Dust off your X's - Xmas is coming!

 

Your love is like   prune and prawn cocktail

Ladies and blog readers: we have no time in our lives for people who say 'OMG' out loud. These people need Internet Lessons at a special camp for a few years.

I'm at that point again: forced vacation. This is when I have to take my accrued vacation days or I'll lose them. Since I like to work, I have a few vacation days left (last I checked, 137 days). Ok, I'm kidding - 37 days. Last year and all the years before it, I didn't bother planning so I wound up taking December off, plus every Monday and Friday or so. Definitely every Saturday. Since I only waited til Halloween this year, I managed to not take any full months off, even though my appearances in December are still pretty sparse.

I mention this because I'm not like other people. No, really. Like other special people, I require structure. At home there's no structure, so unless there's something interesting to do (or Wife is screaming at the top of her lungs), I kinda default to my comfy chair [PUT HIM IN THE COMFY CHAIR!]. Very little gets done, and that's the crux of the biscuit. For some people, this is not a good thing. I am one of them. But sit I do. I need to read the news to find out which of our mortgage or credit card companies has been breached this week (by a vulnerability that has been known about for months). 

Plus you never know how it will go if I get bored. It could take me all the way to the deep end and I'll do something unthinkable, like clean. Or I could get up to Mischief. I had to cut down the mischief after Mrs. lefty took up martial arts (although I prefer marital arts). Now I get her input before Mischief, and only commit it outside the house.

So I'll be reporting: Updates from the Chair

I will be 'politely requested' to do some home chores [I WANT THAT NEW FAUCET IN THE BATHROOM BY END OF WEEKEND or you don't eat] or take the car out for a wash [why do you wash a car - it only gets dirty as you drive out of the car wash - like making the bed]. I'd vacuum but out of the 14 vacuums making up our Vacuum Graveyard, only half of one works, and that's waiting for someone to take a second look at it (with a flamethrower, to clean out the dirt). Strangely, the only one that lasted more than a few months was the tiny, cheap, plastic, pull-along thingie. It's red. Vacuums frustrate me, like many things. They tend to clog up, but only in places where I can't find the clog. Or in the brush: between 2 people and a dog, there's enough hair in the brush to make up another 2 people and a dog. But mostly it's clogged so we can hear it but not find it. The little red vacuum (that couldn't) has no complex path for dirt, so when it clogs, as it is now, you can't find a single thing wrong with it. As I wait for Mrs. lefty's expert opinion (I always wait for the 2nd one, because the 1st one is invariably 'buy a new one'), I notice the household dust and dirt has gone past the 2" EMERGENCY mark and my guitar cords not only move, but something's speaking to me and it ain't the normal voices.

Soooooo I won't be vacuuming on forced vacation. I won't be shopping, as I hate people even more during the holidays. The mall around the corner has enough parking spaces for the entire city, but during the holidays, you can't find a single one. Little children are pulling their parents along, apologizing for the parents' behavior, the sales aren't, and you can't swing an unloaded flamethrower around without hitting people. And why would you carry an unloaded flamethrower around anyway? 

Besides - the mall is missing all functional shops except Victoria's Secret and Cinnabon. The pop-up Halloween shop is still there, with all costumes 10% off. One must run the gauntlet of foreign-born men trying to squirt you with stuff you hope is perfume, and most of the 'stores' are 'kiosks'. At 10pm, everybody in the mall stops what they're doing and says, "God, I am sorry for whatever I did to deserve this punishment. I am shopping online starting tonight."

People are so frazzled, the 4 restaurants left in the 'food court' make tasty food, except for Chik Filet, which isn't open on Sundays and any other day with 'day' in it. I don't want to say this mall is past it, but Starbucks closed and ran away screaming. I don't want to seem totally negative about Starbucks - their caramel crunch is really good, when the machines aren't broken. I suspect it doesn't have any actual coffee in it, so be sure to get a shot of espresso with it. But since the mall still has a Cinnabon, get a mochalotta chill. It's the best thing to drink with your cinnabons (or without them, heaven forbid).

