Month: December 2015

A Modern Retelling of the Christmas Story Part 2: It’s a Boy!

We left off the Modern Retelling of the Christmas Story with Mary, a simple lass from Nazareth knocked up and unmarried.  Instead of  the village mistaking her as a harlot and stoning her  in the middle of the street, God sent an angel to her betrothed,  Joseph, and convinced him to raise the Son of God, as his own. A tough sell, considering cloth diapers ain’t cheap and God wasn’t volunteering child support (only spiritual support).

I invite you now to join me in the second part of the Christmas Story!

Back in those biblical days, it was required that every person in the Roman world register as part of a census issued by Caesar Augustus. Mary being the unmarried preggo accompanied Joseph on the long trek to Bethlehem to register in his hometown.

First of all, if anyone even asked me to get up from the couch when I was 9 months pregnant, I would lose my shit . Hell, I get angry when someone tells me to get up and I’m like -50 months pregnant, but Mary had to buck up, and take one for the team, spread ’em on a donkey and let the Son of God cook a little longer.


When they arrived in Bethlehem, Joseph being a typical male, forgot to make reservations at whatever the equivalent of a Best Western or Ramada would be in those times.

Mary, having dilated a considerable amount from sitting on a f*cking donkey for days, said to Joseph, “I’m going to use the Pregnant by God card, and tell you that you have two minutes to get me to a doctor or a hotel, or I will have this baby right here and when he’s born he will smote you and damn you to the burning fires of Hell.”

Joseph looked in the distance and saw an inn and loudly knocked on the door.  When the innkeeper answered, Joseph said to him, “My wife…well, not my wife. It’s a long story, I guess you could say fiancé but we’re in a weird spot right now.  I like her but, it’s just off to a rocky start, you know? Anyways, she’s about to have a baby – not my baby, God’s baby. At least I think it’s God’s baby…We don’t have anywhere to stay and I’m afraid of hell fire. ”


The innkeeper, who’s obviously seen some crazy shit in his time, interrupted Joseph’s ramblings. “Whatever man, there’s a barn out back you can crash in. Just don’t break anything and no wild parties.”

In the stable, Mary was spared by God and gave birth to a boy after only two minutes of pushing and minimal vaginal tearing. She swaddled the baby in newborn clothes and fed the placenta to the animals to keep them calm.


Meanwhile, in a field an angel appeared to some shepherds tending to their flock.  “Hey girl hey!” The angel exclaimed. “A baby was born tonight and he is the Son of God! Go see for yourself, and rejoice!  I put a star up in the sky, so you don’t get lost. I have to go,  k bye!”

The shepherds went into Bethlehem and saw the baby asleep in the manger. They went around the town sharing the good news of the Messiah’s birth.


Three magi, or wise men as us peasants call them, were travelling from the east and saw the star in the sky. They followed the star, which was prophesied to be the signal that the King of the Jews was born. When they got to Bethlehem, they happened upon the stable and said to Mary and Joseph, “This is awkward, but did you by any chance birth the Son of God? The Messiah? The Saviour?”

Joseph, excited that someone finally got what was going on, welcomed the three men into the stable, where they fell to their knees and worshiped the baby.

“We brought hostess gifts!” Said one of the men and presented the new mother with gold, frankincense and myrrh.

Mary, exhausted, and hormonal, shouted, “What the f*ck am I going to do with myrrh?

And then 8 days later, the baby was circumcised and he was formally named Jesus (seriously, that’s in the Bible).

The rest as they say, is history!









Blogmas Day 22: The Littles are waiting for Santa!

Today I thought I would share photos of my nieces who are all ready for Christmas!

Also, I have a wedding to attend tonight and will be spending the next several hours preparing like I’m going to the Oscars.

My friends Marie and Nathan have a blog, called Lola Evie Lovethat follows the adventures of their young family in our city. They’ve posted some photos of the girls trimming the Christmas tree that are too precious not to share.


