain upon reaching your 60′s. It’s got to do with social security. It’s not very social, and not very secure by the way. And Medicare doesn’t care one whit I suspect either. You’re just another warm body until you are a cold body. And then it’s on to someone else.

So hey, if you get lucky and get to be 63, you too can be the happy person you’re reading right now! Aren’t you excited?

Yeah, well screw off then too!

Just kidding.

Sorta.

 

 

 

How To Fold a Fitted Sheet

I thought I was being pretty darn anal. But I was on Facebook one day, and I saw this video posted by one of my “friends” on how to fold a fitted sheet.

I admit, I was intrigued. I bit.

I watched it. “Wow, how easy is this!” I mused.

The next Saturday when the sheets were dry (I waiting with eager anticipation I gotta tell ya), I raced to the bedroom with my sheets and started following the directions as I remembered them.

After three tries, I threw the wadded up mess on the shelf in disgust.

But then, well my anal really kicked in.

I went to YouTube and searched for a fitted sheet folding video.

And I found dozens.  I mean literally dozens.

It seems that (1) almost everybody knows but me, and (2) almost everybody wanted to show me how.

So I tried again.

And failed again.

And again.

And again.

I watched at least six different videos.

Finally after watching ever more closely, I got the hang of it.

So I was going to just mention it to you in passing–you know the way people do on the street–”hi, good morning”–(walking past each other, then turning)–”let’s do lunch next week okay?”–(walking a bit further but still not out of shouting range)–”oh, hey, your hair looks great like that! New style?”–now just a bit too far past to hear, so wave and turn and go on your way. . . .you know what I mean.

But I went in search of a picture of the process, and accidentally found this site. Well not exactly accidentally, since I was looking for the picture, but I double clicked instead of single clicked and found myself at this lady’s site, and I went, “whoa this is anal +.” So I thought I’d show you some of her stuff, cuz I makes me look really really normal.

Well, normal. That is a relative term if there ever was one right. I mean if you are in a “home” for the crazies, and you are the least crazy, well, you’re normal as far as they are concerned aren’t you? And if you are at a psychiatric conference in San Francisco, my dog probably qualifies as being the most normal. Ya see what I mean?

Anyway.

This is anal:

I mean really? A sign to tell you what you are looking at? But she means it literally, as you can see:

See? These are not “antique” quilts but “play” quilts. Don’t get mixed up.

Here’s the whole enchilada if you wish to see a “well-conceived linen closet:

I mean it’s to die for right?

I knew a person like this. But it was a guy. We used to sneak into his office and “mess” it up for fun. We were adults. He put up with us. He bought a house. A year later he was “sorting” out his attic.

I admire people like that. When I don’t call them crazy. You can admire crazy.

I can be tempted by “order”. But I fight against it.

I like to imitate the universe.

It may seem ordered, but it’s really ordered chaos.

The blog is called “I Lived on Wisteria Lane”. She seems to have stopped blogging abruptly in October. That’s always worrisome. If you like organization, well, do visit it.

By the by, I still can’t figure out fitted sheets. I have a mental block I guess. I’m a failure in the housewife wars.

So I’ve made a cake, and some pastry cream. It’s for the Contrarian’s birthday on Monday. It’s a Boston Cream Pie. He likes Boston Cream Pie. My cakes are still sinking in the middle. I have upped the temperature, and reduced the baking powder. They still sink. I’m a failure in the baking wars.

I am going out soon to help with planting. I have my new L-shaped planters to fill with petunias in the front. And about seven thousand planters in the back. The Contrarian is concentrating on the veggies.

We’ve got plenty of good old New Mexican soil in the bottoms of everything. It’s hard as a rock. It doesn’t seem to rain here.

We have bags and bags of manurish top soil. It smells like horses, well the behind of horses. Wait, that’s not right either. I don’t smell the behinds of horses, I can promise you that. But the stuff that falls out of their behind. The dirt smells like that.

Diego likes the smell of the soil. Maybe he would even like the smell of a horse’s behind. He doesn’t say. We have put up wire lines to keep him from rooting and digging in the big beds. He’s a dog after all. They like dirt apparently. Diego digs in the desert a lot. I think he’s looking for jack rabbits. He just wants to be their friend.