So I won't be vacuuming OR going to the mall on forced vacation. I will also not be going caroling, even with all the great carols I know

• Since girls, single girls, going all the way
• [drummer boy] I'm hasidic, baruch atah tah
• I saw daddy kissing Santa Claus
• Mommy got run over by an armored personnel carrier
  
• Oh Tanenbaum, oh Birenbaun, oh Cohen and Slutzky

I tried caroling once. One thing I never considered before caroling was what people would think, opening their doors to me. Suffice it to say that it didn't go well, kinda like Gaza. You just don't want to see me at your door singing Christmas carol parodies... except that one guy, but I don't think he was listening to me singing and I didn't like the way he was looking at me. It's ok... Mrs. lefty got me out of there in time.  I couldn't picture myself mounted on his wall. Or in his living room. I will never understand why gay men like me so much. Sure, I'm gay-friendly, but not that friendly. If only women looked at me with that kind of leer..... Mrs. lefty would kill me.

So I won't be vacuuming or caroling. Or a partridge in a pear tree. I have never seen a partridge, or a pear tree, so I couldn't make it real enough. It looks like my default: sitting. I do it well. And often. And playing the guitar - I do that decently and not often enough. And sex... I do that decently but not often, and usually by myself.

I could frolic in the snow, but it hasn't snowed much and I don't really like snow. My frolicking days were over years ago.  I could give out presents to kids, but they frighten me. Best to give out presents to their mothers.

It turns out that after doing the Science, real and fake xmas trees are the same: neither do a thing until you do something. They both sit there in an uninspired heap until or unless you put them up. They both stay there for months after xmas unless you take them down. That's more responsibility and work than I'm happy taking on at the end of the year.

So if I find anything to do over Forced Vacation that isn't sitting, I'll be sure to report it here.

Meanwhile, here is a carol I'm composing as I type... just in case you're wondering what to get your favorite blogger (or me) this year...

On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Vanessa Hudgens

On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: a 1958 left handed Stratocaster

On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: blogging lessons

On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: more true loves

On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: 5 Sports Illustrated Supermodels

On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: an Alexander Howard Dumble amp

On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: a non-cancerous cocker

On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: a car that won't break or get hit all the time

On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: a house that won't demand my salary

On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: a wife in no pain

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: world peace

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Linda Fiorentino  (and Vanessa Hudgens, not in a tree, on alternate days)

I'm not supposed to know, but my wife wants to get me a jam session with my favorite guitar players, Jeff Beck and Jimi Hendrix. They're dead, so...  Ohhhh, I get it.

Pandemic Pancakes - or - Forced Vacation, Day 10-ish

 One or two or several of the holidays are over. I think.

My friend emails, asking if I'd like to meet for brunch.

Well, sure, as long as brunch is after 2:30.

Just because it's after Christmas doesn't mean I started getting up at reasonable hours.

Off we went, to my favorite place, the one with the One True Pizza. And for the first time ever, it was closed. I was so stunned, I couldn't think of a different place to go. My friend opines that Mexican food, as well as Italian food, is made of about three ingredients. The name of the dish changes with the placement of the ingredients. When the cheese is inside, it's a calzone. When it's outside, it's pizza. When the ingredients are just warm, it's a burrito. When they're deep friend, it's an enchalito or something. Do NOT attempt to obtain the real names of these dishes from Taco Bell. Mexicans laugh at us gringos for eating there. They wouldn't feed that stuff to their dog. If you must eat there, obtain a DNA test on the 'meat.' That will probably cure your desire to ever go in there again.

We settled on a place I call "Used to Bees," because it tends to change names ever few years.  Their frozen strawberry margaritas (I told you I drink like a girl) are so potent, if you just smell it, you will singe your nose hairs.