Evie Winter’s First Christmas – Photo by Nathan Nash

Click here for more cuteness!

Blogmas Day 21: Mingle like Kringle

Happy Monday!

This weekend was fun-filled and unproductive, just the way I like it. With only three days until Christmas Eve, I would like to report that I have yet to buy a single Christmas present. Normally, I would be reaching for some Ativan and gift cards, but this year, I’m just being easy breezy. I had every intention of shopping but… holiday parties knocked me on my butt for most of Sunday.

On Friday night, we, the people, celebrated my dear friend Mattie Lou’s 28th birthday. We headed out to a restaurant in Burlington that features “Dueling Pianos” every Friday and Saturday night. All this means is that twice a week, people who look like our parents put on their best glitter tops and boot-cut jeans to get liquored up and dance to live music.


With the Birthday Girl & Beck! 

It just so happens, that watching middle aged people dance is one of my favourite things of all time. The ol’ tap n’ snap was alive and well that night.  I sat, judged, and stuffed my face with naan and guacamole. It was heaven.

I went to lunch on Saturday and actually made it into a mall, but left with a present for myself. I then spent the rest of the day marathon-ing episodes of New Girl and getting ready for my night of pups and parties. There was a three hour window where I had to drop by my cousin’s house and let out her dog, go to the liquor store and buy hostess presents, visit my friend Sarah at her new house and then pick up my girlfriends for our friend’s annual Christmas bash.


When your cousin messages you to say, “How’s everything?” You send her a photo of pure friendship. 

I should have known the night was going to be a disaster as soon as the lady at the LCBO didn’t ask to see my ID. Devastated is an understatement.

By the time I made it to Sarah’s new house (and oh-em-gee, what a house!) I was already getting messages from my friends that they weren’t able to make it to the party. I’m not just talking 1 or 2 friends, I’m talking 5 people bailing at the last minute for various and valid reasons.

I had my extensions in.

I had false eye lashes on.

I contoured my damn nose.

I was sure as shit going to the party.

Kids (Over 19 in Canada and 21 in the United States) : When going to a social gathering where you don’t know many people besides the host and a few others, the best way to make friends is to drink and keep drinking, until those social boundaries just float away and you’re all of a sudden best friends with everyone.

The next day, I woke up to a gentle reminder that I am in fact, not 19 anymore and that She-Devil at the LCBO was correct not to card me. I’m old enough to get pregnant and have people congratulate me. That’s f*cking terrifying. I should know better.

The best remedy for a hangover is always laying in the shower in the fetal position, a cheese sandwich, and relaxing. I spent the rest of my Sunday with the only people who are willing to baby me: My grandparents.


Little Tonino and Mary 

I normally burst into tears when I visit my grandparents at their retirement home because I’m worried nobody else has a family, but this time, whether it was my newly damaged liver or my emotional maturity, I managed to enjoy myself and have dinner with my little Italians.

A word of warning: If you thought high school was bad, wait until you’re in a retirement home. There’s more shit talking, sass and cliques than Mean Girls and Heather’s combined. There needs to be a reality show called Real Widows of Hamilton, or something, because these broads know how to put on a show.


I need a weekend from my weekend and a 12 step program.

What did you get up to?  Tell me I’m not the only one who got too turnt for Jesus.










Blogmas Day 18: When the dog bites, when the bee stings…

When I’m feeling sad, I simply remember my favourite things and then I don’t feel… SOOOO  baaaaad!

Ah… You’re going to have that song in your head all day now. You’re welcome.

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The Sound of Music. I have no idea why I associate this movie with Christmas, but I do… it must be the mountains…or the nuns. Definitely the nuns.  Anyways! I came across this Christmas tag and thought it would be a cute little way to kick off this weekend. I’m going to be running around like a maniac, but I’ll be sure to tell you all about it on Monday!

What are your Favourite Christmas colors?

