What are you doing over here?

Not spending money is sooooo 2007. Come on over to Bye Bye, Pie. I'm gonna stop eating for a year! Join me, June GonnaEatThat, and my spouse, Marvin Gardensalad, at our new locale.

(In case the whole link thing baffles you, the address is byebyepie.typepad.com)

You see, George? You really had a wonderful life.

I was all set to tell you today that I have learned nothing this year. I tried to not spend extraneously, and now it's done and that's that. I was going to say that as I predicted most people were really supportive, I wasn't perfect at it but I lasted all year and we saved some money. The end.

But a funny thing happened on my way to this blog. Yesterday, I went up to the attic, where Marvin Gardens can be found -- not because he is a bat, but because his recording and musical equipment is up there, so where else would he be? -- and I asked him, "What are we gonna do with the money we saved?"

All year we have asked ourselves that. For a while we thought we'd take a trip to Italy. Then we moved 3,000 miles and ate into a lot of our savings, so Italy was kind of out.

Then we talked about splitting it and each buying a bunch of stuff, which would probably mean grooming items for me and music things for Marvin.

Anyway, for the 47th time this year, I asked Marvin that question and together we came up with the same answer: how about nothing?

How about we keep our savings as savings? We don't touch it, and we keep saving?

Now there's a thought.

So when the new year comes and we can go out there and shop, Marvin is going to get a new pair of tennis shoes and I might get another pair of sweatpants. Maybe. I have decided to use up the makeup I have, I already fixed my hair, I got some new clothes for Christmas, so you know what? I'm good.

I cannot tell you what a profound change this is for me, and for SpendyPants Marvin.

So I guess we did learn something. We learned to live with less.

I learned that there are many occasions when a phone call -- and actually LISTENING to the person you call -- is nicer than sending flowers. I learned that oftentimes, food made at home actually tastes better. I learned quiche is really easy to make.

I learned that if you are going to make Christmas gifts, give yourself many, many months, not two, or you will break out in a hideous rash, which is decidedly not Christmasy. Well, it's red...

My favorite part of this year, far and away, has been this blog. Yesterday I asked people to make comments if they haven't done so yet and as of right now, I have more than 70 comments! And please, if you haven't commented yet, do so! It was so rewarding to hear from all of you.

As they say in It's a Wonderful Life, no man is a failure who has friends, so I guess I am not a failure. I am also not a man, but whatever.

So thank you all for reading this, for commenting, for sending me gift certificates and cooking utensils and recipes and Teen Beat magazines and for trying to buy less, too. You made my year so much more fun.

Now, won't you join Marvin Gardensalad and me, June GonnaEatThat, over at Bye Bye, Pie for a year of good eating and supposed exercise?

Happy New Year to You, in Jail

Well, the ornaments are down (and at one point lying shinily on the table waiting to be packed, as you can see), the tree is sadly on the curb, everything is put back together in its nonholiday way.

I guess Christmas is over. And we have no plans for new year's eve.

Why is it so much harder to make friends when you get older? Remember college? You made friends the first day. By the time I'd lived in Seattle five months, I not only had friends that I still have today, but a serious boyfriend, too.

I have been HERE five months and yes, I know people, but were we invited anywhere for Christmas? Or New Year's? That'd be a no. Is it because we're older or because we're repugnant?

However, we can celebrate the fact that our year of not spending is officially coming to a close. We have about $6,700 to our names, which is $6,200 more than we had at the beginning of the year. Plus we hauled our arses across the country, and got established somewhere else. So I think that isn't so bad, all things considered.

Tomorrow I'll do my big goodbye to you all. But in the meantime, if you have been reading this and have never commented, could you give me a shout out? All you have to say is "Dayton Ohio delurking" or wherever you are. If you don't know how to comment, you click on "Post a comment" at the end of my post. Then just log in as anonymous.

I would love to hear from you all, if I haven't yet!

Out you two pixies go, through the door or out the window.

I went to the doctor today, in preparation for my new health blog that will begin January 1st. He did all sorts of tests so that I know what condition I am in now, then in six months, then at the end of the year. I am so excited I could spit.

I made the appointment months ago, because I wanted to get my health stats as close to 1/1/08 as I could. But I'm glad I had the appointment, because I am covered, covered I tell you, in some sort of rash.

Goodness, I do hope my friend Donna is not reading this particular entry. Rashes freak her out. So does the word "succulent." Now I have really made this a nightmare post for her.

The bad news is the doctor has no idea what is wrong with me and I have to go to a specialist. My theory is it's Lassa Fever or something.

Lassa Fever is what everybody got on General Hospital in like 1982. I think it was a way to fire the boring people (like that poor nurse Audrey, who was 702) and get a new, young cast.

