Why I Shouldn't Procreate, Reason #596

If I ever have kids, I refuse to let them speak like babbling idiots.  There will be no talk of poo-poo or wee-wees or nummies in my house.  Basically, any string of repeated syllables or words that make them sound like some Botox-crazed, sausage-lipped Real Housewife will earn a kid a swift kick in the pants from me - I don't care if we're in the supermarket and the child can't even walk yet.  Where's yer binkie now, you moronic infant, you disgrace of my loins?

Instead, my spawn will ask politely if they may use the washroom, and they will address me as either Your Tallness or Queen of the World.  Their dad can have them call him whatever he wants, but I would like to humbly suggest El Jefe as one possible option.

I will also hang this picture over the crib, like a badass guardian angel keepin' all the bad dreams away:

And if anybody asks, all judgy-like, why there's a character from Harry Potter on the nursery wall, I'll just say something like, "Well, who the hell dropped your baby off, bitch?  The fuckin' stork?  Grow up, dude."

Image by Bill Perkins, via Gallery Nucleus.


We Now Return

Well, that was fun, but Christmas has passed, and it's time to get back to the snark.


Visions of Sugar Plums

Don't these look delicious and not at all like withered, old man balls.

Every year on Christmas Eve, my grandmother comes over for a noisy, spirited, cheer-filled dinner.  Afterward, she insists that we attempt to sing "The Twelve Days of Christmas" and recite 'Twas the Night Before Christmas.  From memory.  I guess Grandma likes to feel like she isn't the only one wandering dizzily down Losing Memory Lane.

Side note: She also really likes "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer," which is possibly the worst, most teeth-grindingly obnoxious holiday song ever recorded.  Even worse than "Feliz Navidad."  I'm pretty sure those two songs were originally released on the devil's Christmas EP, Satan Sings! for the Season.

"You bet your ass you're gettin' coal.  Feliz navidad to you too, bitch."

Anyway, you'd think we'd be able to remember the words after struggling through that poem all these years, but we always get tripped up somewhere around the eagles on coursers dashing away.  After arguing for half an hour about the pronunciation of roof and whether the new-fallen snow really has a breast, someone inevitably ducks out to consult the internet and put us all out of our misery.  Two years ago we were in the midst of moving cross-country, and since our computers were all boxed up, we had friends and boyfriends texting us the lines we couldn't remember.

This year I'm prepared, though.  I spent forty-five minutes earlier today copying out the verses all down my forearm.  As long as nothing smudges my arm and nobody asks me to wash dishes, we'll be set.

But if that fails, I'm spiking the eggnog.  I'll make sure that Christmas Eve will be merry and bright.

May your Christmas be as charming and warm as this picture of domestic, holiday bliss:

Every ten years we sacrifice the youngest child to the Christmas spirits.
That's why Santa didn't bring you any presents, little Susie.

Image via In the Raw, The Sacramento BeeWikipedia.


Here we are. As in olden days.

Isn't it a little depressing to think that someday, these will be the "happy, golden days of yore"?  Especially since these photos are really not great.


A Victorian Christmas

Hem, hem.  Apparently you can spend Christmas with the Fezziwigs in Pennsylvania.

Welcome to our home!  

If I don't post tomorrow, you'll know what happened to me.  Send help.

Image via the link above.


The 5 Worst Christmas Movies

Disclaimer:  I don't really care if you agree with this list or not.  I only speak the truth.

#5:  Jingle All the Way

 I cannot tell you how many times I had to suffer through this movie during high school.  Actually, that's not true at all--it was four times.  But we usually ended up watching it in multiple classes, so who knows how many times I had to watch Arnold Schwarzenegger squabble over a toy. Each time we watched this movie, it added what felt like eighty more years to the week before Christmas break.

#4:  Home Alone 2

A lot of my least favorite movies are slapstick.  If Baby's Day Out were a Christmas movie, it would be number 1 on this list.  Not even cute, baby-face Macaulay Culkin can save this movie.

(Saving grace: When the little blonde girl says to Kevin, "You're what the French call, les incompetents."  I like a joke that takes me years to get.  It's got staying power.)

