Merry Christmas, Y'all!

My 8-y-o granddaughter's Christmas List. Priceless.

Christmas Eve 2011, White Elephant Party

My White Elephant Prize:  A golf ball monogrammer.
Cuz I like to show ownership of my balls.
And someone has placed a suggestive frog on my shoulder and 
made me hold some kind of special, um, oil. Don't judge.
(Click to enlarge, at your own risk.)

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Sucking Up the Family Genius

In my family of origin, improv is just a part of who we are. By improv, I mean, we make stuff up, not necessarily stand-up. Although, we also think we're freakin' hilarious and can offend others on command. Plus, commandeering other people's conversations through the interjection of lame word puns has been part of our hey-look-at-me arsenal for anyone unlucky enough to make eye contact. Not me, I'm saying, but, you know, the rest of my family.

So my kids have not fallen far from the proverbial make-stuff-up tree, for they too improvise. Take my eldest daughter, TG—a true and certifiable (and gorgeous) genius. Yesterday she decided she needed to clean under her fridge. Well, that part is not exactly something I would ever, EVER do in my lifetime or a nightmare. Cuz really, who cares about the dust amassing where mice gather to conspire humanity's downfall—and poop? Not me. Certainly not the mice. They couldn't give a proverbial rat's ass about public indecency. So when TG fell from the proverbial make-stuff-up tree, she lolled to the right and shimmied a little. But we still love her.

Fact is, TG cares about mice poop. Unfortunately, TG's vacuum attachment was plain ordinary and woefully inadequate and couldn't get way under the fridge to suck out the flotsam and jetsam. (No, those are not mice names. Gawd.) So anyway . . . TG fired up the genius generators and cued the improv genes.

What that means is this:  when you need something important done and you don't have the traditional Black & Decker stuff or a large wad of cash to hire out or kids who are old enough to force into servitude, you think real hard and toss around the "What the hell, why didn't I think of this sooner?" phrase to quickly and efficiently overcome any obstacle. To be even more succinct, we don't know why we think up shit like this; we just do.

To that end, I give you TG's official far-reaching sucker-upper attachment:

Click to enlarge and see the fascinating improvisational details,
revealing my daughter's true and inherited genius.

I know. I'm gonna blush and reiterate, she gets it from me.

If you're short a vacuum attachment for those hard-to-reach areas where mice poop accumulates, here are all the biodegradable materials you'll need:  two used toilet paper rolls, some duct tape, and an entire manicotti noodle (uncooked).

I dare ANYONE to out-do TG on this one.
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For those of you who just came here looking for your creative cussin' combo of the week, it's the holidays and you should be ashamed of yourselves. But—for you—I'll gladly digress:

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Because, Well, I Can

I'm a girl who truly appreciates a thoughtful man, so bear with me while I talk up my boyfriend. Hot Sexy Man (HSM) came back bearing gifts from his recent trips afar. He seems to have a knack for choosing just the right things for me, so I think I'm going to keep him. Because, well, he keeps calling.

Here I am with my little Destructo, 
wearing my new pearls.
(Click to enlarge.)

First, let me quote Diane Sawyer who once said, "There's no substitute for paying attention." Hardly a more apropos statement, I assure you, cuz lucky for me, HSM really listens. After I mentioned I'd never had one and thought it would be the absolute coolest, HSM came home from Virginia with a beautiful pearl necklace. That's right, my BF gave me a pearl necklace, and I liked it. Of course, we might be talking apples and oranges . . . but whatever, it's my new favorite thing.

Then last week, I discovered just how well HSM knows me—and therefore how much he can see into my soul—after only six months. See, he gave me the gift that keeps on giving, direct from Flagstaff, and I'm re-gifting it to you all. Because, well, you deserve it.

Here it is, my special book: Creative Cussin': A Mix 'n' Match Profanity Generator. And peeps, it's the Redneck Edition. Sweet! It's chock full of preciously inscribed sentiments on spiral rings, and all one has to do, if one is so inclined, is flip through and choose a feeling/attitude/outlook for the day. Does HSM really "get" me, or what?

Curiously, he also gave me some special scented bar soap with cacti embedded in it. Wonder if there's a message in that for my mouth. Hmmm, not too subtle, HSM.

So since this is the season for giving, here's your special sentiment below. Think of it as a little love in a post from me to you. Because, well, I like you.

Now I'm trying to decide where to keep this priceless gem so that everyone who visits me can enjoy it. What do you think? Shall I place it strategically, say, in the bathroom? Or as a coffee table centerpiece? What about in the foyer for those heartfelt goodbyes?

Here's a hug, and one for the road to let you know that I think you're a "Bastard Licker!"

I know. Stops the heart. Everybody, thank HSM. Because, well, he's earned it.
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