Truth time. I’m a Red/Green/Gold kind of girl. Strictly the classics. Anyone who uses blue at Christmas can GTFO.  I’m kind of convinced I have some form of synesthesia, because there are certain colours that make me physically sick or angry and blue is one of them.

Blue decorations? Blue and silver? Pukes.

PJ’s or fancy dress of Christmas day?

Answer: Fancy PJ’s. Ever since puberty I’ve had to wear the nice jammier-jams and a bra, because Christmas morning, you never know who could show up early and you don’t want to be national geographic with your nips frowning at your family while you’re opening presents.

Presents on Christmas Eve or Christmas morning?

Christmas morning. Now, it’s more like mid to late morning. If it were up to me it would be Christmas afternoon.

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Stay home or go away? Stay home.

I’ve never been away for Christmas, but I wouldn’t rule it out! I like the routine of visiting family on the holidays. Unfortunately, aging relatives and family members not on speaking terms is complicating the issue, but my Christmas Eve and Christmas Day should be booked with nieces and my li’l oldies from morning to night!

Favourite part of the Christmas meal?

The part where I get to leave the dishes on the table and go lay like a blob in front of the TV.

Favourite Holiday treat?

Sugar cookies. Specifically, sugar cookie dough.

Dream Christmas Location?

I would love to spend Christmas in London and recite Love, Actually quotes to strangers and have them be all, “F*cking Americans.” Alternatively, I think Christmas in a tropical location would be delightful. Nothing says Merry Christmas like sand in your crevices!

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Pro-present wrapper?

Everyone gets bags.

Favourite Reindeer?


Favourite Cracker Toy?

Any jewelry. It’s my version of getting engaged on Christmas.

Favourite Christmas Decoration?

I love my Peter Pan ornament. Gotta love Peter.

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Can you name all of the Reindeer?

Dasher, Dancer, Donner, Prancer, Blitzen, Cupid, Comet …um.. Hank? Sally Anne?

Weirdest gift you ever got?

Nani, My Italian grandmother, used to gift us grand kids angel figurines every year, and one year her eye sight was so poor she bought me  a figurine meant for a loved one who has died, and I thought she was telling me something and burst into tears. Christmas, RUINED.

Favourite Christmas Memory?

Baking sugar cookies with my Nani. I can’t cook or bake to save my life, but every year I put on my apron and baked with her. Love that old broad, even though she heckles my skills.

Favourite Christmas Carol?

Any version of Baby, It’s Cold Outside makes me immeasurably happy. Also, any version of O! Holy Night, will put the fear of God in me and take me from 0 to Catholic, real quick.

Favourite Christmas Movie?

Home Alone, forever. Never Home Alone 2. NEVER.
Special shout out to It’s A Wonderful Life and Little Women. Beth dying just gets me feeling festive.




Blogmas Day 17: Dear Santa or Satan, whoever gets this letter first…

Dear Santa,

Long time no talk. I hope you’re staying diabetes free, because it would be really hard to go down all those chimneys with prosthetic legs. Stay active, stay healthy, stay humble. That’s the motto.

2015 has been an off year.Nay, a year of personal development #perspective. I’m not interested in gifts this year, but I decided why not make a pretend wish list just for the sake of wishing?

Santa, as you know, I’m an olfactory driven female. Since I was a little sprout, I’ve been sensitive to smell, and it’s been a hindrance to many relationships.  This Christmas, please send bottles and bottles of Modern Muse by Estée Lauder for me…


Just follow your nose!

…and Bleu De Chanel for any and every male I ever come into contact with. I’ll leave a bottle at my desk and just spray my coworkers if they get within 3 feet of me.  I’ll even spray it on my pillow or clothes so people think I’ve been getting some action. I don’t care. Just deliver this by the case load.

Bleu de Chanel – Woodsy, blended with citrus notes. I’ve literally recognized this scent on a stranger and smelled him in public. With my eyes closed.