#3:  Barbie in The Nutcracker

Ahem. So. Bitch is a prima ballerina now?  What, being a doctor/vet/teacher/businesswoman/flight attendant/tour guide/nurse/astronaut wasn't enough for her?*

This movie would actually make a pretty fun drinking game.  Until that happens, though, it stays on the list.

#2:  It's a Wonderful Life

It isn't that this movie is the most depressing piece of film ever made.  It's the freakishly high voice that chirps out, "Every time a bell rings, an angel...." No, I - I can't finish.  It makes me want to die.

#1:  Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer

I hate this movie.  Not even alcohol could save it.

*Interesting tidbit: Barbie has done all these things, but she's never been a mother (if you disagree, you're thinking of Midge).  So I guess she's not such a bad role model, after all.  Notice I said  mother, not pregnant.  You know Ken's the kind of guy who'd raw dog it, and I suspect Barbie's probably a quick hand with a coat hanger.**
**I realize how wrong this is.  But I will never apologize!

Images via Amazon.



Stop everything.  Snapdragon is gonna change your whole Christmas season.  The Boy and I are playing this at our makeshift Christmas; updates when I get back, with eyebrows intact, I hope.

Image via Code Name Beryllium.


Special Delivery

My posts somehow didn't make it up while I was on my way to Pennsylvania.  So here is a post-post, delivered specially on an extra-long sled.

Image via Appletree Days.



St. Lucia's Day

For three hours last night,  I was mixing and sculpting saffron buns.  I killed the yeast, I burnt the bottoms, and the insides may be slightly gooey (because I do not understand our oven), but we will HAVE SAFFRON BUNS TODAY.  Sounds like I've become an Indian fitness guru over the weekend, but I really just want to branch out and provide the kindergarteners with a multi-cultural holiday experience, which they can totally appreciate at five years old (even though I asked on Friday and not one of them celebrates any holidays except Christmas.  BECAUSE THIS IS AMURRICA, DAMMIT).

Check out these buns.
(These are, clearly, not the ones I baked.)

So Monday we cut out snowflakes and learned penguin and polar bear facts, today we are finishing up Kirsten's Surprise and learning about St. Lucia's Day while gobbling the aforementioned saffron buns,* and then later in the week we're doing the typical Kwanzaa-Hanukkah-Christmas trifecta of CHEER.

Saffron was the fourth gift for Baby Jesus.  

True story.  Some hipster was like, "You probably haven't heard of it, but there are only three saffron threads on every purple crocus.  It took me like, five years to grow this much saffron."  But by the time he reached Bethlehem, it became clear that everyone already had heard of it.  We find him later off-screen, nursing a PBR behind the manger.

*And leaving crumbs EVERYWHERE.  Seriously, those kids could be drinking milk from a sippy cup and somehow I'd find crumbs left over.**
**Ah, another vaguely maternal anecdote.  It's like I'm compensating for something.

Images via My Little Norway, me.


Best Christmas Movies

This week, because I'm equal parts busy and lazy, I'll mostly be posting the best Christmas movies--all of which we'll be watching in class.  There will be no snarky commentary about them because there is nothing snarky to say.  These movies are what Christmas is really about, even though at several other points this month I may have claimed that Christmas is all about getting presents, making your neighbors jealous, and consuming as much of other people's expensive alcohol as you can.  But I lied.

Even though I picked a scene without him in it, Yukon Cornelius is obviously the best part of this movie.  Surrsly, what a hottie.


Sunday Snark: Cookie Extravaganza

In the spirit of giving, this edition of Sunday Snark features a quadruple batch of well-meaning mockery and derision.  Enjoy with a tall glass of milk.  And by milk I mean whiskey.

Tonight we gon' see if gingerbread men really bleed white.

What to do with a $100,000 degree in modern art.

Because Christmas is color-blind.  And also regular blind.


Images via Zelda Lily, yummy-awesome, Gluten-Free Girl, The Garden Window.


Under the Mistletoe

Cootie threat successfully averted.

