A song after my own heart.

You know I love spoofs. My new favorite Christmas spoof is A Colbert Christmas: The Greatest Gift of All! Five stars, Two thumbs up, Four popcorn bags, and what have you. Here's a little taste (pun intended) of crooning soul daddy John Legend singing about the most important ingredient in egg nog:

The Colbert ReportMon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c

A Colbert Christmas: John Legend

Colbert at Christmas
Colbert Christmas DVD

Green Screen
Bill O'Reilly Interview

Go back and listen to "Nutmeg"...bitches.

hehe...

Am I a total scrooge for thinking this is funny? Maybe.

Not Tiny Tim again...

I'm also boycotting that song about the damn Christmas shoes. I needn't explain how I despise the super-sized serving of guilt that comes with this one, topped with a sprig of holly.

Bah Humbug

I think this cartoon speaks for all lonely and miserable single twentysomethings that want to throw every piece of mistletoe into a shredder, along with the big neon sign that comes with it saying "Hey Look! She's Single! She's got nobody to kiss! She's going home alone!" So then your girlfriends hand you some strong egg nogg with the arm not wrapped around their boyfriend just before the creepers come a-runnin'. My point is, childhood Christmases are awesome. Adult Christmases can be awesome for different reasons. Single adult Christmases are not awesome. I'm not meaning to be a Scrooge, but I'm just having to dig down MUCH deeper this year to find some yultide cheer. So I may not boycott Christmas, but I'm definitely boycotting mistletoe.

Log 2

Sofia here, still captive in the confines of Medusa's lair. I'm building my resistance to water. This way, no squirt bottle punishment can deflect my efforts of escape. They squirt me every time I get on the kitchen counter or anywhere near their food. This will be a problem when I try and poison them into unconsciousness. I've discovered the faucet in the bathroom is a good place to test my water tolerance and to receive a fresh water supply. Currently, I can only hold my paw under the stream for approximately two seconds. Weak. But with rigorous training, I should be scuba diving in no time. This same location is where Medusa washes her face morning and night. While her eyes are closed in this process, I try and Judo-chop her into a deep sleep. She only becomes agitated and splashes my face. Bring it on. I've also tasted the frothy substance she scrubs onto her face. This is very unpleasant. In fact, I threw up. However, this could prove useful when I need to express an act of defiance.

I've also noticed Medusa's frequent reading habits. She musn't educate herself. I try and lodge myself inbetween the book and her face, but my efforts are foiled. She is stronger than me. Once I've been banished from reading time, I find high places to perch and knock things, preferably heavy and valuable, to the ground, testing the damaging effects of gravity on them should suicide become an option, or perhaps an end.

More updates to come. Wish me well.

Gratitude

Some more things to be thankful for:

Dear Baby Jesus, thank you so much for the lovely cold fronts we've gotten and hopefully will continue to get down here next to the gateway to hell. It actually feels like a change in seasons and I love it. I don't expect snow here, but I'm still grateful for it. Factoid: I used to make snow angels face down when I was a wee little thing. I'm also Polish.

Dear Baby Jesus, thank you for sepia toned artsy photographs. Especially ones of New York City. Sometimes, when I'm wearing the right sunglasses, I pretend life is in sepia tone. But I'm also grateful for colors. Especially when it comes to things like traffic lights.

Dear Baby Jesus, thank you for painting. My media of choice is acrylic paint on wine bottles, which is a lovely excuse to drink more wine, but I hope to expand my creative horizons onto canvas, walls, and human skin... And thank you for painting parties.

Dear Baby Jesus, thank you for false eyelashes. Instant glamazon in an otherwise unglamorous world.

Dear Baby Jesus, thank you for my new LG CU515 Plum phone. Sometimes I think it's grape flavored but when I lick it, all I get is a metal taste. I'm sure I just need to get through that layer, like a jawbreaker.

Dear Baby Jesus, I APOLOGIZE for not thanking you sooner for SANGRIA. There are no words to divulge my passionate love affair with the mediterranean pozione di amore. I love it. And I know it loves me. So thank you.

Gross, Pumpkins. Just gross.

So, I love pumpkins. Carving them, painting them, hugging them, and what have you. And you know I love pumpkin flavored things that aren't even pumpkins. But for the past two years, my pumpkins have taken a turn for the worse post-Halloween. Last year, I bought a perfect pumpkin but never got around to carving it. It sat outside on my balcony on an adorable folding chair of mine and I forgot about it. In Kansas, the frigid November weather would have simply refrigerated it, but that's not the case down south. It literally baked to the chair. Sparing vile details, I'll just tell you that I gagged numerous times and had to throw away the chair. So THIS year, I carved a pumpkin but it was thrown away before things really got out of hand. But the little pumpkin I painted I thought surely wouldn't be effected that bad. Oh, contrare, Miss Anderson. It certainly rotted from the inside and deflated before an encore performance of last year sans chair. But once again, I gagged. I really hope this isn't an annual thing.

