Looks like Brett and I can now boast that we’ve both had our heads between Dora’s legs…

Here’s an honest-to-God postito, friends … just to check in and share some pix that made me smile.

I have to say, I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so much in my life as I have this holiday season.

And the truly odd part: I wasn’t even supposed to have my children this Christmas.

But the ex decided to accept a job out of town on Christmas day, bringing the kids over at 8 on Christmas Eve. And Brett, the kids and I haven’t stopped laughing since.

Because in my haste to get everything wrapped up in time, I discovered that there really is a right way to orient a gift tag on a gift.

Crap. Talk about changing the message — suddenly Santa’s giving the big “oh”? Awesome…I’m the woman who wrapped her kids’ gifts in porn paper…

Then that night, we decided to send Santa a very “meta” message (and I’m hopeful the kids “heard” the message too, despite what they’ve been told by certain Grinches in their lives whose hearts are three sizes too small):

My son woke up the next morning to discover that Santa has a sense of humor of his own:

My son? He wasn’t amused, considering this note from Santa was hidden under his stocking. I’ve never seen such a confused, terrified look on his face in my life — not even in reference to the Lady in Red.

And then I discovered Santa — he REALLY knows me. Not only did he leave me the Dora hat (the kids are now convinced Santa reads my blog … how’s that for some mighty power?), but he also left me this:

What’s that between Dora’s legs? Why, Tylenol PM of course. Doesn’t everyone get Tylenol PM in their stockings?

…and this:

Deck the halls with cans of Diet Coke fa la la la la, la la la la.

And Boyfriend Brett set out to find me the creepiest ornament he could find this year:

Mission accomplished, babe. (“But it was a SQUIRREL,” he asserted…)

And as it turns out: Santa knows Brett pretty well, too…

I told the kids, “Look guys, Santa brought Brett a year’s supply of his favorites!” Little did they know it would be gone by New Year’s Eve…

Even my brother got in on the spirit of bizarre this year, giving Brett and me our very own sets of this year’s airplane essential for Amazonians: the Knee Defender. Its motto: “Standing up for the right of the tall guy to sit down.”

The Knee Defender consists of braces that go on the seat back tray table and thus prevent reclining, helping you “…defend the space you need when confronted by a faceless, determined seat recliner who doesn’t care how long your legs are or about anything else that might be ‘back there.'”

Awesome. I can hardly wait for the mid-flight, air-marshal-refereed scuffle that will be happening on our next trip. Thanks brother, and I’ll call you from airport jail!

But of course, a highlight of this year’s celebration was Brett’s expression to his “private” gift during our “private” gift exchange: a copy of the New York Times Best Seller Extraordinary Chickens.

Seriously. They’re not just ordinary; they’re extraordinary.

(In truth: Not entirely sure the book made the New York Times list. But it totally shoulda.)


All in all, it was the most magical Christmas I’ve ever had. And this caps off the most bizarre year of my life. The new year can’t come soon enough…

I’ll be back soon, most likely with a New Year’s themed post … considering it seems the thing to do and all. And I’m such a sheep, as you all know.

But in the meantime, I wanted to wish you all the happiest of New Years…and ask you: How has your holiday been thus far? Any awesome/creepy/bizarre gifts? Who’s ready for 2012?

I’ll be raising a glass to each and every one of you tomorrow night.

Happy New Year, friends!


* Dear new subscribers: I’m SO grateful for the huge influx of subscriptions I’ve received in response to my most recent post, Jesus is my Trash Man. But I am just a wee bit concerned, as I’ve taken heed of many of your screen and blog names, some of which contain words like “Reverend,” “Faith,” “Dove,” “Purity” and “Everlasting Light.” But please know: My humor tends to be a bit on the…well, let’s just say macabre side. Sometimes even snarky. Perhaps bitter and jaded. And I may throw around a gratuitous “shit,” “dangit” or “hot damn” every once in a while. But please stick around, as my irreverent quips and drunken sailor language often belie my optimistic, reverential, even sunny disposition. Honest. Scout’s fuckin’ honor. πŸ˜‰