I do hope you're all planning to join me over on my new blog. Then if that one gets really popular you can be cool and say, "I was reading her back when she was doing Bye Bye Buy." Kind of like how everyone tried to act like they were huge Nirvana fans before they got really big.

How much of a chance is there my health blog will become as popular as Nirvana? Is SOMEbody getting a bit big for her britches? Indeed I am. Hence the need for healthy eating.

Me and my hives will talk at you soon. I want you to know I'd really like to buy a fat caliper before January 1, but I am abstaining so far. I know. I am steely with self-discipline, aren't I?

Hey, I have a big idea. Since you all know what my New Year's resolution is, why don't you tell me yours?!

We don't need any characters around here to give the place atmosphere.

I understand that there are only four days left until I can spend like a banshee. But I was getting that red velvet cake look again so bad. Here I am this morning, pointing out my roots. Wait. I have a closer-up image. Get ready.

Seriously. I could not go another day with this hideous look. I had been trying to wait and not dye it out of a box, because I was getting so close to the end of the year. What is WITH me and the quick root growth? So, I called the hairdresser in Charlotte, where I got my hair cut last month, and they could see me TODAY. Perhaps someone here had already alerted them to the dire situation. So into my car I went.
And it only took two and a half hours and three processes! First, she had to put dye all over my ridiculous grays. Then she added highlights. Then she put toner on the ends. Oh, and then when that was all done she added toner overall.

Basically, it cost today what it would have if I'd have just gone ahead and had my hair professionally done three times this year.

Which as you can see, really annoys Winston.

I want to spend Christmas in Elmira with my family.

Remember Christmas 2005, when my cat sprayed blood on the VCR and I spent the holiday at the emergency vet? Remember Christmas 2006, which I spent completely alone, opening gifts by myself, having dinner alone?

Welcome to Christmas 2007, or as I like to call it, Sniffmas.

Who got sick right on Christmas Eve? I was feeling fine one minute -- my stepfather and mother got here, we took them on a drive through the town, which took seven minutes, and all of a sudden I started feeling a tad ...sniffy.

By midnight mass, you talk about away in a manger. That's where the congregation wished I'd go. You can imagine how happy everyone was to shake my hand and say, "Peace be with you." I got a lot of waves across the room. A whole bunch of those "Hey!" with the pointing of the thumb and forefinger.

Today was less Boxing Day and more Box of Tissues Day. It has been one of those colds where you must have Kleenex six inches from you at all times or it will not be pretty. Thank goodness I got some nice new sock monkey pajamas, and a new robe, because I got out of my old pajamas and wore those all day yesterday. I even wore them in the car, when we took a drive to look at Christmas lights. I figured there was little chance we'd run into Jude Law and I was right.

The good news is that Marvin Gardens found the DVD Arthur in the attic, which is one of my favorite movies, and wrapped it and gave it to me and I had NO IDEA it wasn't new, or that we already owned it. I was too ill to notice the whole lack of cellophane. I never would have known had my mother not spilled the beans, which Marvin was thrilled with her about.

As for me, I had decided that for Marvin, I would take a really cute picture of his grandfather playing with the family dog and frame that for his gift. I couldn't tell you about it before now, because I force Marvin to read this blog whenever I post.

At any rate, I had discovered the photo when we were at Marvin's parents' house at Thanksgiving, and had sneaked it into a book to take back. So, when it came time to UNsneak said photo out of the book, who suddenly had no photo?

Oh, did I turn this house upside down. I was panicked, I tell you. Not only would I have no good, relatively inexpensive gift for Marvin, but I would also have LOST a nice picture of his GRANDFATHER.

Finally I located it, in Marvin's desk. I have no idea why it was there. I had hidden the picture in a 1970s modeling book. Why had Marvin been perusing THAT, I ask you? Is he secretly Halston?

Well, anyway, I don't know what I was thinking. Where around here did I think I'd find a cool little frame? John Deere does not carry cool little frames. And the ones at Wal-Mart were inexplicably bad.

So Marvin did not get a framed photo, but rather the very story I told you above, except with my cold voice. "Marben, I tried to frabe you a photo ob your grandfaber..."

That was my holiday. Please now tell me about yours. My Puffs and I are eager to hear all.

Merry Christmas, you wonderful old building and loan!

I do not know why I am bothering to blog, as about seven people will be reading this over the next few days. I threw in a photo of Renee being heavy with child at my 40th birthday party, because it is a heavy with child kind of day. I am sure she is going to be happy with me.

Okay. The food shopping is done. Hors d'oeuvres are either out on Christmas plates or ready to be put together in the fridge*. Gifts are wrapped. Stockings stuffed, even the cats' (they get Baked Lay's. Not a cheat, because it's food. They love Baked Lay's. I do not know why).

The house is clean. The guest bedroom has been as de-catted as possible. I have yelled at Marvin Gardens for being a slob 750 times.