Speaking of men, Santa… Please send me 1 Sand Pit ticket to see Sam Hunt in Pittsburgh on July 2nd, 2016. As you know, the fates royally f*cked me this summer when that PYT on the train drank herself into a stupor and caused me (and countless others) to miss his entire set.

I’m not angry, Santa. I’m bound and determined for vengeance.

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I realize you aren’t God, but if you have any connections to God, or know someone who knows him in the realm of magic and make-believe, please tell him or her about my plight. I’m going to die someday, this might as well be my Make -A-Wish.


This next one might be a stretch, but if you could send me the ability to pull off dirty blonde or ‘bronde’ hair, I would be eternally grateful.

You see, Santa,  I’m just a basic bitch looking for a good hair cape, a good man, and an unlimited supply of mascara. I really feel like this ethnically ambiguous Pocahontas look of mine is so 2015.

Please work your magic and help me pull off this new look. Do it for the kids, Santa.


Jessie James Decker, obvz.

I know I’m asking a lot Santa, but if you could also find a home for every stray animal on the planet, that would be great. I can house as many kittens as hygienically possible, just throw ’em on down my chimney and I’ll wake up to a pile of happiness.

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I’ll be sure to leave you some low-fat, low calorie alternatives this Christmas Eve.

Merry Christmas, old fella!






Blogmas Day 15: A Modern Retelling of The Christmas Story – Pt. 1

To dismay of my mother, and the delight of my Italian grandfather, I have my Bachelor of Arts in Religious Studies. No, this isn’t a case of Dissociative Identity Disorder where I have an incredibly pious personality that kills it at academia, during university I wanted to be a teacher and thought religious studies was my golden ticket to a full time job.
Spoiler alert: I work in IT.
However, I relish any opportunity to flex my undergrad muscles and talk shop, and thought since my Modern Retelling of the Easter Story was warmly received, I would like to take this opportunity to teach ya’ll about Christmas, as it is told in the Good Book.
So gather ’round and quiet that little part of your brain that says, “This is scientifically impossible.”
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Let’s talk about the Christmas Story!
Ok. So. To understand Jesus’s birth story, we have to talk about his cousin, John the Baptist.
JB’s dad, Zechariah,  was a devout priest who was married to a woman named Elizabeth who happened to be cousins with Mary the soon to be Mother of God. Maybe they were first cousins, or second cousins, but whatever, they were related. Anyways,  the couple was getting up there in age, and didn’t have any children. So, Zechariah takes his personal problems to work, and decides to pray to God to give him a child.
One day, the angel Gabriel appears to Zechariah and is like, “Hey girl, good news. God sent me to tell you to calm your tits, because he’s going to give you and your wife a baby boy.”
Zechariah, an unfortunately patriarchal man, was like, “How is this possible? My father-in-law sold me a lemon, she’s too old to have kids.”
Gabriel was pissed, and was like, “Do you want this baby or not?”
Zechariah, facing professional embarrassment for turning away a gift from God, backpedaled and accepted the late in the game pregnancy.
“Excellent,” Gabriel said, text messaging God the news.”But you have to name the baby John.”
“I kinda always thought I’d name my son Zechariah, too. Then I’d be called Big Z, and he’d be Little Z, it would be so cute.”
“You name him John, or I fucking walk. There’s a whole big plan set in motion, and you’re going to keep your GD mouth shut because you doubted God and his power, got it? Not a word to nobody.”
Zechariah left the temple and didn’t say a word to anyone.
A little while later, Elizabeth became pregnant but didn’t tell anyone, hiding her pregnancy like a teenager girl in Catholic school (maybe this was all foreshadowing?).

MEANWHILE, In Nazareth….