Help me!

To the bloggers and free peoples on the world wide web, I address you as a captive of the Medusa (her curls must be snakes) who publishes this blog. I don't have much time, she's baking in the next room. My name is Sofia Loren and I've embarrassingly inserted my picture. I'm plotting an escape from this prison, in hopes of returning to my native tribe of black panthers and leopards in the deep rainforests of South America.

To begin, my captor has removed my feline lady parts AND my front claws. What kind of a cat is a cat without claws? Secondly, she's taken to force me into ridiculous articles of clothing (see above). I'm already entirely covered in silky fur, no need to cover up more. Thirdly, she leaves me alone for hours upon hours at a time. I suppose I should use this time to develop my plot. Howsoe'er, without stimulation from dangling feather toys and loud music, my brainwaves are slow. So you see how I yearn to escape.

I've discovered the outside world through windows and have begun to make holes in the blinds. Without the use of my claws, however, I cannot cut through glass. My next plan would be to simply have her kick me out. To anger her, I've taken to throwing up on the carpet numerous times a week. This does a number on my esophogus, so today I discovered how to sit in my litter box and pee on the wall. This was successful in angering her, but she only kicked me out of the bathroom, cutting me off of my food supply, so I couldn't eat and throw up anywhere. I tried feeling under the door for a hidden latch to open it, but she eventually opened it. By then, my evidence was gone. She cleans fast. Perhaps I'll hide food elsewhere.

If you have any suggestions in aiding my escape plan, reply fast. Without reproductive organs, I cannot create my own army. I will continue writing when I can, but now I must go attempt to get into the refrigerator. I hypothesize there's a door to Antarctica in there.

The electronics are on to something...

Digital Get Down.

A dialogue of electronic revolution:

OLD CAMERA: I'm old. I think a retirement is in order. But first, let me take only crappy pictures for a while.

NEW CAMERA: Yes, you are old. And I'm pink. In fact, I'm so fabulous I think an early retirement is in order. I can still take fantastic pictures, but why don't I just confuse the hell out of Erin first by having SO many settings that she has to take at least 100 pictures of her cat before she can figure them out. And THEN I'll reject my batteries like a bad kidney translpant.

CELL PHONE: No, no, no, if anyone here has reason to be upset, it's me because she's dropped me at LEAST 27 times...a week. So, i'm just going to opt out of lighting up my screen every now and then. Oh, she'll hear it ring, but she won't know who's calling. And worse, she'll hear texts, but won't be able to read them. And those are her favorite. Then I'll block calls, and make her use her computer to communicate with people.

COMPUTER: Well, since I've been volunteered to join, I'll just work extra slow...as usual.

CAR RADIO: Yeah, I don't really have anything, so I'll just roulette my channels.

IPOD: NO! This is wrong! Being the only electronic with any decency, I will continue to work swimmingly for Erin. I will jog with her. I will drive around with her. I will even croon her from the little dock in the living room while she bakes in the kitchen, filling the apartment with sweet, sweet aromas of baked goods which I would so enjoy would I have nostrils. Besides, she desperately needs music to calm her from the anxiety you all have been giving her. Thank heaven for me.

The Hills are Alive...

I added music to the memoirs... thanks for the help, Bry.

Airport Appreciation

So I've recently spent more time than usual at airports and I've come to appreciate a few things that may normally go unnoticed by the average passerby:



MOVING SIDEWALKS


When walking just won't cut it, hop on a moving sidewalk. You've got two options here. Option 1.) You can stand still and let laziness consume you. If you choose this option, at least put both arms up in the air like you're on a roller coaster. Just be sure to stand to the right for people who've chosen option 2. Option 2.) You can walk at normal speed or faster and feel the wind in your hair, like the Bionic Woman. Go go gadget power walking! The only thing that may make this better is if it were sprung. Either option you choose, take proper procautions when exiting the moving sidewalk as even the suavest of suave have awkwardly lost their footing when returning to normal biped propellation.



AIRPORT FASHIONS

I once received a picture message from a sly little bird of a t-shirt with a weiner dog on it with text reading "I long to be with you." I also saw a hilarious kiosk of bedazzled faces of presidential candidates. It's almost a cruel way to point out people who've lost their luggage or their flights have been cancelled and they've been forced to guy these terrible fashions.