They don’t seem to understand dog speak though. They run. They run very fast.

Just me knitting in the garden

 

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What Fresh Hell is This?

It would not be a good idea to cross me right now. Seriously. Don’t do it. I’m channeling Dorothy Parker and you know how dangerous that can be.

One of the ubiquitous sayings of the Great Parker was: “a good thing to appear on my tombstone would be: wherever I am, is usually against my better judgment”. And nothing could be truer.

Okay, so yesterday was set up to be the day from hell from the beginning. I had a dental appointment at 7 am, followed by a rush through the grocery store, followed by a drive to El Paso to make up for a cancelled eye appointment.

So far so good.

I don’t think the drive to El Paso is all that bad mind you, but I do worry about catching some communicable disease as I drift across the border from my beloved Land of Enchantment to the home of one George W. Bush, painter and failed president. (You heard he’s just soooo committed to his new art career right?)

Anyway, we got down there okay, although one does has to run the gauntlet so to speak of some of the worst drivers in all of kingdom come, which is where I feel headed as I try to avoid their bumper car mentality. I mean does anyone in Texas no anything other than “put ‘er to the floor, close your eyes and yell Yippie-Kio-Kia?”

So after nearly one hour plus the inevitable stop at the train tracks and the inevitable train with no end, we arrive, almost late, but not quite. The Contrarian is called within 15 minutes of arrival, which is as close to telling time as I would assume could be expected in the land of cows and over-sized steaks.

He emerges fifteen minutes later, “done”, meaning that they have discerned his eyeglass prescription in nothing short of laser speed. But there is a catch. There is always a catch.

The dude assigned the monumentally difficult job of turning the pages in a book offering you the latest in VA eyewear fashion (meaning the damn frames), while you dear patient look and point when you find a pair that don’t look too nerdy or Elton Johnish, is NOT IN TODAY. And *gasp* not another employee of the eye clinic is qualified to turn that page. I mean even a post-it note stuck between two pages and a best guess that these are the ones, was past their pay grade level.

This of course means that we must return on another day to pick out the damn frames. Good news? Oh, we don’t need an appointment–anything time between the hours of “this is a damn stupid way to handle things” and “you’re nearing the ninth gate of Dante’s hell” will do.

So after some shouting at each other, for no good reason but that we are both so gloriously pissed at the VA and “bureaucracy” in general, we cross back into the land of sanity, (the pavement actually improves at the state line), and we careen happily home, secure only in the knowledge that tomorrow is another day, and the Contrarian has a dental appointment at 10 am. My joy overflows.

So, now my swimming plans for Tuesday are off.

So, all my schedules are screwed up, and you KNOW I am a very scheduly-type person.

So I reschedule my day for today.

Now the wonder kids in Washington of the D.C. (standing for Dumb Cockroaches) have as you recall, changed up the Daylight Savings Time, which is no saving at all since you give back what was gained any the damn way. And if ever there was a thing not to f**k with God over, it would be time itself.

So after 9/11, the Dancing cephalopods in Congress wanted to “DO SOMETHING!”, so they started the DST even earlier and let it run longer, and nobody gained as I said a damn thing, and something about saving money, well that never happened either. So we have a dumb thing in the first place, made even dumber, and poor milk cows just weep in frustration as their udders have no clue what to do.

So instead of it being nicely light with the sun just beginning to send a glorious glow over the top of the mountains, it’s freakin’ pitch black. And I don’t like walking with a flashlight waiting for a rattler to show me his pearly whites in the beam.

So, I am forced to rearrange my schedule of walking too! Instead, I get up at the crack of dawn which here is now not dawn at all, but dark dark as I said, and begin cleaning the kitchen and bathrooms, which is a bit hard on the stomach at such an ungodly hour. After I have that done, it is light enough to walk the Diego, who is having a crisis of sorts finding that other people on the block get newspapers too every morning, and feeling duty bound to bring them all here, to sort out the mess.

To this deadly mix of mismanaged mayhem, comes the Contrarian, with the announcement:

I CANNOT FIND MY PHONE!