As I snuggle up next to my suga', high above the chilly streets of San Francisco, I find myself falling victim to the saccharine sweetness of yuletide romance--and I'm not the only one.  Surely this must be the most romantic time of the year, when people are filled with goodwill, the thermometer tells us to cuddle closer to keep cozy, and sweethearts are attached at the hand and the lip.  Gazes gooey as warm caramel soften across a table in the glow of candlelight, and somehow even walking down the street holding hands becomes an impromptu date around Christmas.  Maybe it's the storefronts dressed up in their ribbons and glitter as if for a fancy night out.  Snow falling on two lovers as they kiss under a streetlamp or skate hand in hand creates a picturesque scene of seasonal sentimentality.

Pretty sickening all around.

Interesting then, isn't it, that we kiss each other under a poisonous, parasitic plant.

Image via flickriver.



I'm flying up to San Francisco for the weekend tonight, which affords me the perfect opportunity to talk about travel during the holiday season!  I am an expert, you see!  I know just what to pack and how to handle the crowds!  If you think you detect a faint, hysterical quiver in my voice, you couldn't be more wrong!

But really, traveling is easy peasy compared to all the social interaction expected around the holidays.

Images via The OatmealIndexed.


Feels Like Home.

This post will be lacking in my usual, curmudgeonly grumbling, I'm afraid.  That's because tomorrow I am flying to San Francisco to see a boy I haven't seen in over three months, and it feels like I am going home after a very, very long day.

Where do we live?

So excuse my sentimentality; I'm just a little giddy and preoccupied with the idea of being in the same state as my sweetheart for the first time in months.  It's got me thinking about things like:

-the wool peacoat I ordered to keep me warm down by the bay
-room service and restaurants
-walks down chilly city streets
-snuggling and humming early-morning Christmas songs with a stunning soprano vibrato until he wakes up and we can go exploring
-trolleys with wreaths on them?  I've never been to San Francisco around Christmas, but that seems like Something They Should Do.
-what Chinatown looks like this time of year.  Is it just the same?  Are they selling festive goods?  YOU WAN NUTCRACKA, FI DOLLAH?
-this movie.  Down below the next paragraph.  But don't look at it right now.  Er--well, you can look, but...I mean, still read the next paragraph.

Meet Me in St. Louis is not entirely a Christmas movie; it's a Halloween movie and a first love movie and a going-to-the-World's-Fair movie.  Which...may or may not be a real genre.  But mostly it's about home.

And it's the most perfect thing.

Image via Fruitheart.


This isn't really a Christmas post.

I bought it.  Not because I'm getting married anytime soon, but because I believe in helpin' a sista out, and because I am not taking any chances with this karma shit.  Also, presale is 40% off!

But still, the book is really only #96 on the Amazon Bestseller List as of 11:09 Pacific time? Disappointing.  Go away and don't come back until you've bought a copy.  I'm serious.  Even if you only tottered across my blog by accident while scouring the interwebs for "bad fingernail pics," which makes up approximately ninety percent of you.  This book is gonna be the shit, which you can trust because I am an English major who hasn't read the book; so naturally, my literary opinion is unquestionable.  Would you like an off-the-cuff analysis of themes and motifs?  Shall I hastily summarize the societal implications of the diction and pronoun usage?  Clearly, I know what I'm talking about when I say that this book will change your life.

So go buy it, already.

Image via Amazon.


Whomp, whomp.

It took me weeks to find this horse wrapping paper.  You're welcome.

This is about the extent of my gift-wrapping skills.  Sorry, Secret Santa.  And family.  And friends.  And boyfriend.  And boyfriend's family.  I know you were all expecting better from me.  Sorry to disappoint you.

Image via rusdaddy's flickr.


On the Decoration of Trees

Guten morgen!  Season's greetings!  This morning we have some helpful tips you can use to make sure you have the best and brightest Christmas tree in your neighborhood.  Unless you live in my neighborhood, in which case your tree will be second best and kind of dim, comparatively.

1. Choosing the Right Time:

Apparently this was the weekend to decorate Christmas trees, since the weekend after Thanksgiving was, clearly, the ideal time to buy the tree.  So if you don't already have it, you should probably just wait till next year.  Or, you can convert to Judaism.  Hanukkah starts December 20 this year, and menorahs don't wilt.  Even an idiot can handle that.