We are set for guests. My mother and stepfather are driving here as we speak. Which we aren't.

I put my makeup on today and the sun was screaming through the window. Since all the leaves fell off our eight million oak trees, the sun really shines in here all day, which is nice. However, me? Looking in the mirror at noon, which I don't normally do? WOW! What clogged pores? Holy mackinerny.

I haven't gone an entire year without a facial since about 1976, when I was 11. And back then, obviously I didn't have money to run out to Elizabeth Arden -- not that there was an Elizabeth Arden in Saginaw, Michigan -- so what I did was boil water, put a bunch of herbs in there, throw a towel over my head and steam for 20 minutes. I wish I would have thought of that before now. The moon called. Wants it surface back (that was for you, stie).

Do you think facial places will be open January 1?

*Renee gave me easy hors d'oeuvres ideas. Want to know them? One is take a cracker, blue cheese, a walnut and drizzle maple syrup, just a touch, over it. I know. Sounds sophisticated. She used to work for Wolfgang Puck. The other is a cracker, Gouda cheese and a sliver of pear.

I am also serving Christmas cookies, of course, candy, various breads and candied nuts. Plus two dinners. Somebody kill me.

I hope you all have a merry little Christmas, if you celebrate it. Otherwise, I hope your Chinese food is good.

George, the richest man in town.

The church mice called. They want their privacy back.

Seriously, I am LIVING at that place lately. I get there at 8 a.m. and I leave at 8 p.m.

However, the 750,000,000 bulletins are DONE, all of the poinsettias for the altar and the tree have been delivered, and today someone came and picked up the gifts that the parishioners chipped in and bought for someone who needed it.

And guess who had to go to the church at noon to open it up?

And girl, I slept till 10:30, then lay there in the bed talking on the phone with my mother until 11:30. So I slapped some coffee in a cup, put on my sweats and Patagonia pullover and Converse shoes, and drove on up the hill.

Representin'! Woo! I'm sure the rector would be proud.

I got there only to hear a voice mail that the woman picking up the gifts was gonna be late. But you know what? It was noon, and all the church bells were going off.

Several churches here play their bells when it strikes the hour, and noon is the best one, because they play more stuff. So do you know I took my coffee and sat out on the back steps and listened to all the bells? Oh, it was pretty. And suddenly? I felt Christmas-y. FINALLY.

Then when I got home? Guess what? That man called me! He was ready to pick up all the gifts for his kids!

Guess where he wanted to meet? Okay, you all understand that I am not actually all that religious, right? I mean, I never WENT to church in Los Angeles. Am I supposed to be POPE or something? I am like a boomerang trying to leave that place.

So Marvin and I loaded up four or five giant bags with all those gifts and drove the car back to church. At this point my car just drives there automatically. You don't have to steer or anything.

Anyway, I am thrilled to tell you his wife and kids were in the car! Marvin made up some story about how Santa accidentally delivered all these gifts to us, and do you know those kids were squealing and trying to rip everything open already? Not to mention I didn't wrap the teddy bears, and they could see those sticking out.

The little boy asked me if he got to sit next to me during church, and we all had to explain to him that there wasn't church right now, that I am apparently a belfry bat and just spend all my time there.

Anyway, those kids were adorable, and it was way better to meet them and see their reactions rather than just imagine it.

I hope they like everything they got.

I hope they fell for the Santa making a mistake thing.

Thank you all again for your donations. You all did a wonderful thing, I promise you. Those kids were beside themselves.

See ya in church!

I'm not sleepy, I want to look at my flower

Don't you love Christmas card peak day? You know what I mean, when you get like 10 cards in one day? This usually happens around the 19th or 20th. It's always such a letdown when you go back to getting just bills and NetFlix movies.

In case anyone is keeping track, I only have 10 days to go before I can purchase new white T shirts, a new pair of jeans, five new pairs of work pants and get a professional dye job and eyebrow wax and pedicure.

Not that I have it all planned out or anything.

I have a friend who used to be unhappily married, and to fall asleep at night, she would mentally pack her half of their stuff. When she finally did leave this guy, she said it took her about 30 minutes to clear out of there, as she had rehearsed it in her mind so much.

I haven't obsessed about shopping THAT much, but I am getting mighty sick of how shabby everything looks. I do not know if I really replace my clothes more than I think, or maybe I needed a wardrobe update before this year began, but The Little Matchstick Girl called and wants her look back.

How many times in this blog have I said someone called and wanted their something back? I'm gonna guess 20. I only say that line because it used to irk my Beleaguered Officemate so much, and now we live 3,000 miles apart, so I can only bug him cyberly, and only when he reads my blog.

At any rate, I have to go back to WORK, to finish printing out NEXT Sunday's bulletin, but before I go, let me tell you a little something about the difference between Marvin Gardens and me.