After a look through the car, and every pair of pants pockets, hoodie pockets, robes, and other items that have pockets, searching through the bed, the oven, the drawers in the every place that has drawers, even gazing hopefully down the gullet of said Diego, who has been known to take it for a walk,  the only and I do mean ONLY answer, is that it is in the EYE clinic in EL PASO!!!!

And it’s there, waiting for us to go and pick it up.

Pray for me.

Pray for me a lot.

 

 

Let’s Have Some Happy Presidental Day!

It’s President’s Day!

I would have forgotten, being a retired person, and not being beholden to no calendar (we sometimes celebrate Christmas a few days late, because we are not aware of even what day of the week it is most of the time). Until I called the bank about a zillion times and couldn’t get a human being on the other end.

Since this task was assigned to me by the Contrarian, it’s safe to safe we both forgot.

There is a scam born nearly every minute I think. I get a e-mail every week telling me that the e-mail is in danger of being disconnected if I don’t return the e-mail with my username and password. It’s suitable addressed to “maintenance”.

I might bite, but for the bold statement across the top of my email that says: we will never ask you for your password.

Yesterday the Contrarian received an automated phone call, telling us that our debit card had been placed on a hold and that we should push “1″ to go to the security division of the bank. No doubt they would want our account number and pin number to proceed. We didn’t fall for that one either. No doubt plenty do, which is why folks keep trying to figure ways around the law.

I’ve been receiving a zillion and one-third pop ups lately. No doubt from something I downloaded. I am a downloading freak. Anyway, it was getting so dang annoying so I went to Firefox help and said: “HELP“. They took me to options were I found that I already had the “block pop ups” checked. That made me exceedingly pissy since the pop ups are all Firefox windows.

I told the Contrarian. He found a site called www. computerhope.com You might want to write that down. I put in my question and was sent to a page that asked my type of browser, and then told me exactly what to do. It involved going to a scary place called “about.config”. I knew it was scary since the minute I got there, it said, “are you SURE you want to be here?” I checked the “I’ll be very very careful, I promise,” and proceeded to open and change something about privacy. So far so good.

Is anybody got an ad at the top of their “new post” page? (WordPressers only). I’m thinking of starting a national boycott of any ad that comes up on places where there shouldn’t be ads. I will decide of course where they shouldn’t be.

√

Rutherford B. Hayes is the least googled President of the United States. I have no idea why nobody googles him. But it’s a great conversation starter wouldn’t you say?

Did I tell you about the site, The Top 10 of Everything and Anything? If I did, well EXCUSE me, and if I didn’t, well, go over there. It is a total surprise every day. Today is The 10 most unique egg cooking fryers. That’s another good conversation starter don’t you think?

Since the Pope is stepping down, I wonder if anyhow has asked him where’s the first place he’s going now that he’s a free man. I wonder if he’s say, “I’m going to Disneyworld!” He might you know. Well, he might.

What’s the best book you ever read? The one that had the greatest impact on you? The one you thought about for days, weeks afterward? The one you maybe read again? Mine? Oh, I don’t know as I can answer. Tomorrow my answer would probably be different from it is today. My rudder is loose I guess. Sometimes it’s definitely The Naked and the Dead. Sometimes it’s Grapes of Wrath. Some times it’s Mila 18. And then on Saturday’s it’s usually Calvin and Hobbes Collected Works. No that’s usually Sunday. Saturday is usually Bloom County.

I really breathed a sigh of relief when I discovered that I only gave up the SECOND most obvious thing for Lent. What was that you ask? Oh. Chocolate. And I’ve never given it up before for Lent. I would have hated to have picked the most popular thing–Twitter. I’ve given up soda before. That is number four. Number three is swearing–that would be a waste of time. I’m addicted to certain words and phrases that just seem to say it right. Did you give up anything? Do tell.

If Monopoly is a game form of capitalism, then I guess what is happening today is pretty much to be expected. I mean isn’t the object of Monopoly to win all the money and own everything? Are you telling me that people like Murdock and Trump don’t aim for that? Capitalism, but it’s very nature has the seeds of its own destruction within it.

MSNBC is airing “Hubris: Selling the Iraq War” tonight. Based on the book by David Corn and Michael Isikoff. Should be worth seeing.

