On the third day of Hannuka, I did not buy for you:

It's the third night of Chanuka and I didn't buy you this*:

Why didn't I? There are lots of reasons, but let's start with:

1. How lazy are we if we need an easier way to CRACK EGGS? Who was sitting around thinking, You know what is hard? Cracking eggs, man, that is HARD work! We need a tool for that! We need technology!**

2. I like a fun new kitchen gadget as much as the next gal (or guy) but honestly, this has to be one of the most over-packaged over-specialized utensils ever created-- right?

3. So it also separates egg whites-- so what? You can do that easily enough with stuff you already have.

Happy Holidays!


*I think this might be Canadian. Regardez les deux langues. Or maybe United States entrepreneurs are trying to market this to Canada-- eh?

**At least it doesn't use batteries-- at least, I don't think it uses batteries...

On the second night of Hannukah, I did not buy for you*...;

On the second night of Hannuka, I did not buy you this**:

This is a can shaped like a roll of toilet paper. What you can't see in this photo is that there is, in fact, a hole on the top of the can, apparently going the length of the can, giving that characteristic ready-to-roll shape.

Since it says "I need T.P." in emphatic type on the outside of the tin (apparently emphatically stated by our pals Beavis and Butt-head), and since it is shaped like a roll of toilet paper, one might surmise that the tin contains toilet paper.

Butt no!

This is a toilet-paper-roll-shaped tin can containing boxer shorts.

I find myself asking:

1. Is this an invitation for skid-marks?

2. Is this an admission that skid-marks are a foregone conclusion?

3. Am I revealing a deep and devestating lack in my poop-cultural literacy?

4. Am I over-anal-izing these issues of tissues?

Whatever the answers to these burning questions, when it came to the Big Moment, I found that I could not bear to buy undies disguised as toilet paper. Or, undies hiding in the can-- disguised as a toilet-paper container.

I couldn't.

So I didn't.

*to clarify: on the second night of Hannukah, I did not buy you this-- nor do I plan on buying this on any subsequent night.

** I wanted to point out that I posted this on night "Number Two". And this is post script "Number Two" heh heh heh.



On the first night of Hannukkah, I did not buy for you...

Herewith begins a series of at least 8 posts dedicated in part to my Dear Daughter's Significant Other, DDSO, because several of these made me think of him first.

And, because dedicating a blog is an unusual and inexpensive gift.

So, tonight:

On the first night of Hannukkah, (or Hannukah, or Channukah, or Hanuka, or Hanukkah, or

most properly):

I did not buy for you:

This is (in case you can't read it) Jim Beam (R) Bacon Mustard. A mustard gift.

So, DDSO, I didn't buy this for you because:

1. It's a bacon-mustard. Totally inappropriate for Hannukkah, (or Hannukah, or Channukah... see above).

2. Ceramic jar could easily break. In fact, the ceramic SPOON (really?) was broken in one of the packages I examined. (Not the one I photographed. Nothing but the best for your photo opp, friend!)

3. Jim Beam poured into mustard. ON PURPOSE. Really?

4. It's $12.99. Since it's a bottle of mustard, and not of Jim Beam, I thought that was out of line. Just sayin'.

Happy Holiday, however you spell it! See you tomorrow night!

Unaware

I am working on writing song lyrics as part of a gift to one of my children and this came to me. I don't know if it will make a song, but I had to write it.

 

Beauty Unaware

She was fifteen and walked with Beauty

Unaware

She was fifteen and she was the daughter of my friend

And my friend said

Daughter! Don’t wear that shirt

That hugs those curves so new and sweet

Don’t wear that skirt that teases the tops of your thighs

With promises and lies

That you don’t understand!

Don’t wear that

And her daughter said MOM!

And walked away with Beauty

Unaware.

And my friend was tense and tight

With unsounded screams and fright far beyond the bounds of a snug shirt and short skirt.

And my friend said

I was fifteen and walked with Beauty

Unaware

When

My brother raped me and tore that Beauty apart into

Awareness and horror and made me this other thing

And my friend

Who had a daughter now fifteen

Walking with Beauty

Unaware

My friend closed her mouth

And closed her eyes

And prayed that the unsounded scream and the fear that oozed from her pores

Would be too diffused to infect

Would be strong enough to protect

Her daughter who was fifteen

She was fifteen and walked with Beauty

Unaware.

I know what I need to do, why don't I do it?

I know what I need to do.

I need to pick one small corner of the house and clean it till it's done and then move to the next.

I need to get up early and stretch and exercise.

I need to eat more vegetables and fruits and eat less fat and carbohydrates.

I need to write every day, no excuses.

I need to reach out instead of withdraw.

I need to drag out the old that is weighing me down and holding me back- ancient obligations, clothes that don't suit, duplicate books and books I won't read- and hand these on to someone who can use them, or has the strength of will to really throw them out.

So- why don't I?

more whine and fear

I am feeling estranged from my own family.

Dear Diary: from your less-than-faithful correspondentt

I have been reflecting a lot lately. I've been thinking while I've been doing.

I've been cooking a lot.

I've been driving a lot.

I'm thinking a lot about family. I miss my kids something fierce.

My brother-in-law, a few weeks shy of 50 years old, has been diagnosed with multiple myeloma.

I've been driving my mom, myself, my nephews to and from the hospital and to and from school/work/business appointments.

I've been cooking meals for my sister's family.

I've been doing a lot of taking-care-of-business writing- not for myself, mostly, but for my sister.

I've been thinking a lot about priorities, and how much clearer things are in crisis.

Shitty way to find clarity.