This portion of my blog is dedicated to my friend Saundra, who can't get ENOUGH of people telling her about their dreams.

The other night I had the best dream ever. I was in Manhattan, meeting Marvin, my mother and my stepfather at some Broadway show. This is ridiculous, as we would never do that and I don't even LIKE the theater. However, there I was, in line, and behind me was Woody Allen, who I adore. Somehow we got to talking and we ended up taking a long walk, and we talk talk talked before he took me back to the theater and met my family.

I woke up so happy that I got to visit with Woody Allen!

Then the other night? Marvin Gardens dreamed he was waiting in line at the insurance office.

And there, folks, is how Marvin and I differ. I have dramatic highs and lows. My moods change 47 times a day. I laugh till I cry and cry till I laugh.

Marvin? Pretty much always the same. I can think of three times he got mad in the 22 years I have known him. His favorite ice cream is vanilla, and his favorite doughnut is plain. I think this is good. One person needs to be the flibbertygibbet and one needs to be a pillar.

Okay, gonna go change moods now.

I've been saving this money for a divorce if ever I got a husband.

Really, one of the funnier lines from It's a Wonderful Life, although I take issue with the movie's portrayal of African American people.

I am stressin'. Yesterday at work I did the bulletin for this Sunday's service, printed all 65 copies, which takes two hours because it is HUGE, added the weekly insert, mailed the thing off to those who are home bound, printed out large copies for people who can't see close up such as myself, and distributed said bulletins at various places in the church.

Then I dashed home and got Ruby in her cat carrier and screamed on over to the vet, because she's really quite ill and two different antibiotics haven't seemed to help. They decided to do blood work and X-rays on her, so they told me to come back in an hour. I went to the post office then back to the church, thinking I could start on the MONDAY Christmas Eve bulletin.

When I got there, the church organist showed me that one of the hymns in the Sunday bulletin was CUT OFF ON THE BOTTOM and the entire last line of the song wasn't there.

Folks, I actually sat on the floor and cried. CRIED. Then I had to print out new copies of the song, cut each page in half to fit in the bulletin, and PASTE those pages into every single bulletin.

But do you know the choir was there and they all rallied and helped me? They were cutting, bringing me more bulletins, cheering me up. It made a nightmarish task that much less horrid.

I stayed at the church till after 8:00, and Marvin got Ruby from the vet. She has asthma! Who knew?

So I have to go back now and do that Christmas Eve bulletin AND the one for next Sunday. I am exhausted, my throat is scratchy, and my right hand is absolutely killing me. Remember a few months back when I had sparklefraffle in my wrist? I think it's back.

Must Christmas be so stressy?

Oh, but I do have one bright note. At the post office, naturally there was a line, and the woman behind me started jumping up and down and screaming. She had just opened her mail, and found out she passed her boards and is officially a nurse! We all hugged her and clapped, and when she started crying we all got misty with her. It was so cute. And do you know I was mailing yet another package to my cousin Katie, the one in nursing school? Maybe this is a sign that she will be a good nurse. Maybe she can fix my wrist.

Four-F on account of his ear

I have cracked. I have cracked like a marble that goes from boiling water to cold water. I know that was a terrible analogy, but I have to be at work in 11 minutes. Clever is out the door.

You guys, I bought -- yes, BOUGHT -- presents for my stepsister, my stepgrandmother and for Marvin Gardens. I suck. There just is no TIME. And Una? Your husband said he'd email me some suggestions and he didn't and it's SIX DAYS till Christmas so I did my best. They are from Amazon; you can return them. I TOLD him time was a-wastin'. It is somehow all his fault.

Oh, and I panicked and got something for my mother, too. All told, I spent about 225 bucks, maybe 250. Which, yes, is better than the $1200 from last year. But the point was to spend NOTHING.

So here is my tip for anyone thinking of not spending. Start making Christmas presents in October! I am not even exaggerating. It takes longer than you think.

Darn. Have to be at work in six minutes. That means I only have five minutes and 15 seconds to brush my teeth. (Love my commute!)

Holy mackarel, I'm married!

Is anyone else feeling a tad overwhelmed? I keep thinking, "Once I [insert insipid task here], I can relax and enjoy the holidays." And yet I am still not with the relaxing and the enjoying.

I had a stupid statistics textbook to proofread, due today. Not ONLY was it that fascinating topic, statistics, but it was about a computer software program to help you ANALYZE statistics. Wooooooooooooooooooooooooo! With the stimulating topic. So you can imagine how easy it was to read and actually pay attention to.

So I finally got that done, at 11 o'clock last night, shivering outside a FedEx drop box filling out the address label, when what do you think came today? MORE statistics to proofread! I am standing here beside myself.

I am grateful for the work, as I'm sure you can tell, but must it be 10 seconds before Christmastime? Because you can imagine how there is no work to be done at all at the church. Christmas? Not a big deal or anything over there.