Why is it that Mountain time is never mentioned when they say, 8 Eastern, 7 Central, and 5 Pacific? I mean it’s like we live in this great void of no importance. I feel slighted and slightly like the stupid child in the family.

You know I been wondering. Sarah Palin built a studio set at her home in Wasilla to broadcast to Fox, when they were good buds. I wonder if she goes and sits in it sometimes and daydreams about the good ole days when she was somebody?

Hey, well somebody has gotta do it don’t they?

New York demands a certain number of weirdos.

But I ask ya, if you saw this dude walking up the stoop of the brownstone next to you, after a hard day wiggling his ass, in them whitie-tighties, would you feel like maybe looking for a new place to live?

Live and let live as they say, but do it where I don’t have to see it.

He’s got some legs though. In a weird sort of way.

Do you wonder at the mind that one day said, “yeah, I’m going out to sing and play my guitar and I’m going to wear nothing but some white briefs. That is the ticket to success!”

I’d be checking to see if his Prozac needed a refill.

So…..I think I been daydreaming.

See ya!

I Have a Cold and I’m Sooo Happy!

Call me crazy. No please don’t. Enough people are already saying that. They whisper. I can hear them. “She’s crazy you know,” they nod knowingly at each other.

But I do have a cold. And I’m relieved. Because I don’t have the flu! The flu is way worth, attacking the tummy, and making you not sure whether you should sit or hang your head in the toilet, and frankly, sticking my head where I place my butt is not a comforting thought. It makes the flu worse just thinking about it.

Flu saps you of every will to live, and makes you swear off pizza and jalapeños for life, a promise you are surely going to break and that leads to being a sinner, and that leads to confession, and well, it’s all downhill with the flu.

Colds are noble. Truly they are. They are straightforward. They start with a dry cough, a bunch of sneezing, and that feeling that something is dripping softly at the back of the throat. You have time to prepare. You still have hours before you will feel really bad–time to get that cold medicine, run to the grocery store to stock up on good stuff to comfort you. Time for kleenex purchases!

Flu? It sneaks up like a thief in the night. You are sitting there, just fine and enjoying your favorite TV show, and suddenly, your tummy doesn’t feel quite right. Then in mere seconds, it feels really really not quite right. Then there is that haunting moment when your mouth fills with spit, and you find yourself projectile racing for the bathroom, Which end is going to erupt first? And then you can do nothing but drag yourself to the bed and moan, awaiting the next attack.

Flu is a mean sucker.

Colds are comforting. You get all snuggly warm in your jammies and robe and drink some nice tea with honey. You take some cold meds and get all drowsy and get that luscious nap that you usually forgo because you feel guilty wasting the time. You feel entitled for at least a day to just do nothing.

So I’m happy. Given the choices, I’m doing okay. I’m writing this, which I definitely would not be doing if I had the flu.

Diego? Not so happy. He noticed the slippers instead of the sneakers. He is not getting a walk today, and he’s stoic but sad. He gives me lots of encouraging kisses.

We’ve gone around the bend where he is concerned. I can’t tell you how much we have spent on him so far, in attempts to make him happy. Some of it is the usual stuff, collars and leads, but then there is the kennel which he now loves and runs into at the first sign that we are heading out together. But then there was the dog door which he adores and uses a hundred and seventy-two times every day. Now we are talking about putting up a wrought iron fence around the front because he just adores laying out and watching the activities of the neighborhood.

He’s a show off. I have to tell you. He likes to chase his ball down the street and we go out a good six times a day or more to throw it. He scampers after it, and then stands there, waiting for the backyard dogs to start to howling. Then he is happy. He just loves to lord it over them that he is free and they are not. Except for Rosie. Rosie is a big honking dog from the end of the street, two doors down. She gets out of her backyard and visits around. Diego is in love with Rosie, and she seems to feel the same way. She tries to walk into the house.

Well, we have reached the crazy when it comes to the boy. You see, we have taught him to retrieve the morning paper. It is sometimes there before we go on his walk at about 6:20 a.m. Sometimes he has to wait until we are back, and I unleash him at the corner. He runs over the paper every time and then picks it up, and runs it into the Contrarian, who praises him lavishly and then fights to get the paper. (If you ever wish to send Diego a present know that a subscription to the WSJ would be perfect!)