Mary was just a small town girl, living in a lonely world, engaged to a seemingly good guy named Joseph. One day, Mary was just kicking it at home when the angel Gabriel appeared to her.
“Hey girl, guess what? You’ve been chosen to carry the son of God. You’re going to conceive a son, name him Jesus, and we’ve got a whole marketing plan set up that’s going to make him the most important person in the world. Like, you have no idea. It’s going to be huge.”
Mary was confused, “But I’m a virgin.”
“Duh, that’s why I’m here. Don’t worry, we’re going to call you Virgin Mary FOREVER, just to make sure you remain virtuous, k?”
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“Forever? Gee, I dunno…” Mary was doubtful. “How is this whole thing supposed to work anyways? Pregnant without sex?”
“Don’t worry. The Holy Spirit’s going to gently wash over you, and you won’t feel a thing. Which, from what I hear is often the case for a lot of women…so…”
They sat in awkward silence.
“But hey! If you don’t believe me, ask your cousin Elizabeth. She’s old as shit but she’s knocked up and six months along! The word of God never fails.”
“This doesn’t seem possible ,but with me being a girl and all, what do I know? Guess I’m having a baby!”
And then they squealed like giddy school girls in a Clear Blue commercial.
However, there was one last person to get on board with this story, Joseph, Mary’s soon to be husband.
Upon hearing that Mary was pregnant, Joseph was right pissed. There was no way in hell he was going to marry someone pregnant with another dude’s baby. Then one night, he had a dream, and in the dream an angel appeared to him.
“Hey girl, guess what? You’ve got to lighten up on this whole baby thing. Mary’s carrying the son of God, Bible. Swears. It’s legit. We’ve got a full plan set in stone for him, and he’s going to be bigger than the Beatles. She can still wear white on her wedding day, you won’t even know the difference down there after that baby is born, OK? So, you’re just going to have to deal with this and marry her, or else you’ll go down in history as the asshole who didn’t want to raise the Son of God. Choice is yours.”
When Joseph woke up he agreed to take Mary as his wife, but decided he wasn’t going to… you know… “know her as a woman”  until after she had the baby. Which is probably for the best.
Once everyone was copacetic about these babies, Mary trekked it to visit Elizabeth in Judea. Maybe it was doubt, or maybe it was the lack of support for being an unmarried pregnant woman, but Mary needed that family bonding.
Upon seeing that Elizabeth was in fact preggers, she exclaimed, “Holy shit!” And it was at that moment that the Holy Spirit went into Elizabeth’s womb and little John the Baptist did a rumbly in his Ma’s tumbly.
And there you have it! The first part of the Christmas Story!
Babies for everyone!

Blogmas Day 14: Tis the (cold n’ flu) season

I’ve been hit. Struck down in the prime of life. I spent much of yesterday in bed, after being hit with the sweats and the flu during a festive brunch with my girlfriends.

I managed to keep it together, and not hurl all over the table, but today I’m struggling to keep it together.

My noggin hurts.

My joints hurt.

Everything, hurts.

Blogmas will return when I can stand the sound of typing and light doesn’t make me want to punch the sun.

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Blogmas Day 11: Homemade Christmas Gifts for the Cash-Flow Challenged

Today’s post was written by my hilarious cousin, Laura. Enjoy! 

Short on cash this Christmas? Me too, though my collection of dresses I wear once and never use again is growing nicely. If you’re like me and are looking for inexpensive homemade gifts to give this season that are above and beyond your usual knitted scarf, then here are some suggestions to help spark that crackling fireplace channel in your loved one’s heart.

1.Macaroni Everything

Children are mastermind gift givers. They’re cute enough that you couldn’t possibly complain about the shoddiness of their homemade CD rack, and they create gifts so personalized and terribly made that you can’t even return or regift them (eg. almost a decade of terrible ties my father never once wore but kept in the back of his closet like a shameful secret. What do you MEAN you don’t want to wear that gaudy, shiny neck noose with the Three Stooge’s faces plastered all over it?). The number one thing everyone probably remembers making as a child is macaroni art. Get together a paper Plate, some white glue, elbow macaronis, and gold spray paint? BAM. You’ve got yourself the perfect….erm…thing to give your mom for Mother’s Day. Stick a picture of your dumb, toothless face in the middle and you’ve got what can loosely be described as a picture frame.

