Monthly Archives: December 2013

Egg Nog Blasphemer

I bet you didn’t know that rum is the holiest of all Christmas drinks.  It’s true.  That’s why they sing about it in that carol, “The Little Drummer Boy.”  When you think about it, it’s obvious.  Rum is what you put in egg nog, which is a Christmas drink but also, egg nog has a holy beginning.  I bet you didn’t know that.  Listen and learn.

Mary and Joseph were so poor they had nothing to drink. They were so poor they had to drink eggs right? And not eggs from the store, but like eggs from real chickens that Joseph had to chase down, which is hard to do in a dress.  So, when the kings showed up and that was all they had, Balthasar put some frankincense in it and then spiked it with rum as to not make them feel bad because they were drinking eggs.  I mean, everybody knows that royals are like, used to good food.  (That’s why that Lordes girl will never be a royal, because she’s too skinny and clearly doesn’t eat rich, king-like food.)

The wise kings had rum because they were from the south, and everybody knows rum comes from the tropics, and Nazareth can get pretty hot.  Also, they had to take the long trip on a donkey, so I am sure a flask of rum would help make that journey less horrible.  Of course, Mary didn’t have any.  She had just recently given birth, and regardless of whether or not she breast feed baby Jesus (some scholars think he might have been above that sort of thing) she didn’t think it would look good in front of the kings.  Joseph however had some.  That’s why we drink rum at Christmas.  And wine.  Because for Christians, it represents Christ’s blood, and that’s how some Christians choose to celebrate the holiday.  By drinking that sweet little baby’s blood.

Happy Holidays.

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Christmas Wish Lists

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My family is doing an online Secret Santa gift drawing this year, and my nephew, who is knower of all things tech, hooked us up with this online site called “Elfster.”  (I know, I know.  Me too.)

Anyway, part of Elfster is creating a wish list for yourself.  I have an aversion to “wishlists” because a married couple absolutely broke me of it.  (I want to say for the record that I didn’t really know these people – they were friends of friends and clearly, my friends thought their list was so ridiculous that it ended up being emailed to me, and I shared it with anyone who would read it because it was so self-indulgent and FREAKING STUPID.  No, I’m sorry, you don’t get a case or two of fine, organic, low-sulfate wine for your engagement.  No, I will not be creating an art piece that showcases your amazing love with natural items found on a meaningful walk through a forest.  Go away, now.)

Of course, I was incapable of writing anything serious on the Elfster site.  My first request was a Porsche 911, and I don’t even like Porches…I’m more of a Subaru Outback kind of gal.  Then I think I asked for the Hope Diamond, and a sack of potatoes.  Clearly, I wasn’t taking Elfster very seriously.

Anyway, it got me thinking.  What would my real wish list be?  If money, power, time, and reality were no object?  Way better than a Subaru Outback let me tell you.

1.  A time machine to go back to 1993, the year the movie Tombstone was released.  I would like to somehow manipulate the Oscar nominees to make sure that Val Kilmer is not only nominated, but wins the Academy Award for Best Supporting actor for his pivotal role as Doc Holiday because seriously, he was amazing.  Not fat, crazy Val of today, but slim, intense, pre-batman Val of days of old.  I would SO be his huckleberry.

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2. A Subaru Outback, loaded – with heated seats, automatic start, weather radio and wings.  Yes, I want my Outback to fly.

3. I would drivefly my Outback (with my friends in tow) to England to see David Tennant on stage in the Royal Shakespeare Company’s version of Hamlet…or maybe his current production of Richard II might do as well, however they are 10 years apart.  Wait!  See #1.  Done and done!

4. Take my time machine back to when I was 17 and got a bad perm and crushed the right front quarter panel of my mother’s brand new MG convertible all in one night.  I would tell myself to stay home and skip both of those damaging events.  If I didn’t listen, I would have the sense to bring a gun and some duct tape.

5. I change school policy to be able to keep a monkey in my classroom, so my student’s can gauge their behavior.

6. I would hire the Allman Brother’s Band to play for my 50th birthday party.

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7. I would clone a polar bear.  Why not?

8. I would send 1,000 pizzas to Kanye West’s house on April Fool’s because he doesn’t seem like he can take a joke.  I would love to see his face…oh, Kanye!

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9. I would invite Brett Farve over for dinner.  I would have his family.  I would not ask him about Instagram or sexting.  It would be all business.

