Take This Julie Andrews!

Every year- this being the last- Oprah thinks she's effing Julie Andrews and talks about her "favorite things" followed by her modest display of giving her audience a slew of items they go bonkers over. I, however, never really find these gifts of her magi to be very interesting or exciting. If Oprah gave me, as an audience member, a cruise package I'd roll my eyes, ask her if she was also planning on paying me for the time I now have to take off work, as I don't get paid vacation working in a custard shop, and then ask her if she has read any sort of recent headlines about that fated cruise ship recently. Blah, blah, blah. As Ralphy got to play Santa on A Christmas Story, let me play Oprah and make a list of things I'd like to give away, if I could:

1. The Gift of Youth

Seriously, I'd give everyone a pack of Shriky-Dinks™ if I could.

2. The Gift of Remembrance

Various multi-disk sets of specials that ran on the Discover Heath so we can remember what life was like before Oprah took over our broadcasting system.

3. The Gift of Intentionality

Messenger Pigeons- Real communication is a dying art form. I think, by bringing back messenger pigeons, there may be some fun or at least romanticism reinstated into our lives- and we could talk outside of fakesbook and our text messages. Should this not be feasible, I'd like to give you all some postage stamps, so we can send letters back and forth.

4. The Gift of Culture

A number of Rancho Bravo tamales. I don't know how many- as many as you could handle before swearing them off forever, I suppose. I had one for dinner. This is my version of "If I could buy the world a Coke™".

5. The Gift of Literature

Scary Stories. I miss this book, as it was one of my childhood favorites, and it's yet to make Oprah's book club.

6. The Gift of Practicality

A Hatchet. Say the end of the world really is approaching us just over two years from now, or a zombie out break develops from the former swine flu, or your land lord tells you he/she will evict you should you not chop down that overgrown tree from your front yard that is tripping the little school children both to and from their educational pursuits OR Snowpocolypse™ 2010 part duex happens and you need said tree for firewood- yeah, you bet your cold ass you'd be thanking me.

7. The Gift of Hope

The bingo scratch ticket. It's a gift that may or may not keep on giving. Plus, I know one of my grandmothers would go bananas over it, as she loves to scratch and win.

8. The Gift of Joy

All red Starbursts™. I'm so nice, I'd give you a gift that takes all of the shitty flavors out of the candy we all love, or would love better with out the yellow and orange flavors.

9. A Timeless Gift

An Alarm Clock. This is specifically for my co-workers so they are never late for work again. I liked this model.

10. The Gift of Scott

And finally, a framed picture of Scott. Granted, I may be sending out Christmas cards with Scott's picture, they aren't framed. I wish I could frame them all for you. With metal, not plastic frames.

Abstentee Ballot

I haven't written a blog in a long time. Do you know why? Boys. Duh. And you knew that, so there was no point in reiterating it. Also Scott- but seeing as he is a male cat, he falls into the category (not to burden you with that pun), of a boy. For this, I apologize. Let's put our hands in and make a pack to never let a boy come between us again- giggle-ty giggle-ty giggle. This, of course, will not last, as we all know- I can go boyless for, oh, about an hour-and-a-half, give or take 75 minutes.

But, on the bright side, I have been writing more about these temporary male companions, and considered re-opening the "today's date" blog, but it may be too "steamy" for the likes of, oh, say, my mother, who snoops and reads and subscribes to my blog. However, should this compilation I'm working on ever get published, I'll send you a copy- provided that you send me cash in return.

And if I've "dated" or "made-out with you" for a pro-longed period of time in the past three years, I've probably written about you. In fact, I've probably told you that I've written about you, but like always, you've probably forgot. Also, I've probably given you a dumb effing nick name, like, "boy with the dragon tattoo", only shorter, less of a knock-off of Steig Larson(?) , and more applicable to my life. And yes, I actually plan on publishing these stories some day- and yes, I come off just as bad as you do, as I'm a selfish, overly analytical little prat and it shows. And no, you can't change your dumb nick name, for whatever reason, you deserved it.

I'd like to also take a minute to make this plea: I don't hate all of the boys I've dated, in fact, I still very much like many of them and am friends with a few, or at least try to maintain some sort of friendship. The rest... I hate.

And yes, some of the Christmas cards I'm sending out have the caption "This is why I'm single".

Beyond Belief

Here are some FACTS, some things of certainty that I know to be true. No, that I know to be beyond true. I can't tell you how I know this, because you wouldn't understand.

1. Tom Selleck was born with a mustache

He was a baby miracle.

2. I'm a God

Oh, as if you didn't know. Let me state my case. Throughout history, offerings and sacrifices have been made to God/many different gods. Every single cat I have ever had has brought me offerings and sacrifices- ranging anywhere from birds and mice to insects. There fore, they must view me as a God. Their food rains from the heavens, their cup never goes empty... of water. They lay at my feet, they bathe me. Yup. I'm pretty much a god.

