Sooooooooooo, Christmas just hit me like a ton of bricks. Apparently, Christmas is fast approaching, and while I have completed my shopping, I have completed little else.

Cards, packages, dog treats, Glee CDs. More cards. (PS--why is it that, even when I'm trying to be modest, we still end up sending out 50 Christmas cards?)

And the table was mocking me. My house was (and remains) a disaster.

But for some reason, all I wanted to do was watch Mitch eat his bone and throw treats around the house.

(The video below is a little slow, but features one Mitchell Pancake throwing almonds about the living room.)

So there the cards sat, mocking me. And I was having trouble getting motivated.

UNTIL. . .

I checked the mail. It was a great mail day: four Christmas cards, two packages, a new Real Simple and Food Network Magazine. And two of the Christmas cards had cash in them! Horray!

But the thing that really motivated me was this happy little tin from Caitie. . .

So I did! Inside I saw this. . .

And I laughed. I laughed even louder when I saw these. . .

MAPLE CANDIES!



So I decided to tackle this. . .

But then got distracted again by this. . .

Well, dammit. Maybe people will just get Valentine's cards.

Vaccination and Deep Thoughts

In order that I may continue to make insensitive jokes, I got the H1N1 vaccine today. It was gross. Probably not as gross as the flu itself (what with the puking and pain and whatnot), but I really hate when people squirt stuff up my nose. This aversion is precisely the reason I don't do cocaine. Well, that and the fact that I'm not into drugs other than alcohol, caffeine, and ibuprofin.

But anyway, after I was attacked with a live virus (Does this mean that I'm going to get sick? Oh no! If I kiss Matt, and he didn't get the mist, am I going to give him the Swine?), I started to have very deep thoughts. Deep thoughts don't usually come to me, but I really got to thinking.

You know how Lieutenant Dan had invested Forrest Gump's Bubba Gump Shrimp Company money in some fruit company?

And how he called Forrest to tell him that they didn't have to worry about money no more? And Forrest said that was good, "one less thing."

Man, I bet Forrest and Dan are doing REALLY well now. Little Forrest isn't ever going to have to work if he doesn't want to.

Happy Hump Day!

I'm going to go research what I can and can not do now that I've introduced a live and deadly virus into my body.

Shecky Update

Well, since I know you all are dying to know, I talked to Shecky earlier this evening about her Larry email situation.

On Monday, after she re-emailed him and then left him a voicemail, Larry finally called Shecky back. She decided to face her fears head on (apply directly to the forehead), and she brought up Friday's unfortunate email. Larry had:

• forgotten about the email
• found the email to be strange
• thought she was making jokes that he didn't get
• not been creeped out by the email

Shecky made up some lie (a lie she'd been working on for days; she'd even practiced it on the phone with me) about how it might have seemed like she was hitting on him, and how the email was intended for her friend Portney in the office. Oops!

He seemed to have bought her story, and was even so kind as to forward the email back to Portney, explaining how it is important for people to be very careful when communicating electronically.

I think I like Larry!

So, it's good news. Not the best news possible, because that would have been him saying, "I love you, too, Shecky! I have since the first moment we met!" and then running through a field of wildflowers to meet her.

Sorry I touched your baby at Wal-Mart. . .

A gem from STFU Parents.

The thing is, I have to be drunk to be able to handle stepping foot into a Wal-Mart. I also have to be drunk to want to touch a [disgusting, screaming, snot-nosed, disease-carrying] baby.

Here's the aforementioned sign.

ARE YOU F'ING KIDDING ME? (P.S., I maintain that the reason that Matt and I are pretty healthy--with the exception of our being grossly fat--is that we don't use hand sanitizer or go nutty about germs. I've taken this even farther by refusing to shower and by allowing Mitch to wash all of our dishes. I'm sure I'll eat these words soon, and soon you'll be hearing about how we've all come down with The Swine.)

Matt's response: "Hey, and if you're a germaphobe, don't take your baby to the dirtiest place on the planet. . .'Oh, hey, we were at the dump and someone touched my baby!'"

Improv Everywhere

It wouldn't be so bad if they were all like this. . .



Oh, shit! Mitchmas is fast approaching! I've got lots to do!

A Joke

What's Tiger's new name?

CHEETAH!

This and That

A few things to get you through your Monday. (Mondays are my worst days; I have school and then a class--a dreadful class that sucks my soul from my body--and I don't get home until around 7:00. Boo hiss. The up side is that Matt usually has dinner ready for me when I return home, just like a 1950's housewife.)