So today, given that I’m staying in, I suggested in jest mind you, that the Contrarian after finishing his paper, wrap it back up and sneak it out. Diego thinks there is a paper fairy and he’s quite sure that there will be more during the day. And, well, the paper is out there again, waiting for Diego to find it.

We have gone around the bend I tell ya.

Well, happy day to you, and if you come down with something, let it be a cold!

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We Got SNOW!!!

Yes, Margaret, we too get snow here in the desert. We are “high” desert and yesterday was a day filled with salt pellet snow, followed by the real stuff! All in all we got about half an inch. It’s still spitting some this morning as we traversed the landscape.

Diego had a ball, racing here and there and going much deeper than usual into the brush as the goat heads which plague his toes were buried under the white shroud of powder. Actually, it’s fairly squeaky snow which all true snow knowers will recognize. That’s snow that has a high water content which means it’s very near the temperature to melt.

It now claims to be about 30° and a high is expected in the low forties, so we may get some melt. If not, tomorrow for sure when the temperatures are due to be even higher. Then it’s back to our norm of mid-50′s. So we won’t have this white stuff  to kick around long.

I can testify that our Chihuahuan desert is overloaded with bunnies and jackrabbits. The tracks were astronomical and we saw one hopping around. As usual they make for safety long before Diego can get a tooth to them. I can’t seem to convince him that digging like mad will not result in a succulent rabbit stew, but he keeps trying. Either that or he is hungry for Chinese and is using the old tried and never trued method of digging his way to Shanghai.

Sooo, Boehner got re-elected as Speaker, not without a minor rebellion by the eye-spinners.

At right is my painting of the Tea People. Naw, not really, I swiped it from the Google Images.  But it does resemble Louis Gohmert a bit though don’t you think? Louis, unaware of what century he is in, voted to elect Allen West Speaker. I hear that Quasimodo got a vote too.

Boehner has been spanked as they say, and we shall now see how he wants to be remembered in history. Does he wish to go down as the puppet of the Tea People or as the man who realized his fate and decided to leave a legacy of actually accomplishing something. The jury, is as they say, still out on that one.

The Contrarian pointed out a rather salient fact the other day. Or I should probably say theory. Now, when the gun toters of America claim that we have to protect the 2nd Amendment against encroachment because it is the hallmark of our democracy that we have arms in case the government goes wacko (make an argument that it isn’t already, I dare ya) they do have a point. We must, they argue be able to rise up and take “our country back.”

Well that sounds all nice and all. And look around the middle east and see that armed insurrection is occurring in lots of places. But of course, all these countries did not have long established traditions of democracy. Some have pointed out that many repressive regimes started out by instituting gun control. But again, almost none of them were democracies to start with. Most were either dictatorships already or aristocracies.

I do not, therefore see that these events around the world have much to teach us about our own circumstances.

My question is what good is an AK-47 or any of its myriad offspring against the likes of predator drones, missiles, fighter jets, and all the cornucopia of fire power that the government can bring to bear upon people with hand guns and rifles? No “revolution” has a chance to succeed without the military going over, and frankly how likely is that? Whose gonna be in charge?

I frankly don’t recall reading any time that the Revolutionary forces in the US had issues with weapons. But even with apparent access to the normal weaponry of the day, they required the assistance of France with its naval fire power in order to win that war. Are we going to get help from Canada? Or Mexico? Or Brazil?

The idea that revolution is around the corner in America is the fantasy death wish of a small and crazy segment of the country who are deluded into ecstasies of orgasmic shuddering at the thought of sighting in their scopes on the likes of Barney Franks, Nancy Pelosi, and all those other lefty bleeding hearts that they so detest. Do you really think that there are countries out there other than the now dead Qaddafis and Husseins, who are crazy enough to help the “insurgents”?

That is why the argument fails in my opinion. There has never been an even close call when it comes to a real legitimate fear that this country was falling into the hands of some dictatorial menace. The menace we face today is corptocracy, if that is a word. We are nearly owned lock, stock and barrel by corporate interests and that plague is spreading around the globe and will soon ingest EVERY government.