Plus also beyond that incidentally, there is the whole MAKING OF THE GIFTS thing that I am STILL doing. Now, Marvin was a big help this weekend, when he wasn't disturbing my proofreading.

Let's pause from our broadcast to discuss pretty Marvin. For four years, I worked from home as a busy freelancer. And proofreading? Kind of a job that needs the concentration. I know I've said it before, but if they wrote it "Variables dialog box" on page 72, you had better ding-dang notice that it's suddenly "variable dialogue box" on page 97. There were four differences between those two phrases. Using your number 2 pencil, write 750 words on what they are.

So, every single day for four years -- because I assure you I never had a day off -- I used to say to Marvin, "I'm proofreading now. Do not disturb me." Who would get ants in his pantaloons the MINUTE I told him that? Suddenly he would begin his clogging practice, or he would open the door and stare at me, his mouth half open to show he was JUST ABOUT to say something, but didn't want to disturb me. Sometimes I would let him hang like that for 40 or 50 seconds before I would growl, "WHAT." And it was always, "I'm going to 7-Eleven. Do you want anything?"

Now I am back with the freelancing, and I can assure you Marvin's inability to leave me alone has not abated. Now when I'm done proofreading? He is always in the middle of a Who documentary and does not want to be disturbed.

However, he made a lovely stupid homemade gift for my mother, which took hours and I am glad he helped out. But folks? My Uncle Omar? I caved. I sent him golf balls. Hi, Uncle Omar! Merry Christmas! Surprise!

Uncle Omar golfs 750 hours a day. He went to Scotland to golf. Many times. What is it with men and the golfing? It grabs them like horses do women. Do you know any women who have horses? I know three. All of them are completely horse-addicted. And yet I know no women addicted to golf, and no men addicted to horses. Discuss. Number two pencils only.

So due to my Uncle Omar's love of the golf, I actually know his brand of golf ball. So I spent 4 minutes on line and $40 and got him said balls. Did you even know their WERE brands of golf balls? Why? Why don't they just have the "Round Small Hard White Ball Co." and be done with it? What possible difference could there be?

So, sorry, Uncle Omar, that I did not make your gift, even though you spent hours of your own time trying to teach me algebra in 10th grade. Girlfriend is pressed for time. Girlfriend has 20 million Christmas Eve bulletins to make, and 900,000 chocolate cookies for other relatives. Girlfriend knew you'd like you the golf balls. Girlfriend does not know why she must continue to refer to herself as "girlfriend," or even in the third person, for that matter.

I had better return to my proofreading, and then to a vestry meeting at the church in an hour. Oh! But I wanted to mention, in closing, that the one-year anniversary of me as a blogger came and went, on December 15. It is very exciting. Almost as exciting as a statistics textbook.

Girlfriend out.

Well Annie, why don't you draw up a chair? (updated)

Today we decorated for Christmas. I took 8 million photos, then the battery died, and you can only see about three actual pictures. I hate digital. I hate the future.

We purchased our tree from a man who looked exactly like Ronald Reagan. It was uncanny. It was without cans. He had a cowboy hat on and everything.

Ronnie charged us $36 for a seven-foot tree, which if you ask me isn't bad. We went into his store, and apparently it is the kind of place where men sit around together and play checkers or whatever. I have always thought that was a cool idea, but haven't seen a place like that till now. He also had dead animals mounted on the wall and paneling. I could have stayed all afternoon and gossiped and spit tobacco, but no one invited me to stay.

This whole story is neither here nor there. It is mostly to tell you we spent $36.

(If you read yesterday's post, you will see I am living up to "Butter-Butt.")

Then we bought a tree stand for $10 and when we got home, there was a tree stand with our Christmas stuff. I TOLD Marvin we had one. And it turned out? We had to use that one anyway; the one we bought was too small.

And then once I put lights and tinsel on the tree, it didn't look like enough. I searched and searched for more, and finally went to CVS and bought both. Then, when I moved something, who found a giant ton of tinsel? All this illegal purchasing for nought.

So here are the photos that actually managed to evade the stupid battery attack:

Before (Ruby and Francis are begging me not to change things around.)


After

My mother sent this pretty flower arrangement. My ex-coworkers will note it was sent by a competitor. Oops.

There was a whole "Nod to Hanukkah" picture, and a picture of how obsessed I am with silver, and maybe after the stupid battery charges, I will have the wherewithal to put those photos up, as well.

What on earth does "wherewithal" mean?


SEVERAL CRANKY HOURS LATER:
There is something wrong with that ding-dang camera. Trust me. The room is pretty. At least I was able to retrieve Nod to Hanukkah:

Here is our tree. Hope there's a new digital camera underneath it!

It's a shame that somehow, during all this decorating, Ruby became possessed by demons.