3. Easy Bake Ovens leads to S&M

I don't know a single kid who owned an easy bake oven (the real kind, not this plastic crap they pass off on the markets now) who didn't burn the shit out of themselves when using it... and then go back for more. Which brings me to this Pavlovian point- we were trained, as children, that burning ourselves on such ovens, essentially that pain would only lead to a treat afterward. You can do the math from there.

4. There's no such thing as chiropractors

Chiropractors are make-believe. Just like Santa and Rush Limbaugh. They don't exist. What you believe to be a chiropractor is actually just a swindler from the 1920's, trying to cheat you out of your money, see. There's also no such thing as a single visit to a "chiropractor", no matter what they tell you- you will always have to come back a week later for a "readjustment" and then a week later to readjust that readjustment. Forever. Until you realize you are out of money or you figure out the shell game they're playing with you.

5. If you're in a horror movie, you will forget how to drive

Should you find yourself in a horror movie or at least a similar situation, no matter how long you have been driving, just understand one thing- you will forget how to drive. You will forget your seat belt. And you will not make it more than 50 yards in a car. You're better off walking- yes walking- as running also seems like a dumb idea, because you will trip and fall and get injured and have to walk anyway. Save yourself the trouble. Just walk from the get go.

6. Monopoly is used as a torture device

China and parts of Russia both use Monopoly as torture mechanisms. They make POW's play the game with each other, in its entirety, until one of them cracks.

7. Your one missing sock does not end up in some abyss

It usually gets sucked through the dryer hose or falls behind the washing machine.

G-Units of Time

Sometimes I really, truly believe I am an old person trapped in a young person's body- until I reviewed the things that my grandmothers enjoy, many of which I do not. But then, upon further review, I found almost an equal amount of things that these women enjoy that I find myself also in agreement with. Below are lists of things they like and I do not, followed by something that we both can agree upon:

Glass Art

Glass art makes me want to vomit- which I'm sure would be more artistically interesting then the blown glass at any rate, not to mention more intentional. My grandmother(s) liking glass art only confirms my suspicions that it is intended fort the eyes of the elderly only.

Garage Sales

When I was younger, I remember going garage sale-ing with both of my grandmothers, separately of course. I still garage sale, as do they. Some of my annual Christmas gifts come from yard sales, and some of theirs will as well.

Irish Literature

My grandma McEldery loves Irish literature, so much so that she has given me several novels. These literary works are often heavily laden with romance, which is not really the type of reading I prefer to do in my spare time. Grandma's digging it, though.

Harry Potter

My grandmother was actually the one who got me reading Harry Potter- unintentionally back during my freshman year of high school. Originally given to my younger brother as a Christmas gift after my grandmother read the first few books and really liked them. When Michael chose not to read it, I decided to read it for myself, as not to let a book go to waste. I ended up really liking it- and still do, no embarrassment there... at least it's not the Twilight saga, which I will not ever read, or watch (and what little I have seen has made me vomit in the aforementioned art-like style that would give Chihuly a run for his money).

Slot Machines

Grandma Flo loves 'em. We call them, in her case and her case only, the 'chines'. I've never been into video poker. Too rich for my blood and I've never bothered to learn the rules.

Scratch Tickets

Scratch tickets, on the other hand, we both enjoy. They're cheap and entertaining. I also like them because I don't have to spend a significant amount of time losing, unlike with video poker.

Liver

I think it's an old person thing. I'll be honest, I've never had it, and now that I'm a vegetarian, never will. Whenever I smell it cooking, it also makes me want to vomit in technicolor. I hate thinking about eating liver nearly as much as I hate smelling it. I hate thinking about eating a meat that's function during it's prime is to secrete bile. How could that possibly be delicious, granny?

Crushed Ice

Crushed ice, however, is delicious. It's one anorexic meal I can really delve into. Whenever I am at my Grandma McEldery's house, even if it is the dead of winter in Montana, I will take a Styrofoam cup, as those are the to-go cups I find she carries most frequently in her pantry, and topple it with crushed ice to eat on my way to wherever I am off to.

Dickies

I don't like turtle neck shirts to begin with, and I especially don't like them when they aren't even an entire shirt. I don't know why my grandmother likes them so much. When I am going to wear clothes, aside from under garments and those that are similar, I want them to be in their entirety- I want my money's worth, dammit!

Crew Neck Sweatshirts

Who doesn't like a nice crew neck sweatshirt? I know my grandmas and I do. It accentuates our neck-line the way hoodies just cannot.

Lawrence Welk

What the hell is this shit? Look, classic television is one thing, but Lawrence Welk... I just will not watch. I'll watch the Saturday Night Live parodies, but that's about as close as I will get to seeing eye to eye with my granny on this one.