• First, if you feel like you just can't find the perfect gift for that special someone, try the above rug. It's only 1K, and if you really want, you can have it autographed by Sarah Palin. (Okay, so that last part's a lie, and no polar bears died for the sake of this rug. It's from Etsy, and you can buy it here.)
• Speaking of Etsy, Matt ordered my "Bad Dingo" tote bag just in time. He got the very last one! I am REALLY excited about walking around carrying the bag. When he emailed the seller, he explained to her that our dogson is an American Dingo and had a tag that said that he's a baby eater. (We got him a different tag when he got bigger and more fierce looking. Now it calls him a professional snuggler.)
• Speaking of Matt, he is currently watching football and yelling and clapping. Mitch is lying by my feet under the desk, terrified of his manic father and loud noises.
• Speaking of football, did you see that Smash Williams won the Heisman? I saw that, and I even got to throw out some fake football knowledge during the show, all stuff I've heard Matt say. "You know, Tebow's game won't really transfer to the pros. He plays much more of a running game and he's not as accurate at passing. . .It's basically the difference between Matt Saracen and J.D. McCoy." Everything I know about football I know from listening to Matt talk to his friends and watching Friday Night Lights.
• Speaking of awesome television, 60 Minutes had both Obam' and Ricky Gervais on tonight. It warmed my soul. I think that Ricky Gervais is perhaps the funniest person alive today.
• Speaking of funny, isn't it weird that I've had two cute kid posts lately? Fear not--I do not have Baby Rabies (thanks for the term, Carly!). That shan't happen anytime soon, or ever.
• But speaking of things that shall happen soon, I've only got five glorious days of school until Mitchmas break. Friday the Savannah family is coming for Mitchmas dinner, and my friend Maureen and her husband are coming for New Year's. She's a vegetarian. Any good vegetarian recipes you'd like to share?
• Speaking of food, I feel like I eat enough on a daily basis to feed a small country, or at least an elementary school. It's disgusting and terrible, yet I won't stop. Matt's going to have to knock out walls in our house and invest in a horse trailer just to get me out of the house.

Happy Monday to you! Anything fun happening? What are your plans for Mitchmas?

Cutest kid of all time.

Can I buy one of these that already has musical and face-making talent?

Talk to the Moose?

Every now and again, something will happen that will make me want to have kids. This is one of them.

I especially like the little girl who screams and, what, vibrates?, at second 20. I like to think that that was just a candid crazy kid moment and was not staged.

Also, what's with the talk to the moose part? Am I missing something?

Hopefully this song is in your head for the next 100 hours just like it's been in mine.

I love my comfy sweater! I love my comfy sweater. . .

(This post is one of the ways that I have avoided tonight's actual purpose: Operation Eliminate Clutter. I also went Mitchmas shopping but only bought things for myself, attended a Mitchmas party that I was not invited to, and stuffed my body with carbonara, even though I am already too fat to fit in a restaurant booth.)

She did a bad, bad thing.

So, I've got this friend who, for privacy purposes, we'll call "Shecky." Shecky is having a rough day. Shecky works at a university and is very professional. Shecky did a bad thing today.

You see, Shecky has worked at this university for about a year, and for the that year minus about 10 minutes, has been in love with her coworker named, uh, "Larry." (She's like Laura Linney's character, Sarah, in Love Actually, who is in love with Karl. Only Shecky's story is much more humiliating.)

But Larry had a girlfriend.

Larry had a girlfriend.

But he doesn't now. Because he and Shecky have become buddies through the course of the year, and Shecky recommended to him that if he wasn't happy with the girlfriend, he shouldn't be in the relationship. He took Shecky's advice.

He broke up with the girlfriend!

And this morning, he told Shecky about it. Shecky was so happy.

Larry mentioned that he was bored now, and didn't know what to do with himself now that he has so much extra time.

Shecky, of course, botched the opportunity to say something smooth. Shecky often botches opportunitites to say something smooth.

Later, Shecky left a voicemail for Larry, and "smoothly" mentioned that he could call her if he was bored over the weekend, because she often finds herself bored as well.

And she was so proud of herself!

So proud, that she immediately sent an email to another coworker that read: "I totally just asked Larry out over voicemail. Oops!"

But Shecky didn't send it to her coworker.

She sent it to Larry.

Oops!

What is Shecky to do? How can we help her get Larry the way Sarah got Karl?

(Besides making sure she never answers phone calls from family members in the midst of making out. . .)

Friday Fun

I spent waaaaaaaaaay too much time last night on says-it.com. There was laundry to be done, presents to be wrapped, pictures to be ordered, and a house to be cleaned--but none of these tasks could supercede the importance of the following:

Rohypnol just never gets old.

Happy Friday to you! Any big plans for the weekend?

Happy Birthday, Tan!

Today is the birthday of one of my best good friends, Tanya. (The above picture is one I stole from Facebook of Tanya at a Britney Spears concert. Tanya LOVES Britney, and I don't even think it's in an ironic way.)