What I am trying to say to you is that with me? It can't be too silvery. Honestly, I am the Elton John of decorating at the holidays.

I am like a crow. I like shiny.

They're cheering! We must be good!

There is a man in this town who cracks me up. Yesterday he said to me, "I had to drive to Monroe today. Honey, you know that's a long, damn-ass way."

I really couldn't have put it any better my own self. Driving to Monroe always SEEMS, in theory, that it won't be that bad of a drive. Then when you're in it? You're like, "This is like being in a nightmare. Will this drive ever END?"

Anyway, today I went to Target in Monroe and got those kids their Christmas gifts. If you are just tuning in and have no idea who "those kids" are, go back the last few posts. I never shut up about them lately.

Before I begin showing you my pictures of the OBSCENE amount of stuff I got, may I just give you one aside? I mailed my cousin Katie's gift today. Now, I am gonna let you in on a little secret, just between you and me. My grandmother? When I was little? She called me Butter-Butt. I have no idea why. One could certainly say that my buttocks are still in the dairy family, but I don't think one would use the term "butter" to describe them today. Other than, say, "Wow. She must love her some butter."

At any rate, on Katie's package, I wrote "Butter-Butt" on my return address. And do you know someone I know got behind me in line at that post office? Who was MORTIFIED, thinking that he'd read it? Wouldn't the town be talking then?

So, here we go. First I will show you a picture of what I got the boy (click on the photo to enlarge):

Here is what I got the two girls:

Here's what I got for them to share:
I also got two pairs of slipper socks and some bath stuff for the mom.

Now here's my question. Technically, I got more things for the girls. It SEEMED like I was getting more for the boy, but when I counted, he only got eight things (pajamas, a truck, some sort of gun that shoots Nerf balls or something, a big tank, inflatable bugs, stuff like that) and the girls got like 11 things, even though some are small (like wands and clothes for their Barbies I got).

I actually bought a bunch of stuff and had SO MUCH money left over that I went back. Twice! And I STILL have about $150 left over. Should I go get three more gifts for the boy, or just do the grocery store card? Do five-year-olds count how many gifts they get? I was an only child; I have no clue.

Why do we have to have all these kids?

Yesterday at Garden Club, somebody asked me, "Has your cat brought home a snake yet? He will."

So today Winston and I had a talk. We have come to an understanding. I will let his stripy ass outside if there are NO SNAKES IN HIS LIPS when he returns home.

Tomorrow I am going to the store to buy toys for those children. Y'all are sending me nice comments saying what a good thing I am doing, but in reality, you have sent over FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS! So the funny part? Is I will not even have to spend my own money. So, it's a nice thing YOU are all doing. I am just the shopper.

I mean, $500+ is enough for this family to have a Christmas, right? And I talked to them, and they do not WANT any food. They are going to dinner at her mother's. So maybe I will do a gift card or a grocery store card or whatever with the leftover cash.

Anyway, tomorrow I will take pictures of what I bought so you can see what your hard-earned cash got these kids. I'm so excited! It cracks me up that I STILL don't get to spend money!

Well, I get to spend your money.

Over here. In the hydrangea bushes.

I was in a whirlwind, a WHIRLWIND, I tell you, all day. I had my regularly scheduled day of work, but ALSO today was Garden Club, which was being held at the church. So who tried to be a Garden Club member and a church secretary at the same time?

There I was, printing out 65 copies of the 28-page church bulletin on one printer, printing out and mailing minutes from the vestry meeting on the other, all while preparing for a special service at 1:30 today AND helping to make floral arrangements for people in hospice.

Let's talk about my floral arrangements.

Everyone had a little pot and wet floral foam (that's that green stuff inside the pot that you get when you get flowers. See how educational it is to read me?) and every kind of green you could imagine. There was Douglas fir, magnolia leaves, holly, fluffy fern-looking things, and all of it was making my throat close up something fierce.

Nevertheless, I stuck a bunch of greens in that floral foam, and it looked like this:









Everyone else sat around, genteel and lovely and wearing pearls and drinking cider, and softly and gently they all made this:

How long do you give me before I'm kicked out of Garden Club?

At any rate, I was running from one room to another when something caught my eye. I turned, and there in the hall was the man who needs help at Christmas! He smiled at me, I smiled at him, it was ridiculous. I ran over, cause he's on crutches, and said, "I didn't understand your last message! I didn't know whether to call you or not!" He said, "Well, ma'am, we've been waiting on your call." See? You guys were right. Shows you what I know.

So, he gave me a list. Now, this list is too modest. He wants a Barbie for each girl (one is 5, one is 6) and a pair of shoes for each. For the boy (also 5)? A truck. So far you guys have sent $390. I think I can safely get all that, wouldn't you think? Also, I do think I will get them food.