Golden Girls

This is the type of classic television I was talking about. I can easily share a chuckle or two over the episode where the ladies go to buy condoms with either of my grandmothers. Yeah, something about those women make that topic of conversation less awkward, as with many other would be taboo subjects.

Beyonce

My grandma Flo loves Beyonce. She's told me that she thinks Beyonce is hot. I can't argue there, but I'm not really a huge fan. She, on the other hand, is.

Elvis

Now here is some older music that I can tolerate. I'm not saying I have Elvis on my iPod, I do not, and I would never bring him back from the dead, let alone believe he is or at one point post-mortem, was undead- but when Elvis comes on, sure, why not?

Perms

May my hair never be the length suitable for a perm. I do love, though, how happy my grandmother's get after they get perms. I also love the chemical smell. That's about the only common ground I could ever find with my grandma's on that hairstyle choice.

Hair Combs

I have been known, from time to time, to wear the occasional hair comb to hold back my flowing locks. Please know this of me, I don't like sparkly hair combs or hair combs with butterflies or other accouterments either.

Box Wine

Common! I have some class. Charles Shaw at the very least- the bottle is reusable. Grandma, on the other hand, does not give her wine drinking this same consideration.

Boxes of Petit Fours

Give me a box of mini-cakes any day. Better yet, give my grandma McEldery a box of petit fours for Christmas and I'll just take half home for myself, which is what happens every year.

Gaudy Jewelery

Grandma Flo loves herself some bling. She's more hip-hop then I am, upon adding this to her Beyonce fetish. If it sparkles, she's on it! Or rather, it's on her. Not on me, though, I'm a jewelery minimalist these days.

Gaudy Nick-knacks

Grandma Flo collects angels, grandma McEldery collects fairies and elves, I, collect little toys, zombie action figures, and glass cats. We all collect these items as gifts or from yard sales and thrift stores.

Resistance Is Futile

Sometimes I have unexplainable urges to do things that are, well, not quite right. According to a This American Life Episode, everyone has them, and sometimes we do things that we don't can't explain. Here are a few of my urges, most of which I have not done.

Water Dribbles

The Dirty: Every now and then, when I have water, well any beverage really, in my mouth, I don't swallow it. Instead, I get a big gulp full and dribble it back into my water glass. I find I do this primarily when the conversation has gone stale.
Resistance: None. I cave and dribble.

Mop Bucket

The Dirty: And it is pretty dirty. If I felt shame or embarrassment, I probably wouldn't post this here. Lucky for you, I don't. When I worked at Beecher's Handmade Cheese, part of our closing duties at night would be to mop the floors. The floors were these dirty, wooden plank-like floors. For no explanation one night, I had the urge to lick, yes lick the inside of the mop bucket. The dirty mop bucket.
Resistance: It was a mop bucket. That would be too sick, for even me. Maybe I had a parasite in my brain at that moment. Who knows. I snapped out of it pretty quickly though.

Hit and Run

The Dirty: I use to carry a baseball bat in the back of my trunk. Let's just leave it at that. An alternate version under this same headline would be my urge to just reverse, really hard, into any car that parallel parks too close behind me.
Resistance: I curb this urge by swearing. A lot.

Bathroom Stalls

The Dirty: I carry a Sharpie™ around with me in my purse. After that whole "boy friend with a secret girlfriend" ordeal, I would find myself pulling out my sharpie in public bathrooms from time to time feeling the need to write on the wall: "hey, (that girls full name here), you may not have believed me, even after I forwarded you those incriminating text messages, but I really did (choose what ever makes you the most comfortable and insert it here) with your boyfriend because he told me you were just some psycho girl and I believed him. Sorry you don't believe me."
Resistance: There is never enough blank space to write that little story down. And to clarify for the record, I haven't wanted to write this for many months now. The urge has completely subsided, but believe me, it was once very, very strong.

Second Hand Shopping

The Dirty: When a shopping cart is left unattended, and many times, when it is left supervised, but the temporary owner turns to reach, oh, say a box of cereal from a top shelf at the grocery store, I find myself perusing through their cart looking for things that I would like to just take out and put in my own cart. Similarly, sometimes I find myself trying to hold back from dropping useless items into strangers shopping carts. It was one of my games during a heavy period of insomnia: go to the store, pick out something embarrassing like laxatives, walk around and look for an unattended cart to drop it in.
Resistance: I think I only ever did this once- the drop not the shop out of urge. I think that pretty much cured that impulse, but from time to time, when a cart has a screaming child in it, or people buying only organic foods, I still consider it.

Nap Time

The Dirty: Confined spaces actually make me feel more comfortable. They make me feel safe and secure. One night, when I was feeling pretty sad and wanted to just nap it all away, I had the urge to clean out the bottom of my closet and sleep in it.
Resistance: There wasn't any. I cleared out everything in my closet and napped. In my comforter. It was lovely and I felt much better after. I'd never do it again though, because putting everything back was a hassle.