Tanya's smart and dry and kind of a bitch (but in a good way). She's hilarious and loyal and honest. I love me some Tanya, and I have ever since we became friends in the eighth grade. Together we have broken into houses, harrassed Jehovah's Witnesses, stalked neighbors, laughed, cried, yelled, skiied (with a sexy instructor named Chad), white water rafted (with an even sexier instructor named Chad), taken lots of pictures of instructors named Chad, bitched, ate, drank, painted (our apartment featured FIVE different colors from the Disney Princess line), stolen lawn ornaments and taken them on nationwide tours, and grown old.

Tanya also has a special Taco Bell sixth sense; her intuition will get you to the nearest Taco Bell every time. And it has taken the two of us to Taco Bell too many times.

This sign also makes me laugh because when Tan and I were in high school, we stole the marquee letters from a local insurance company (the owner was friends with her parents) and made the sign say

EBOLA HAPPENS

GET LIFE INSURANCE

And that one was real!

Happy birthday Tanya. Many of my fondest memories involve you. I'm happy that we're growing old together, and I'm happy that you hit each scary number a few months before I do. It dulls the pain.

Don't Forget the Pups!

I love to bake.

BUT, I am about two cookies and a Spicy Chicken Go Wrap away from looking like this.

So I decided to bake for the pups instead. It is Mitchmas, after all. And I made a score today when I found a squirrel-shaped cookie cutter to use for Mitch treats.

Since I don't want Wii Fit to tell me I am obese, since all of my friends seem to have pups, and since Mitch goes BANANAS! for them, I made about 300 doggie treats today.

Mitch was by my side. He loves the dough.

And I love my tiny bone cookie cutter. I mean, come on. Is there anything more adorable than homemade pup treats that are the size of a quarter?

Oh yeah, there's Mitchell Pancake. . .

. . .who has never been through obedience training.

Here's the recipe. Make them. Your pup will thank you.

Dog Treats from Annie's Eats
Ingredients:
1 cup rolled oats
5 1/3 tbsp. unsalted butter, cut into 5 pieces
1 cup boiling water
3/4 cup cornmeal
2 tsp. sugar
2 tsp. beef bouillon granules
1/2 cup milk
1 cup shredded Cheddar cheese
1 egg, beaten
3 cups whole wheat flour

Directions:
Preheat the oven to 325 degrees F. In a large bowl, combine the rolled oats, butter, and boiling water. Let stand for 10 minutes. Grease cookie sheets.

Add the cornmeal, sugar, beef bouillon, milk, Cheddar cheese, and egg to the bowl. Mix well. Stir in the whole wheat flour, 1 cup at a time, until a stiff dough has formed. Transfer the dough to a lightly floured surface and knead, adding additional flour if necessary until the dough is smooth and no longer sticky.

Divide the dough in half. Working with one half at a time, roll the dough out with a rolling pin to 1/2-inch thickness. Cut with a cookie cutter and space evenly on prepared baking sheets. Reroll remaining dough scraps and continue cutting until all dough has been used.

Bake 35-45 minutes in the preheated oven, until golden brown. Let cool completely.

Happy baking!

AND A MERRY MITCHMAS TO YOU, TOO!

Oh, so now it's a war on Mitchmas? Bring it.

That Bitch! (A Post from Mitch)

Does anyone else out there hate their mom? I know I do. I mean, she's usually alright, and she makes great cookies and dog treats. But sometimes she's just so annoying! Like yesterday, when she was singing some song from Glee, but changing all of the words to be about me. Nice idea, sure, but I don't know if you've ever heard my mom sing.

It sounds like a dying cat, and I hate cats.

I marched my dog body into the room to howl at her--telling her to shut the hell up!--but she interpreted it as me wanting to sing with her. Two things about this: 1.) Doesn't my mom know that dogs can hear much better than humans, and that her horrendous singing voice might be painful for me?, and 2.) She's not allowed to watch Glee anymore.

And then there was the Christmas light episode. Yeah, it was about as much fun as it looks. "Oh, how sweet! A dog wrapped up in Christmas lights! Isn't that darling??" No. No it's not darling. No it's not sweet. It's abuse, and I'm going to report her.

And as if that weren't enough, bitch tricked me into going to the vet this morning. THE VET! Apparently I needed a heartworm test because she missed my medicine. You know what that's called? Neglect. Seriously, I'm reporting her.

At the vet they decided that they should also clip my nails. Now, I hate having my nails clipped about as much as I hate cats and bicycles, so to describe it as "unpleasant" would be an understatement. They put me in a muzzle. It was humiliating.

But I did get a cool bandage that made me feel like a race horse.

And I did act so pitiful on the way home that I got her to stop at McDonald's. And I did steal all of the pillows when we took our 3-hour nap on the couch today. I heard her complaining that her neck hurt. Yeah, yeah, poor mama. Uh huh.

I think she needs to go to the vet.

At least I've still got Daddy.