I am taking everything to his house (he lives in a trailer, actually) on the 23rd, so I have time to get good things. I'm so excited about shopping for them that I could spit floral foam. If anyone else wants to donate, just email me at manpolly@gmail.com.

Oh, why don't you stop annoying people?

Dear Cousin Katie,

You know that we have always been close, and that you are like a sister to me. Now that the Christmas season is drawing near, the season where we let our loved ones know our deepest, most meaningful feelings, I would like to take this opportunity to say I want to KICK your LILY-WHITE arse and the arse of everyone who had anything to do with you being put on the earth. (You're going down, Aunt Kathy.)

I have just completed the DING-DANG nursing book I made you for Christmas. Since I told you you could not check my blog for the rest of the year, this will come as a complete surprise to you.

Given that all my Christmas gifts have to be free this year -- due to me and my stupid, stupid plans -- when I drew your name at Thanksgiving, I was delighted that of all the people in my family, I drew yours, because even if my gift SUCKED ROCKS, you would still appreciate it. Not as much as you seemed to appreciate that Pixie Stik in the photo above (nice sugar trance), but quite a lot.

Well, let me tell you something, missy. No one has ever had more glue on them than I have currently. Even Elmer. (Shouldn't a horse, and not a cow, have been the mascot for a glue company? Or would that have been tasteless? Do they really make glue from horses, or is that a myth, like tennis rackets and cat guts?)

And do you have any idea how hard it is to cut using those stupid scrapbooking scissors? Oh, I know, you are over there learning how to do sutures and IVs and such, and scrapbooking scissors probably sound like a breeze. Well, trust me. They are not. They are yet another thing invented by The Man to keep women home and oppress them. I never want to see another scalloped corner in my life.

And why did I decide each page had to be a different color? And I do not mean yellow and blue. No, I decided each page should be TAN and DARK TAN. Seven hours into this little project, do you think those colors looked any different? What is wrong with me? Why can't I accept that I am 109, with bad eyes and a worse temper, and that this blush and bashful color scheme was going to turn on me in the wee hours?

Anyway, Merry dingity dangity Christmas. Next year, you're gettin' a gift card.

Love,
Your Cousin June

It's poison I tell ya, it's poison!

Remember the part where I am doing a health blog next year? Here is what Marvin and I bought at the grocery store yesterday:

A large box of frozen taquitos

A large box of Mrs. Paul's Fish Sticks. Why do her fish stick?

A six-pack of Suzy-Qs

Grape juice (are we SEVEN?)

Rainbow-colored Twizzlers, because we support gay licorice

An avocado. Everyone needs a vegetable

A giant tub of already-shelled pistachios; we are busy executives. We don't have time for that pesky shelling

And finally? Trail mix. We are often hittin' the trails.

Seriously, we are the least-healthy eaters on the face of planet earth. And frozen taquitos are a cheat, because technically I could get my Hispanic on and cook them myself. I haven't the first clue how, but I COULD, which is our rule about what groceries we buy.

In LA, my neighbor was from Spain, and every new year's day we would make tamales. Apparently it is tradition or good luck or something. I just think it was a way to amuse Alicia, my neighbor. She would take that wet, floppy corn husk and put wet thick tamale stuff in it and roll it up in a flash. I'd be over there with husk all draping on myself, the tamale innards falling everywhere. She would literally double over with laughter. She would actually point at me and laugh.

I cannot tell you how much I miss being humiliated by her.

I also bought a blank book yesterday, for making my cousin's nursing book for Christmas. Have I thanked all of you for participating in said book? I got so much good advice; I think she will love this gift. Way better than the earrings she wanted me to make her, mainly because my earring-making skills are equalled only by my tamale-making abilities.

My mother is trying to help me by coming up with the lamest things possible for us to make her for Christmas. This is like the year she knew I was poor, so she asked for a slotted spoon. So far, she has asked that we send her our home movies and that I print out this blog. Do those sound like the most depressing Christmas gifts ever, or what? This is the woman who has saved the ornament I made in 1971 from cardboard and tin foil, so I guess she is easy to please.

Have I mentioned there are only three weeks left of this experiment?

Boys and girls and music. Why do they need gin?

Why, indeed? Gin tastes like pine needles to me. Ugh.

When I was little, I used to play house with my toy kitchen and kitchen accouterments. I put film in my toy refrigerator because my father was a photographer, so we had film in our real-life fridge. I didn't know it was weird till some kid came over and told me.

Anyway, I had these tinted brandy snifters someone gave me to play with, which is always a nice idea. Let's give fragile, breakable containers for holding liquor to this three-year-old! I loved those dang things, and I would pretend to be some lush named Helen, who drank gin out of a brandy snifter all day. No one in my family drank, and I wasn't allowed to watch the soaps, but I must've been sneaking in viewings of The Secret Storm somewhere, because where else did I get this ridiculous idea?