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So my advice to you is bring back some of the nostalgia of their youth and start giving macaroni art again. But don’t just phone it in with a paper plate frame. No, get your shit together, Cheryl. You’re an adult now. Think of something they love, something they use every day and just…enhance it. Little reminders of your love all over their house via the power of macaroni. Boyfriend plays a lot of videogames? Macaroni the shit out of his X-Box controller. Sister has a favourite coffee mug? Everything is better with macaroni! And if you’re my OG Italian grandparents, prepare for a macaroni covered Virgin Mary statue, painted gold natch, to add to your collection.
2.A Prison Style Tattoo

Nothing says “eternal love” like a tattoo of some broad’s name across your doughy bicep. Tattoos are the epitome of ‘forever’, which is how long love lasts, right? While some people may balk at the permanence of such a gesture, I think it speaks to the person’s sense of spontaneity and commitment, as well as how easy it’ll be to swindle money from them in the future.  So my suggestion to you, friends, is give the longest lasting gift of all: a prison style stick-and-poke tattoo.

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NOT ON YOURSELF, you walnut. What are you crazy? Those things don’t rub off. I meant give one to your sweetheart! Preferably while they are sleeping or after they drank from that wine glass with all the Ambien in it that you ‘accidentally’ left sitting on the counter. That way, it’ll be a super-duper surprised when they wake up and see your name or “I’ll be watching you” across their chest (thank you Sting for the endless supply of romantic song lyrics to choose from). Remember: No one regrets a love tattoo. Not even Johnny Depp. Or at least, that’s what my 1990 copy of People Magazine says. I really should renew my subscription.
3.The Severed Heads of their Enemies

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Anyone who has ever attended post-secondary school has heard the term “Turkey Dump”. For those not in the know, the Turkey Dump refers to the unusually high number of breakups that happen during the Thanksgiving weekend. Many young people experience their first taste of freedom while in college; living away from home, eating ramen with processed cheese slices and Red Bull for every meal (ie. my Freshman year), and meeting tons of new and exciting people. It can take the shine out of any prior hometown affections, including your highschool girlfriend. You realize she’s just not as interesting as that cool chick you met in your Women’s Studies class who has a nose ring and uses hemp tampons, and you use the visit home as the perfect opportunity to dump her townie ass.
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So surprise your loved one with something that will stay with them forever. Break up with them, preferably under mistletoe or after a few subtle hints that may lead them to believe you’re about to propose. It’s got everything in a homemade gift you could ask for. It’s straight from the heart, it’ll surprise the shit out of them, and it’ll make their Christmas the most memorable one yet. The only money you’ll spend is replacing the tires they may eventually slash.
5.A Mixed CD

This is actually just a really sweet gift, more people should give mixed CDs. Just no Yanni unless you secretly dislike the person.


Merry Shitscram to you and yours. May your clothes not be soiled by the smells of Fishmas past.

Blogmas Day 10: Love, Actually? Love, Kinda

I’m very 2015 when it comes to romance, meaning my standards are pretty low. Taking me someplace that offers unlimited refills on Diet Pepsi is essentially the real life equivalent of meeting me at the top of the Empire State Building at midnight on Valentine’s Day. In a world of late night booty calls and unwanted dick pics, I consider a guy to be a ‘gentleman’ if he uses proper grammar and remains fully clothed throughout our date.

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However, at Christmas, my expectations take a sleigh ride to the next level.

The fact that there’s an entire holiday celebrating a virgin becoming pregnant without having sex makes me believe that  at Christmas, anything is possible. This includes the possibility that your crush will magically appear at your doorstep on Christmas Eve to proclaim his or her undying love.

