How creepy would it be if puppets were still dressed and painted but ever so slightly see through? I think the only thing creepier would be a clown.

Or a see through clown.

ps- Friday is my birthday. In lieu of gifts, feel free to send gifts. Unless it’s a clown- in that case you’d be dead meat motherfucker!

My school re-opened 5 days ago on Monday the 4th and normally my days consist of me sitting snug in my little principle-ish office and closing the door tightly when majong my work requires extra concentration. Not this week however. My receptionist Karen-that guardian of my sanity and keeper of all smarmy salesmen out of my face-is still in Mexico and won’t be back to work until Monday. This means that every time that front door opens I have to drag my administrative ass out to her desk and make nice with the public which I think we all know is not exactly my forte. So…… to extract a little bit of revenge I decided that I would turn the lovely & rather delicate little ceramic nativity scene that she has set up at her desk into an African American nativity scene. Unfortunately, none of my black markers were thin enough to reach into all of the cracks & crevices of their wee little faces. Consequently, rather than African American, they all look as though they have Michael Jackson’s vitiligo.

You’ll notice that I have left one figurine unmolested; the angel with the name across her chest in black letters. “Who is Gloria?” you ask? I have no fucking idea. Had I painted her though, it would be just my luck that she’d turn out to be a god-child or a sorely missed dead person.

The moral of this story? I’ll fuck with people’s shit all day long but apparently even I won’t fuck with an angel named Gloria.

PS- My best friend Susin has vitiligo and I feel that this post and the defacing of the nativity scene is an important step for a cause dear to her heart. Jesus and his manger crew would bring in way more research dollars for vitiligo than Michael Jackson could have ever hoped to!

Dear Kids,

I know that this is heartbreaking but due to global warming Frosty has suffered several irreversible set backs with his health and is now in hospice. He is heavily sedated and resting comfortably though unfortunately we feel that his end is close at hand.

In lieu of flowers donations to the World Wildlife fund or any other organization that aims to protect our rapidly melting ice caps will be gratefully accepted.

It’s been a good run Frosty. We’ll miss you.

Is it just me or are any of you out there with a blog also getting an inordinately large amount of Russian spam these days?

WTF?

Don’t get me wrong, the characters of the font are beautiful (Очень интересно… если бы еще и правда была-I have no idea what that says but it certainly is lovely! Probably tells me to go fuck a goat or something knowing my luck) but seriously, is there a Russian blog comment party in town that no one has bothered to tell me about?

So much for Japan because apparently I’m big in Russia.

I am having what we at work like to refer to as a “hungry day.” You know what I mean- those days when you have an insatiable hunger- it doesn’t matter what you eat or how much of it, you are still chew off your own arm famished. I have already eaten my breakfast (yogurt & a bagel) AND my lunch ( a piece of lasagna) which doesn’t sound too bad.

Well, until you realize that this was all consumed by 9:30 am and I have now placed an order for delivery of chicken enchiladas with extra jalapenos because, you know, I had to replace my lunch and all. I would like to say that this type of behaviour is odd or outside of the norm for me.

But I cannot.

How I don’t weight 1400lbs and am confined to my bed and when I need medical attention they have to cut out a giant hole in the wall of the house and use a crane and a cherry picker to hoist my enormous ass out is beyond me. On the up side, if I were confined to bed devouring whole chickens and family size veal picatta, think of how much time I would have to devote to well thought and researched diatribes that I could post here for your amusement. I would also probably stop posting recipes and start posting take out menus. Shit. Would I be able to maneuver myself over to the scanner? Maybe I could just describe them to you or take pictures of my orders when they arrive.

My enchiladas will be here in 6 minutes and if they forgot the guacamole I’m going to eat the delivery guy.

I spent most of the day on the couch nursing a wee bit of a wine hangover.

There was napping involved.

Then I did something rather remarkable. I spent hours painting round wooden beads to make a pretty garland for our Christmas tree because I hate that glittery tinsel-like shit. I hate it with the heat of a thousand suns. So yeah, I sat at home and made wooden garland.

I think that someone slipped me something. Seriously.

Fuck I hate Martha Steward.

Are you superstitious?

I am most decidedly not, though people who don’t know me well tend to think that I am even though I don’t do the whole salt over the shoulder thing or other such craziness. I do however double and triple check things, when I ride Lola Gold I have to ring the bell twice when I start out, and I talk to inanimate objects quite often. I have always found it strange that people confuse OCD with superstition. C’mon people, it’s an entirely different brand of loony. I don’t have a problem walking under ladders, nor do I knock on wood but I will wash my hands 50 or so times a day and jiggle the doorknob a few extra times even though I know it’s locked. Because I just fucking locked it!

Sigh.

I will never be on one of those reality shows tapping my nose against the window pain 7 times, pulling out my own hair or arranging things in my shopping basket a certain way in order to stave off a panic attack. This strikes even me as odd as I am normally such an all or nothing kinda gal. Yes, you read that correctly, I am surprised that I’m not specifically organizing my fridge condiments or omitting the letter R from my vocabulary. I don’t usually do things in such a half assed sort of way. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thankful for this, but am nonetheless, surprised.

My question is this; Are you superstitious? If so, are you compelled to be, or have you chosen to be?

“I dream of giving birth to a child that will ask, ‘Mother, what was war?’”

-Eve Merriam