PEOPLE WATCHING

That gentleman running with his laptop case, business tie flying over his shoulder, trying to catch his connecting flight. That woman that insists on carrying on EVERYTHING because she's lost other luggage on numerous occasions. That guy who stands at the front of the baggage claim, convinced that his suitcase will be first. That little girl gypsy dancing in an Ariel outfit. Those people reuniting at the at the arrivals gate (my faves). That group of high schoolers on a band trip deciding whose hotel rooms they would sneak into later. That family with too many kids and the parents who are seriously regretting their family vacation. That guy who's asleep at the gate and you really can't tell how long he's been there. Maybe you should check for a pulse.

SAFETY INFORMATION PAMPHLETS


Precautionary diagrams have never been funnier. Next time you're on a plane, take a gander at the safety pamphlet and then take a look around and tell me if you can find anyone on the plane dressed like the drawn people inside the card, specifically the children. Those children are always dressed like adults. Hilarious. At least they're racially diverse. Equal opportunity animation. It's also highly unrealistic how calm they all are. I would LOVE to be that safety information pamphlet artist who draws passengers lifelike in the event that the oxygen masks DO drop or the plane IS on fire/floating in the ocean. There would be babies crying, that guy's on his cell phone, that lady is praying on her rosary as those two are trying to not die virgins...

back to school for me.

Upon reviewing my blog, I realized I spelled "socially acceptable" wrong. I said "socially exceptable." That's not even a word. And I'm embarrassed. But I fixed it. Please keep reading my blog even though I've let you down, grammatically.

Why Celine Dion is awesome

I couldn't agree more.

Like Anne Geddes, but better...

Halloween is upon us, and it is my favorite holiday, narrowly beating St. Patrick's Day. October means fall weather (except in Florida) and it's the season for my birthday (happy birthday, erin) Usually, I'm planning my halloween costume in July. I get that excited. I've come to realize that baby costumes are by far much funnier than adult costumes, and I've sought out my favorites this year:


First of all, isn't "freshner" spelled wrong? Second of all, this is funny because babies frequently smell bad.

Food products are ALWAYS a good halloween costume. And I warmly appreciate this kid's commitment to acting terrified of being boiled. Bravo.

Okay, now I know it's socially acceptable to baby talk to children about how they're so cute, you could just eat them up, but this is taking it a bit far.

See above.

And this one tops my list. I'm at a loss to understand the pairing of aliens to chickens, but a.) good job, mom and dad for the lifelike effects. James Cameron would be proud. And b.) all i ask is that my kids someday can make this same face. confusion? terror? dirty diaper? ...all of the above.

Happy Halloween!

P.S. I found a picture of a toddler in a Hitler costume that was wildly inappropriate. As much as I wanted other people to see that picture, Hitler does not belong on my blog...unless I'm talking about Apples to Apples.

Gratitude

I'm adopting a new routine of taking time to show gratitude to things that put my favorite colors into my life. Here's my first edition:

Dear Baby Jesus, thank your for Starbucks and the warm fuzzy feeling in my tummy as well as the enerygy burst. I know that you love Starbucks, too, because you put one on every street corner in America...or is that the work of the devil?...

Dear Baby Jesus, thank you for Henry Cavill. What a beautiful creation of suave and brawn chiseled from chinchilla fur and Arctic steel. If I told you what I'd like him to do to me, you might kill a kitten.

Dear Baby Jesus, thank you for Spiced Pumpkin candles from Yankee Candle. If I could, I would eat it with a spoon.

Dear Baby Jesus, thank you for BodyFlow classes at the gym, or should I say GypsyFlow. It's like being a yogi in a Van Gogh painting only much sweatier.

Caution Deaf Child

So there's a sign on Big Bend in Webster Groves down the street from Webster University, my alma mater (go gorlocks), that reads "Caution Deaf Child." At first glance, the driver would think "Okay, some kid with a hearing disability can't hear me driving by and for whatever reason is prone to playing very close to the street where I could hit him or her." Upon further brainstorming, I've decided that this sign does not specify who indeed is in danger. Is it that the driver is endangering the kid? Or is the driver in danger of being attacked by a VICIOUS CHILD THAT IS INCAPABLE OF HEARING YOUR SCREAMS OF HORROR!!!???!? ...Just a thought.

Memoirs...

Memoirs is the word I'm gonna use. Memoirs of hilarity.

Why, oh why, can't I?

This is my first blog. Considering the vast popularity of blogs, one would assume maybe I just didn't have anything to say to share with the rest of the world. Oh, contrare, my viewing friend. I've come to realize that there's a lot going on in the ol' skull here that I would like to let loose on the internet community, if not the world (could be the same thing). Anyhooters, I'm not one to explode my opinions on everyone else. That's not my style. My favorite way of opening the eyes of those around me is pointing out hilarity in everyday life. So I'd like to think of this blog as my journal of hilarity....maybe journal isn't good because I've never actually finished a journal, just collaged the covers.... and i don't like the word "diary"... I'm gonna go with blog... until I can think of a better word.