The year’s winding down, the romantic comedies are airing on Lifetime and the W Network, Mariah Carey is still singing at that pitch only the neighbourhood dogs can hear, and all of a sudden, you’re fantasizing about PG, first base, over the shirt stuff.

This is my first Christmas as a single lady in a few years, and I’m happy with my relationship status. It’s my choice to be solo right now, and do the ol’ personal inventory and figure out what I’m looking for.

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That being said, I’ve still got this secret desire that I’ll be wearing my cowl neck cream coloured holiday sweater, I’ll have finally learned how to contour my nose, I’ll be just about to crack open a bottle of wine and break my sobriety-ish vow when there will be a knock at the front door.  I answer the door to see snow gently falling and an out of breath Stud wearing a turtleneck, but I’ll let it go because it’s Christmas and I can’t be picky right now.

I’ll feign surprise, “What’re you doing here! My word!”

Then he’ll say, “My car broke down so I ran here.”

Aw, he has a car. But it’s broken. Regardless, I’ll be batting my eyelashes, “Studly, what’s going on?”

And then bam, he hits you with the good moves…and all of a sudden….

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But he verbalizes it. Says it out loud, like an articulate, emotionally available winner.

Then he’ll tell me that he was in a dark place on a bridge, and an angel will appear and show him what life would have been like if he had never been born. I’ll say this all sounds terribly familiar, but I’ll encourage him to keep going, because this is disrupting my quiet evening at home with mother #GreyGardens.

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He’ll say the angel said that if he was never born, I would be home alone on Christmas Eve with two men trying to rob my house and nobody would be there to save me.


That’s when he realized he would be heartbroken if I died, because he’s been in love with me from the moment we met and it’s OK that I cuss like a sailor, can’t cook to save my life, and am probably never going to make my target weight.

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Then he’ll dip me dramatically and kiss me, and we’ll live happily ever after or for at least two years because that’s my track record.

Totally possible, right?



Am I the only one who feels this way, or do you find the holidays incredibly romantic as well?


Blogmas Day 9: Gift ideas for kids!

This post was alternatively titled, “Gift ideas for kids so that they don’t grow up to be assholes.”

It can be tough to buy for the little’uns at Christmas. There are so many gadgets and thingamajigs and hot new toys, it’s very possible that you’ll be trampled to death inside of a Toys R’ US while hunting for the perfect gift of Madison and Madisyn.

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Since I’m not a parent, I get to sleep in on Christmas morning, and don’t have to live with a disappointed child who didn’t get everything they wanted on Christmas.

I’ve picked up several tricks being an Aunt and I’m here to share my wisdom with you:

Never buy clothes for children that aren’t yours. It’s a complete waste of money ; they grow so damn fast. By the time the Madison’s open their present they’ve probably grown three inches and your gift needs to be returned or exchanged for something else.

While we’re at it, never buy toys for children that aren’t yours, either. You’re just going to enable them to be greedy little runts, and by December 28th your gift will be cast aside to a dark corner of the basement, and eventually donated to the Salvation Army. Cut out the middle man, and donate to a child in need.

What you SHOULD do, is buy children books. It’s important to nurture a love of reading at an early age, and to all those parents with their nightime routines, a good book can do wonders in lulling your child off to dreamland.

Let’s face it, if children are the future, I would rather the next generation not be complete assholes. It’s inevitable that someone out there is going to raise an asshole, but I’d rather that asshole be literate and quoting Goethe to me while being a complete dick.

Here’s a suggestion from Auntie Bib:

Gift a book you loved as a child, and write a message on the inside of the book cover explaining what you loved about the book, and what you hope the child learns from the story.

If you REALLY want to hit a homer and school these kids on life lessons, write a few questions at the end of the book for the child and their parent (or whomever is reading the book) to discuss.

These are some books I feel like all children should have in their library!




Happy Shopping!