So am I right? Or wildly wrong?

Oh and a short perusal of the blogs that kicked up from “snow in the desert” proves again the old adage–stupid stays stupid. You would not believe the number of posts that suggest that snowfall in southern parts of Texas and New Mexico, PROVE that there is no global warming. Yes and proof that you can talk is proof you ain’t stupid too. Right?

 

So Are Ya Jollied UP Yet?

So how’s it goin’ out there?

I mean, are ya all Christmasy yet?

Depending on your gender, you’re either yawning about now, or twisting your hair into frizzles as you gnaw at the pencil bemoaning the long list that still greets you.

Yes I said gender.

Everyone knows that MOST (remember I did say most, which I am constrained to say, since the Contrarian ALWAYS makes note of when I say ALWAYS because he suggests that it’s an unfair assessment of anyone and everyone should everyone be more to the point than anyone. Got that? Didn’t think so, so move on). Okay, again.

Everyone knows that MOST men have little to do with any festive occasion, be it Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years or Easter, the “Big Four” as I call ‘em. Oh they have their little chores, but they pale in comparison to what WOMEN are called upon to do. Mostly men fetch and carry and SHOW UP reasonably on time and not looking like they just stepped out of a scene from AX MEN.

On the other hand, MOST women are the food preparers and decorators, the house cleaners,  the buyers of gifts, the wrappers, the planners, the strategic organizers. They are BUSY while the men are ZONING in front of the big screen, beer in hand and remote clutched firmly lest anyone interfere with the switching back and forth from da Bears to The Patriots game, simulcast in quadruple screen brilliant blood and gore. If you speak to them they grunt. Yes, as in “huhhhhh?” Then of course they still don’t LISTEN to a word you are saying.

I know that WOMEN do all the real work when it comes to holidays, because yesterday on Facebook, WOMEN were the one’s who were sending out seasonal greetings to all their FB friends. It was only Wednesday but WOMEN know they are about to start that run to the goal line–which is getting the damn food on the table on Christmas day. Then they can almost collapse into a puddle of goo, that is after the freakin’ food is put away and the dishes all cleaned up, which is just about the time when the masculine types will bellow out that a “snack” would be nice about now.

And of course tomorrow, the MALES will burp and fart their way to a late morning wake up, while the WOMEN are busy cleaning up all the trash from the day before and making the house somewhat presentable again for the “you know they will come” various lost relatives who come to remind you that their lives are way more interesting and fulfilling than yours, and gee, you STILL have this sofa? I remember that burn hole from when we were in high school, chit-chat.

So if they haven’t already, WOMEN are busy turning out a production line of cookies in various shapes and sizes and flavors, all to prove that they learned a thing or two from their Easy Bake Ovens. And they are wondering if card boughs draped around the front door are dated. And they are wondering if they got the right size for Uncle John’s slippers. And did they remember scotch tape? And gift cards? Are there holiday napkins? Oh lord the china needs washing. The cat is climbing through the tree again, and the dog is stealing ornaments and hiding them in his bed.

The kids are insane and need to be simply locked in their rooms until the big day. Oh and Bobby needs a hair cut, and Brenda broke her glasses again.

A WOMAN slips back and forth from one reality to another–the Christmas holiday she would love to have, and the one that is doomed to be.

A MAN, drinks his beer, flips the stations, naps, snores, and takes out the trash and feels self-satisfied with his “helping out.”

A MAN goes to the mall late at night, bemoans his limitations to the prettiest clerk he can find, and lets her figure out what he should buy. Then he buys it, and moans once more about the “wrapping thing” and he is directed to another pretty little thing who laughs at his macho jokes and dutifully wraps his gift, which he has already forgotten the contents of. He will place that baby under the tree and beam with “ain’t I greatness” when she opens it and oohs and ahhs, and sighs inwardly, wondering how many times she will have to wear “it” before she can safely stow “it” in the back of the drawer and put on the nice warm jammies she really wanted  to wear during the long cold winter.

Both MEN and WOMEN will sigh contentedly at the end of the holiday, figuring they have done another good job.

So, yeah, I know. Most of you are men. The Women are of course, already getting started with the chaos for the last 5 days.

Merry Christmas