Christmas Vacation and Some Bull

So remember when I said this would be the first Christmas ever that I didn't spend with at least one of my kids? Well, the Merry Christmas gods have reconsidered and shined their ever-lovin' redeeming pity grace upon me. I will be like shiny tinsel for the next two weeks, hanging on the evergreen boughs of my Austin family. I'll be flying high on Sunday, so please all you crazy people stay out of the airport.

Woot-woot! Texas, here I come!


In other news:
I'm happy to introduce my bro-in-law, The Bull, over at Udder Hysteria. It's his first foray into Bloggyville, and he's infusing a little testosterone into the herd (in an oratorial kind of way). Please, y'all, check him out and welcome him with a little comment luv.

Back next week!



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Happy Birthday to Us!

Happy birthday to me! I'm 29—AGAIN!

And happy birthday to my sister! You know her as Udder Hysteria. And if you don't know her, go check her out! She's way sweeter than me, but she can't help it. It's that birth order thing. I am number one of the Brady Bunch and she is number four. Yes, I'm Marsha Marsha Marsha and she's Jan. We miss number six, our little Cindy, who is sadly, sadly no longer with us.

Though we were born on the same day, my middle sister popped out four years later, and there were two brothers in between us. Yeah, if you do the math, mom was busier than a stripper at a frat party. Guess she was practicing to be Catholic. How she managed to pull off a second birth on this most sacred of days is a testament to how well she had honed her baby-birthin' skillz. That, or Dad only practiced his religion on a certain day of the year.

So my sister and I are both 29 again, though obviously I've been 29 four years more than she has. This is why she comes to me for my expert advice, because my four hard-knocked years ahead of her really mean something of incomprehensible value and teach her all the things NOT to do. You're welcome, sis.

Circa 1970:  Marsha and Jan

Speaking of hard-knocked, I had my four daughters within five years, and I wasn't even practicing to be Catholic. See, Mom, I did learn stuff from you. I'd have had a fifth kid, but I got tired of not being able to see my feet. Plus, it was either divorce or kill the sperm donor. So there's that.

Though we're not twins, my sister and I have so many moments of unspoken twin-like communication, it's scary. Our gut responses to the same stimuli (you know how I like to get all scientific) are incredibly similar if not identical. The notable difference is, she thinks things through before she reacts and then makes a plan for action. I, on the other hand, do not. Obviously, this is because I'm too busy leading the way, being the windshield that deflects the bugs. For her. Obviously.

The important thing is that nobody knows my bullshit better than she does. Nobody supports me more staunchly; nobody reads me more accurately; and nobody could make me prouder as a sister—though she's way too far away!

Happy birthday, Jan!
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Udder Hysteria and a ROAST!

Good people, I'm being "roasted" over at Eddie Bluelights today. I think I probably embarrassed myself, my family, and everyone who's ever known me; but since I do that regularly, it should come as no surprise. Now you have TWO things to do today (Please and thank you!). Before you head to Eddie's, check this out:

I've done it! I've conned my little sister into partaking in my addiction! What a proud moment in our history this is. You can go see her as she begins her deep descent into the dark world of blogging.

Her site is Udder Hysteria, and she's just getting underway. I'm over there today, too (as I will be from time to time), so please click on that link and head over to show Iskidadl some blogger love to help kick off her site -- and her rapid decline into Blogatory. Bwaah-ah-ah!

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