Wednesday, December 31, 2008

Puddin' On The Ritz

Stir the eggnog, lift the toddy, Happy New Year, everybody.
- Phyllis McGinley

As I prepare to celebrate the New Year hobnobbing at a swinging soiree, I am led to wonder-- Who is the genius that decided that it is a good idea to shimmy into a slinky dress after 30 consecutive days of conspicuous consumption?

All I can say is thank God for Spandex.


Not exactly Guy Lombardo, but you get the picture.

Be Safe.

Out-T

Wednesday, December 24, 2008

O Tannenbaum



From my digs to yours...Happy Holidays


May the toilet paper on your tree always be two-ply.
May your poodle expel the tinsel she consumed without medical intervention.
And may the boobs in your entryway always be double D's.

( . ) ( . ) Out-T.

Bite Me Martha Stewart


Don't look now, but T. is in the kitchen at the New Digs getting her Martha Stewart on in preparation for the Christmas festivities that are about to commence.
In true trailer park fashion I give you "Corn Flake Wreath Cookies"
One stick of a substance remotely resembling butter, three cups of stale marshmallows left over from Thanksgiving, four cups of generic breakfast cereal, some Halloween candy, and copious amounts of artificial green dye are all you need to impress your family and friends.
Christmas Goose, Yule log, figgy pudding? Bite me Martha Stewart.
Break out the Vienna Weenies and let the party begin.
Out-T.

Sunday, December 21, 2008

Dirty Old Saint Nicholas


Dirty old Saint Nicholas lean your ear this way, don't you tell a single soul what I'm going to say...

Dear Santa,

I did not send my Christmas list to you sooner because I have not been very good this year. I was really afraid I would be getting cinders in my stocking. After seeing this picture of you I decided I may have a chance after all.

I hope you can overlook the recent incident with the homeless guy and the frozen turkey. How was I to know the boy (I swear he looked about 12) in the blue Ford was a police officer. I did apologize for asking him if his mother knew he was carrying a gun after he showed me his badge. Just so you know, I gave the turkey back.

Instead of cookies and milk, if you look between the cushions of the couch at the New Digs, you will find loose change and I have generously left a full can of Colt 45 and a box of Swisher Sweets for your enjoyment.

I will leave the gift selection up to you, anything extra you may have on the sleigh will do just fine. Usually, I am much more particular, but really? There is no damn way I am sitting on your lap.

Your Friend,

T.

Monday, December 8, 2008

Shine


One of the best things about little girls is the sparkly, glittery, leopard ear muffy, powdered sugar donutty snail trails they leave behind.

Out-T.

Saturday, December 6, 2008

Come On Baby Light My Fire

One of the reasons I hesitated to purchase the new digs was that it is all electric, no gas. How would I ever be able to create the gourmet cuisine I am so famous for without my 60 inch ultra premium 6 open burner, 24 inch griddle, double oven gas Viking range? What about my remote control gas fireplace? Good lord I was in the market for a home, not a campsite!

Actually, I am quite capable of incinerating perfectly good frozen pizzas no matter the fuel source and I live in Texas, the reality is no one in Texas NEEDS a fireplace, gas or otherwise. I only raised this issue to terrorize my realtor (Because I have a burning hatred of all real estate professionals—ironic, I know, considering my occupation.) Also, because I am a cheapskate and there was no way I was making a reasonable offer on this house or any other. I felt vindicated when my insulting bid was accepted.

When you have a fireplace, if you never use it, then it is just a gaping black hole in the wall taking up valuable floor space and demanding attention every holiday season. Stockings, garland, potted poinsettias-- Gah- the damn thing will not shut up!



I know that right now you are thinking, “What is up with her and those awful cell phone pictures? Enough Already! Send in the Green Stamps for a new Kodak Instamatic and put us out of our misery!” I feel your pain and I am sorry. I think I have already established that I am a cheapskate. Additionally, this portion of the post is a thinly veiled hint to Santa in hopes that he reads this blog. Moving along…

What I had was the age-old problem of how to make fire. (You thought I was going to say the age old problem of hearing voices from inanimate objects didn’t you? Shut up! I have medication for that). I think it is understood that I am not the outdoorsy type. I will admit that I do have an unnatural and some what disturbing attraction to chainsaws, however, I do not think that Mr. Rubble (My annoying neighbor) would appreciate my landscaping services under cover of darkness in order to fuel my fire.

The only way I would actually pay for wood is if it were in the form of furniture, not logs. Never logs. Besides, who would carry all of this heavy wood home, build the fire, and then clean up the sooty mess afterwards? Please do not suggest that DDHB (Doo-doo head boyfriend) is the man for the job. The terms of his parole do not allow him to be in possession of incendiary devices (There goes any chance I had of getting a camera this year).

Actually, boys and fire scare me a little. That only leaves two choices. A faux electric fire with fancy cardboard and cellophane flames (Even I have more class than that) or the dreaded Dura-Flame log. I bet those things cause cancer in rats, or something. I am not taking any chances.

Necessity or possibly laziness as they say is the mother of invention. The solution? Good old isopropyl alcohol. Mr. Nuzum my seventh grade science teacher deserves all the credit for introducing me to the Bunsen burner all those many years ago.

One casserole dish from the Ross Dress for Less, a bag of rocks, a empty Sterno can from the last wild fondue party at the new digs (do not even ask) and a bottle of first aid antiseptic later…


Fire! Striking the first match was a little tense, I was not sure if I was going to blow the joint up. Happily, it all turned out fine. Now that the decorating is done I can turn my attention to
enhancing the lives of others with my thoughtful and decorative gift giving ideas.
Oh Yeah baby! I bet you wish you were on my Christmas list.
Out-T.

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

Mam-Merry Christmas

Do boobs make appropriate holiday decorations?
Yes, I think they do.
Nothing says Merry Christmas like plastic Ta-Tas!

Now if I could just remember these biatches are in the entryway at the new digs, I could avoid the heart attack I have every time I walk in the front door.

Out-T.

Monday, December 1, 2008

The Ghost and BFSK S.

Do you ever wonder what makes people do stupid crap? Not the everyday run of the mill stupid, I mean “What were they thinking?!” stupid. Like tying 200 helium balloons to your lawn chair and trying to fly, or buying a lifetime membership to a women's fitness center.

People do stupid crap because they have friends like me. That is why.

Sunday morning BFSK S. (Best friend since Kindergarten) called while I was doing laundry. Did she call to inquire as to how I would like my name to appear on the check for half of the loot from the Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes she had just won, and thank me for signing her up again this year without her knowledge? Sadly, no. That was not the reason for her call.

Was she interested in hearing a play-by-play account of the Thanksgiving festivities at the new digs? Not really, the subject never came up.

BFSK S. called to tell me that The Sarge (Her boyfriend, turned husband, turned ex-husband, turned boyfriend—another post for another day) has a ghost in his new house. A ghost that smells bad, like wet gym socks or peat moss. A stinky old man ghost.

Did you tell it to leave? I asked after listening to her story.
S. Well of course!
T. No good?
S. Nope.
T. So, the previous owners left without their nasty old dead Grandpa, and now you are supposed to deal with him? That is just not right. I would not let them get away with that...
S. I should call them and tell them to come get him.
T. Seriously, you should.
S . I will call you back.

And that, my friends, is how stupid crap happens.

Out-T.