10. I would like to create a dog park where people actually picked up their dog’s poop.

11. I would make it a law that cell phones had to shock students if they held it in their hand in a classroom.

12. I would make everyone call me “Lil Wonda.”

13. I would make the Eagles go back into the studio and make more music, but with more of a focus on Joe Walsh.  Then I would make everyone who trashed it on Twitter get a sliver in their texting thumb.

14. For one day only, make Lake Superior a gigantic jello salad with marshmallows.  I think it would make sailing even more fun.

15. I would make everyone find something so funny every day, that they laughed until they cried.  Every flipping day of their lives…

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Filed under Holiday, Humor

The War with Dishwashing

I hate doing the dishes.  I really hate it.  Kriner hates it too.  We would have been divorced a long time ago if it weren’t for our dishwasher.  (Not hyperbole)

My abhorrence for doing dishes has actually kept me from cooking certain meals.  If it takes more than two pots to prepare, forget about it.  Seriously.  I love good food, but I hate doing dishes more.  “That recipe calls for a sauce?  Hmmm, maybe pizza tonight.”  “Wait, pasta with sautéed veggies AND caramelized onions?  Prego is fine.”  Also, it is verboten in my house to eat oatmeal.  Ever.  The pots are impossible to clean.  Frosted Flakes were good enough for me, they’re good enough for my kid.  (However, using that logic, playing with mercury from a broken thermometer, jumping off the roof into a pool, and sneaking beer and stealing cigarettes from my parents are also good enough for my kid…might need to rethink the Frosted Flakes.)

It’s a funny thing to hate.  I don’t hate laundry, or vacuuming (even though Kriner handles that) or even washing the floor.  I just hate doing dishes.  I have been ruminating on this for a while and I think I have come up with a reason why.

A few weeks ago, we went to my sister’s for Thanksgiving.  Every year the women do the dishes after the meal, usually because Steve, my brother-in-law does all the cooking.  That activity is actually better than tolerable because my sisters and my mom join in to help.  We drink or sing or gossip…it’s time well spent.  Also, their sink is located in the island of the kitchen, so people can sit and chat while you are washing up.

However, when I do dishes in my home, it is a solitary and lonely exercise.  I feel as though doing dishes in my small kitchen, looking out the small window in my small life should be portrayed in some dark, depressing Russian short story by Tolstoy.  Maybe I need a sound track of “Laura’s Theme” after dinner when I wash up.

My sink is located on a wall, so when I do the dishes, I turn my back on the whole kitchen, and ultimately, the house.  It’s like I’m back in Mrs. Stannel’s 4th grade class at Wilson Elementary, and I (once again) need to be disciplined.  “You’ve been laughing at inappropriate times again, Liz.  Go stand in the corner and do dishes!”

Washing dishes would be more fun if it were a team sport.  Of course I could ask Kriner to help, but even though it is difficult for me to comprehend, his revulsion of doing dishes is even greater than mine.  So, even though he wants to be a good guy, and wants to help, he is in such a foul mood after the dishes are done, that I regret asking him in the first place.  Why make two people miserable when only one has to suffer?  Dumbledore drank all that poison himself to get to the horcrux; he didn’t ask Harry to have a shell-full, did he?

I think someone needs to introduce a sink on wheels.  That way, I could roll into the living room while scouring a pot and see what’s going on.  “Are you two in here having fun without me?  Well, not anymore!”  Or maybe at the least roll it into the dining room, and rinse the plates right then and there before they go into the dishwasher.  (And can we please give a moment to roll our collective eyes at THAT?  What brainiac created a dishwasher that is so piss-poor that you have to rinse, and sometimes actually wash the dishes before they get washed.  Could someone please invent a dishwasher that does just that?  That washes dishes?  Seriously?  Like, now?)

Years ago, I was bitching about how much I hated doing dishes (because it’s that big of a thing for me – that apparently I have carried this vengeful attitude toward dishes for decades because everything else in my life is so freaking fabulous that this is the only thing I have to bitch about…) and my friend Anne said, “I love doing dishes.  I like putting my hands in warm water, and it is a moment of quiet after a busy day.”  I envied her in that moment.  The thought of my hand in warm water harkens back to poorly executed sleep-over pranks (did that work on ANYONE?) and quiet for me is difficult; it always has been.

Tomorrow night we are having friends over for a pot luck.  We will be using paper plates.  (Don’t judge, we got the nice kind…with like designs and crap.)  Also, pot luck means guests will be taking their dirty dishes home with them.  Now THAT’s a party I can get behind.

 

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Filed under Family, Feminism, Humor, Parenting