For some reason, Ned and I were in a deep discussion about Evil Knievel today. He asked if I'd ever seen his SON, who apparently does the same asinine leap-over-big-things crap that Evil Knievel did. "So I was watching this show, and there's Stan Knievel or whatever..." Ned began.
"Wait. His son didn't go for some dumb stage name like 'Evil'? He just stuck with Stan?"
"I don't think his name is really Stan," ruminated Ned. "But I know he just has a normal name. ...What'd you want him to call himself? SeeNo?"
SeeNo Knievel. Who adores his own self? Is it SeeNoFunnyness Ned?
In other news, I'm making cookies today and need to get ahold of some bourbon. As you do. My boss at fake work heard about bacon bourbon chocolate chip cookies, and I thought he was gonna DIE of happiness, so thrilled was he that such a thing had been invented, so TinaDoris and I are making some for him and suprising him tomorrow, even though I took the day off.
Dear Boss at Fake Work, In case you're reading my blog, SURPRISE!!!
My POINT is, I was supposed to get several of the ingredients, and the stupid liquor store is closed on Sunday because we're in the goddamn Bible's stupid-ass belt. Am I going to hell for saying that?
"I didn't get liquor," I called TinaDoris. "I forgot the Sunday thing." We decided to call some of our drunk friends to see if they had any. We only need two teaspoons of it. I called Peg, my next-door neighbor, who is not what you'd call a giant souse of a person. I rarely have to roll her inside late at night while she's singing Wild Irish Rose or anything. But when she has parties there are a lot of liquor bottles available along with barf germs.
Guess who will never forgive Peg?
My point is, I called and after a few rings the phone hung up. I called again, and this time it picked up and STAYED picked up, but no one said anything. "Hello? ...Hello?" I could hear talking, and realized with a start that PEG WAS AT CHURCH, and her CHOIR ROBE must've started ringing, and in a panic she probably just picked it up and hit "Talk" so her robe would stop ringing in front of God and Presbyterians. "I NEED BOURBON!" I yelled into the phone.
Okay, I didn't. But that woulda been funny. Looking forward to Peg's yelly call to me in a bit. And in case you were concerned, TinaDoris found a bourbon friend. Yay! Liquor!
We're making said alcohol-laden cookies at TinaDoris', because even though she is 27 or whatever, she has a fully equipped kitchen that doesn't have roach carcasses on the seldom-used cookie sheets. And by the way, last night poor Ned came over to help me cram my giant white tree into the tree bag, then lug it up the attic steps, which was fun and relaxing, and then I said, "Oh, can you get the dead cockroach out my Tupperware drawer?"
Which, you know. I have NO FOOD in my kitchen. Why ANY cockroaches even VENTURE to my kitchen is beyond me. I think they're all suicidal. Anyway, Ned got that dreadful thing out, and I THREW AWAY all the containers in there, which, don't have a fit. They're all just leftover butter things and lunch meat holders and crap like that. Mostly Marvin used them when he made his lunch. I just COULD NOT ABIDE the thought that that, you know, COCKROACH had been crawling over my stuff. See? Itching now. Ugh.
My POINT is, that was fun enough, and when I went to take all that stuff to the garbage, I saw the stupid idiot dogs had TORN APART an already scheduled garbage bag that I stupidly put on the deck to throw away later when it wasn't raining. So then in the wind and cold and dark of night, Ned helped me gather trash strewn all over my yard.
You know what's fun? Coming to my house.
Afterward, Ned and I went out to eat and he had a salad. Everything is so topsy-turvy and unusual in my world.
I also began the arduous task of putting away my Christmas decorations. You know what I lack at Christmas? Sparkle.
I think my favorite thing I put up are these photos of my dogs visiting Santa. There's Talu, tall and proud.
edzul pee on santa
Could those pictures be more them? Talu's all, whatever. And Edsel is dying a thousand horrified deaths.
I only got 42 cards this year, and to those people who never send me cards, I say fuck you. Merry Christmas! Really, though. It irks me. Every year I sit here like an IDIOT, and get HAND CRAMPS, and write out 39495939939 cards, and you can't even be BOTHERED to send one little card back? I mean, throw me a BONE, folks.
I say that, and yet 750 of you sent me Christmas gifts and I didn't get any for you. I think this was the first year I got more Christmas gifts from blog readers than I did actual people I know. It's kind of weird when your blog about your life sort of BECOMES your life.
One faithful reader not only sent ME a gift, and my PETS gifts, she also sent NED a gift. She got him a WTF stamp that he can, you know, stamp on things. Last night we put it together using these crystal-clear instructions.
Then Ned whiskey tango foxtrotted 2012, a year in which he met me, so now I'm sort of pissed. Anyway, Ned said to be sure to tell the faithful reader thank you, and that was very nice of you, and so on. I have mailed thank-you notes to all y'all, so I hope you get them.
I had better go get my apron on and commence to cookie-making. If you've heard me sign off that way once...
Talk at you. What should my new year's resolution be, do you think?