After a long walk, we were seated. The long walk wasn't to the restaurant, or across the parking lot. It was from the front to the back of the place. Perhaps it's because I'm not pretty, I always get seated at the back, or at least out of the line of sight from the front. *I* wouldn't want me up front either, There wasn't another person for many tables. The lighting was specially designed by Stevie Wonder, so you could barely see the menu. My grandfather said restaurants were dark so you couldn't see the food. We couldn't see the menu. It wasn't just us, though... there was an entire restaurant with menus as close to their eyes as possible. It looked like some sort of cult, like Catholics. Half of the people were using their phones' flashlights, the other half using matches. The matches worked better, but the phones didn't set the menus on fire. Most of the menus looked a bit scorched for some reason.

We started drinking early. My friend was perplexed by sugar instead of salt on the rim of the glass. Don't you know - sugar makes everything better. Ordering was difficult because this restaurant delights in making things difficult for their customers. It's Mexican, so they send out a Mexican looking waiter, with an accent, making anything he says impossible to understand. I think I asked for Anthrax in my drink. The thing is, when the waiters go back to the kitchen, they speak perfect English. They spend the next seven minutes high-fiving each other. To make it even funnier, they wear masks. No one has a hope, so this makes it easier for the kitchen when everybody just orders 'a burger.'

We had to sit there until the one drink wore off, so I could drive. Apparently the manager was in a panic, because they were seating people near us. These people were very clever; they brought their own heavy accents with them, to confuse the waiters.

Speaking of reasonable, I just heard a sneeze. I went to say 'bless you' and realized I'm the only one home. Maybe it was the mice.  Although the dog frequently stares at one spot, unmoving. Maybe whatever she stares at sneezed. I'm working on the ability to just say 'mm-hmm' and go on. If I go out tomorrow and return to find the house sitting there, upside down, 5 feet in the air, I'll just say 'mm-hmm' and bring in the groceries.

Maybe it's the remnants of whatever happened last night, while I was asleep.

Before I went to sleep, I read for an hour. Sometimes I read better with background noise, so Wife helped me by snoring the entire time. As I'm getting ready to turn the light out, she looks at me and the book she's been holding up, while asleep, and tells me she's still reading. I play along, thanking her for snoring for the last hour. Since she's a/my wife, she gets agitated, closes the book, and goes downstairs for a few hours, because she obviously wasn't tired. Or snoring.

There is never a shortage of Weird Stuff<tm> happening in the house. I write about it often. Many times it's about supernatural-appearing things. Other times, it's 'cleaning.' Today it was cleaning. I say cleaning because when I awoke, there was not a single spot to sit on any couch or chair. It was like a women's clothing store exploded, coating the house with...  clothes.. There is a difference between an explosion and cleaning: cleaning causes more damage and doesn't get on the guitars. Later today, if she gets up, I'll ask what happened. She'll either tell me 'I dunno' or 'I WAS CLEANING.'  Sometimes I poke the tiger by asking if there's cleaning going on, why does it look way dirtier than before she started cleaning. Tigers, you know, eat people.

Sometimes I avoid the mess by starting up the front end loader and moving a small dump truck worth of stuff to find myself a seat. When she arrives it looks quite comical... rows and hills of clothes, me, more clothes. The bad mornings are when she doesn't see me there. I wait til she finds a seat, say hello, then wait for the terrified SHRIEK because I scared her. It would be so funny, if I didn't always wind up with the hot coffee all over me.

The Christmas presents went over pretty much how I thought they would: the kids loved theirs, and Mrs. I Want Nothing for Christmas decided the gorgeous new ring fit well. I got her one of those car magnets that says 'I love my English Cocker Spaniel.' There are so many words there, that the magnet would either have to be the width of the trunk, or the letters would have to be compressed to read 'I love dm&34n'. Right now it's holding the fridge together, but at least people walking by the fridge know we love our English cocker spaniel.

I got a rock.

But that's not all!  I also got to take out the trash.

Flying AIDS News  

Fauci made a proclamation designed to foment PANIC.

