I’ve always been a big fan of keeping a few generic gifts tucked away in the closet in case of an emergency…
“Wait.. it’s your birthday??? Didn’t you have a birthday last year, mom?”
I don’t have keening piles of ‘estate sale’ detritus accumulating in the corners. I don’t clear entire shelves at the dollar store. I don’t have hand made crafts. Usually, I keep a few vases on hand and for the slightly more interesting people, those decorative wine bottle gift box tube things that I can put a bottle straight off my wine rack into. I am decently prepared.
Last night, as we were finishing up the last of our shopping, we ended up at SexWorld. We went to pick up something specific for a good friend (I won’t mention what it was as he hasn’t opened it yet), but in browsing we came across a couple of things that could not possibly be left behind and yet we did not want or need them ourselves, nor did we know who to give them to. There are two items:
First off, we have the ‘Official Metal Handcuffs’, in red. Everyone needs handcuffs, I’m just not sure who yet. These seem very nice, very real, heavy and all. They tout the slogan “with passive restraint your lover will beg for more”. Seems promising if you ask me. Since I already have an entire physical restraint system set up, handcuffs seem redundant.
Less practical and more horrifying is the Boy Toy Brand Vibrating novelty..well..vibrator! There was a series of 3 novelty vibrators (in this line, I mean the store was packed full of vibrators, novelty and otherwise). These are ‘pocket rocket’ size vibes with elongated heads, little man bodies and thematically appropriate, removable hats. The first was a little French chef named ‘Chef Frenchie’. The second was a jolly Beefeater-style palace guard amusingly named ‘Pvt Private’. The one I purchased wasn’t amusing or erotic, it was purely horrifying. I have in my possession one Vibo the Clown. Yes, people, I now own a vibrating clown with dead cross eyes and a carousel tattooed on his head. This is the perfect gift for someone, I just don’t know who yet. For Christ’s sake, it’s an erotic toy made up to look like the antithesis of erotic. It is everything that is wrong with popular culture in America.
Keep checking under your trees, people, Santa might be extra nice to you this year!

Last night, after we were done chatting and laughing and making fun of you, I rolled over to go to sleep. My mind wandered and after a bit I faded out.
Then I saw HIM in the doorway coming at me. He took up the whole space and I didn’t know how he got in there.
I shrieked. I jumped and screamed and let loose some bad ass terror fighting vocals.
And Jen screamed with me.
And he disappeared, he was never there, but she kept screaming so I kept screaming. And we screamed bloody murder for an eternity. Finally I had to scream at her that there was nothing there, I had dreamed it.
So what did I see? A man, a huge man, filling up the entire doorway and coming at me. And what was so special about this man? Besides the obvious fear of invasion played out by this sudden nightmare, what else could possibly be wrong? His head. Yeah, his head was a combination cheese grater/juice pitcher. Some giant Tupperware demon of convenience invaded my psyche and set me to shrieking at 1am.
Good night.

I have completely emptied myself of the need for internet porn as I have discovered something infinitely more arousing…
Amazon.com, that never-ending resource of much that is good, has started selling shoes. I have spent much of my evening just browsing and browsing and cleaning up after myself. If any of you are looking to buy me a present, I like chunky heels, round toes, and I wear a size 5.
Okay, I need a new box of Kleenex, and I’m just gonna turn down these lights. I’ll talk to you later.

Thanksgiving went off with only a few minor hitches (namely, the probe thermometer died on me) and fun was had by all. As usual, one cat looked like a dork and Chloe continued her inexplicable yet annual tradition of biting the Thanksgiving table.
We ate to excess and drank slightly less than that and I must say that next year you should join us.
I want to wish a happy holiday season to all 18 of you.

So when I get stressed out, I start to lose my voice. Usually I get a little hoarse. When it is really bad, I get creaky and I sound like Peter Brady in that one episode where Greg wrote “The Stupidest Songs of All Time” (as documented by a renowned musical historian). This weekend my stress hit all-time new levels and my voice is shot to hell. The only thing coming out of my mouth is creaky whispers and comical squeaks.
Yeah, it’s funny.
So why the stress? Well, it’s Thanksgiving week and that’s my holiday. That’s the one day that I put so much effort into, it’s my one true day of cooking glory. I start planning months in advance, I need centerpieces, place settings, candles. On top of that, I’ve got people coming over for dinner every night.
And on top of everything, like a candied cherry, I have PMS. Yeah, so not only am I stressed, but it is probably your fault.
I had to send an email to everyone at work to let them know that I had lost my voice and would be unable to answer the phone. One person responded with a handful of throat drops. Precious, precious throat drops that helped so much. Most people decided to stop by and make me talk. Assholes. The guys in my department have decided that this is the best day ever, much rejoicing is going on around me. Bastards.
Normally, I would take today off, let my voice rest, but I already have Wednesday off to prepare for Thursday. This is no good.
I kind of wish I was sick, because then I could infect everyone that stopped by to laugh at my comedic voice.