Then when Tic-Tacs came out? Old Helen became a gin drinker AND pill-popper. I used to pretend my hands were shaking as I dumped out Tic-Tacs and crammed them greedily into my mouth. Why didn't someone get me professional help?

So, I sent out holiday cards yesterday. Seventy-two of them. I bought them last year at half off, so calm down. Also, I had a bunch of 39-cent Christmas-themed stamps left over, so all we had to do was buy the two-cent stamps. Then beyond that, I used normal stamps.

Do you have any idea how much it bothered me to send out cards with that stupid Liberty Bell stamp instead of a Christmas stamp? I do not know when I became Anal Anus Girl of Analtown, but somehow having Christmas return address labels and Christmas stamps has become a big part of the sending of the card. Now, seriously, WHO LOOKS at that part? Me and some other detailed person with too much time on their hands, that's who. And who wants to impress whoever that odd duck is?

So, if you know me (Bert! Ya know me?) (That's TWO It's a Wonderful Life lines in one post! Woo!), please forgive me my dull, not-at-all-red-or-green depressing Liberty Bell stamp. I promise I will Christmas you to a pulp next year.

You Like Every Boy. What's Wrong with That?

I have sometimes wondered what Violet Bicks' story was. She grew up in an idyllic place like Bedford Falls, and yet she was such a slutenheimer. Could she have been victim to some sort of abuse? Because how else do you explain her inappropriate behavior?

Do you think I have watched It's a Wonderful Life a few too many times? You are just lucky we didn't do When Harry Met Sally lines this month.

Once again, I have many odds and ends (emphasis on "odd") to tell you. Because my leading gets screwed up every time I use a bullet list, I will instead bullet my paragraphs with the scales. Seriously, how annoying am I?

Do. I told Marvin about how one of you referred to me as a saint. He said, "June. The Patron Saint of Lost Marbles." Who loves himself? Remember how Mr. Roper would say something mean about Mrs. Roper, then grin at the camera? Marvin TOTALLY did that. Hearts himself.

Re. You know the family we all talked about adopting for Christmas? I think they don't want our help. I called the guy, reminded him who I was, told him I'd love to get a few things for his kids. He called back and just left this message: "Mrs. Cutoff Cash? Thank you. Very much." Then he hung up. This means thanks but no thanks, right? Cause you know I want to call him back and say, "Does that mean no?" This should give you some clue as to what kind of cool cucumber I was in the dating world.

Me. Speaking of me, I am so excited about next year's health blog that I wish I could just start it now. I have already got the web address, the design, the concept, the whole shebang. Don't you hate people who say "the whole shebang"? Another overused phrase? "Voracious reader." Can't you be some other sort of reader? How about just "I like to read"?

Fa. A long, long way to go.

So. Screw it. We are getting a Christmas tree. I am getting really sloppy about not spending, aren't I? I don't care. The only reason I care is because I have this blog and you're all watching me. (I sound like that idiot who sang that song. I always feel like somebody's watching me! Get a prescription, bub. No one gives a crap.)

Last year, I spent Christmas day 100% alone, Marvin was at work. It was awful. Then I had to work the next day, which really should be illegal.

Two years ago, Marvin had to work (he is Rudolph. I have not wanted to mention it. His nose really comes in handy when we drive in fog.), so I went to midnight mass myself, which was at like 7:00 so why do they continue to call it midnight, and then I came home and cooked Christmas lasagna. I had just cut a piece of lasagna, put in (shocker!) It's a Wonderful Life, and JUST when I hit "play," my cat Mr. Horkheimer sprayed blood all over the VCR. So I spent Christmas Eve and Christmas day at the vet. There was another guy there putting his cat to sleep, and he was weeping like a child. It was heartbreaking.

The POINT is, I refuse to have another depressing Christmas. So I'm gettin' a tree. The end.

La. Speaking of sick cats, I had to take my cat Ruby DeLuna to the vet today, and she either has a cold or cancer. Okay, thanks. There's an undramatic scale. When I wrote the check ($87), I said to the receptionist, "It's Pearl Harbor Day" and she looked at me like, "Who's Pearl Harbor?" I hope I am wrong about this.

Te. Tonight we watched Swingers. I should really, REALLY stop watching shows that in any way celebrate Los Angeles. Maybe I should rent Earthquake, or is there a Manson murder movie I could see? Is there a movie of someone just sitting in traffic trying to get home from work to their $2,000 a month studio apartment? That would help.

Do. you feel sorry for me that I don't have kids? It just occurred to me today, for the first time ever, that when I tell people that, they may actually think, "Oh, that poor thing." When people ask me why we don't have kids, sometimes I love to say, "Oh, we try and try!" so they are forced to picture Marvin and me fornicating just all the time. But in reality, neither one of us wanted kids. And that is that dramatic yarn.