Drug companies said there will have to be more and different shots.

50% of the planet said PBTHLLLLLLLT.

President Taxit said there will be no mandates, as he drew up the paperwork for mandates and played with the new puppy, Rabies. His first dog, Major, took to biting people at the White House. For some reason, this was unpopular. Major was sent off to the Donald Trump School of Charm. Again. Who can blame the poor dog - if you spent time at the White House, you'd bite them too - it's a natural reaction.

Floor Chicken and Other Holiday Goings On

I made a chicken sandwich the other day.  I thought it somewhat odd that the chicken from which I was removing meat was upside down but things tend to happen.

Not really all that interesting, you say, and you're right.  It also has absolutely nothing to do with any holiday (especially for the chicken).

PAWT

As anyone with a cat or dog can tell you, wrapping presents is a tedious job on a good day.  If you have pets, it's all downhill from here.

First you have to find a large, flat space in which to lay out the paper and presents.  At this point, the cat needs to come over and install many tiny claw holes in the paper, apparently just for fun.   When you yell, he just kinda looks at you innocently.  It is around this point that he achieves what we like to call Feline Aviation<tm>.

I won't go into detail about how difficult it is to locate a large, flat space.  My house is in a state of Advanced Chaos, with all horizontal spaces filled and a huge waiting list for open space.  Data expands to fill available space and Stuff expands to fill available flat space.

Having removed the section of wrapping paper that the cat personalized, I realized that this particular choice of paper was fairly crappy.  Perhaps the giveaway is the way it rips when I try to unroll it.  I am no Wrapping Paper Expert, which is why I get by with Pet Assisted Wrapping Technology (PAWT).

After having wrapped a small pile of presents, the dog stops by to pay a visit.  I secretly suspect he's judging my (lack of) wrapping prowess but he's always polite.  I watch him scout the area and try to figure out exactly how he's going to help me.  This particular mode of assistance consisted of sitting directly on top of the pile of previously-wrapped presents.  I wonder if he was trying to tell me that I did well.  On the other hand, he could be letting me know that those were the last ones I was allowed to wrap without PAWT.

Several minutes of begging and prompting got him to move to a less destructive spot, but still somewhere he could monitor my progress and help if he judged it to be necessary.

Humans are at a disadvantage when wrapping via only having two appendages for the task.  You can get a box all wrapped but you still need a pair of hands to get a piece of tape.  Doing the math, this makes four necessary appendages.  This doesn't count the extra one required for the tape, which has magically wrapped itself around your thumb.  This must constitute some immutable law of Tape Physics, wherein tape always returns to its native shape (unless you successfully tape something shut, in which case it simply fails to adhere adequately and falls off, exposing the gift).

The Definition of Love

I have a houseguest.  Her brother picks up their aged mother and spends the holidays with her.  Since it was early in the morning, Mom needed help getting dressed.  Brother was not entirely ok with this act so Boyfriend had to descend the steps and help Mom into her bra, panties, and clothes.

My guest and I looked at each other and said, at the same time, THAT'S LOVE.

It All Comes Down to the Chicken?

So lefty - what's Floor Chicken?

Glad you asked.

We're tearing into presents and I hear this strange noise from the kitchen.  It wasn't loud enough to provoke an immediate reaction.  But while continuing to open gifts, it started coming up into consciousness, after which I heard a loud BANG.

I ran into the kitchen to observe my extremely gifted cocker spaniel trying to consume an entire chicken.  He quite correctly reasoned that if he could jump up and knock down the cat food tins, he could perform the same magic with chicken.  He did not wish to be separated from his chicken so a brief battle ensued.  I won (but not for long).

I put the chicken back into its container and into the trash, when suddenly it occurred to me why the chicken was upside down when I went to make myself a sandwich...

Honey... was this the only time the dog got the chicken?

No, he got it before.

Don't you think it would have been a good idea to let me know?

I did.

Ummm..... no.

But I washed it off.