Speaking of wilting, make sure you stock up on liquid cheer for watering your tree.  This will keep it fresh and glowing throughout the holiday season.  If you choose to use plain old water like some sort of jackass, your tree will end up looking like a giant turkey carcass by December 24th.

The anti-cheer.
2.  Picking Your Tree:

We all know that the worst part of decorating a Christmas tree is finagling the lights: digging them out of storage, untangling them from the chaos that has somehow destroyed last year's nice coils, and winding the strands around the tree in a sort of prickly tango. This year, buy your Christmas tree with the lights already on it.  SCIENCE has engineered a new strain of firs that grow up out of the ground with lights bulbs already on the branches, splashing colored light on the snow.  Very cheerful, no?

Yes, very cheerful, indeed.

3.  Spend approximately two hours tying the tree to the roof of your car with heavy-duty ropes.  Twine is for amateurs.

**Note:  Somebody out there will assuredly forget to bring rope.  Maybe you thought you could just toss it in the trunk, leaning over the seats like a pair of skis or some lumber.  My response to that is not appropriate even for the internet, and especially not around Christmas time, so I will instead ask you to just leave now, and please never participate in Christmas again.  You've disappointed us all.  Just go.

4.  Spend approximately three hours untying the tree from the roof of your car, using gardening shears because you've tied the knots too tightly, and then haul it inside to set up in the stand you've placed in the living room, preferably near a window.  This will allow for natural light to illuminate your tree during the day, while giving passers-by the privilege of stealing a glimpse of the glowing vision of yuletide glory that is your tree.  Have a friend stand at one end of the room and tell you which way to tip it until your tree stands straight and proud.  If it takes longer for you to get it straight than it did for the tree to grow, your friend is messing with you.

5.  Now, all you have to do is flit around the tree like a Christmas fairy, tucking garland under branches, nestling colored glass balls among the needles.  Breathe in the pine scent; let it fill your whole being.  That is the smell of your neighbors seething, writhing, spitting with envy.  And that, after all, is what Christmas is all about.

6.  Tinsel deserves its own number.  To have a truly cheery tree, you must douse your tree in tinsel so that it looks like a glitter blizzard decimated your home.


7.  Congratulations!  Your tree is truly a delight to behold.  Now, just find the perfect topper, and you'll be done.


BONUS:  While wandering about the internet shouting for tree pictures, I found this little gem, which will serve as the main inspiration for next year's decorations.  Christmas 2012's theme is tentatively being called "OH CHRISTMAS TWEE."  We at the drudgery bin are very excited.

"We put birds on things!"

Images via Natotela Africa! Green GOP, Just Humor Me, TechnabobSeasons for All.


"And God Bless Us, Every One!"

I don't really need this crutch, but the ladies love a cripple!

I really hated whenever we had to watch A Christmas Carol in school or read the play aloud in class, because the story has been worked to death by the time kids hit junior high.  To be fair, though, I guess secular Christmas stories are pretty limited.  It's either A Christmas Carol or Whoville for public schools.  When I went to Catholic school, our Christmas pageants were grand spectacles dedicated to baby Jesus' emergence from the womb (I always want them to act out the birth scene in nativity plays.  You'd think that the Lord and Savior would just slip quietly out, but I think it would be educational for kids to see the Virgin Mary screaming and grunting in pain.  Various bodily fluids spurting about.  Could be a very effective form of birth control for Catholics).

Miss Anderson's first grade class proudly presents: NATIVITY! The Musical

What I could really get behind, though, is an adaptation in which everything is underplayed and half-assed and totally inappropriate.  It'll be like the Charlie Brown tree of Christmas plays.  Half the show will be dedicated to Fezziwig's party and all the raunchy games they play, the Ghost of Christmas Present will look like he got picked up in a soup kitchen, and Scrooge delivers a slowly deflating, blow-up turkey to the poor Crachits.  I picture Kip Dynamite as Tiny Tim, letting forth those famous last lines in an off-handed lisp:

So, like, God bless us, everyone.

Image via this blogBubblegum Diaries.


Things I Like


And alllll the preeesentssss.

Something about this time of year just makes my old Grinch heart swell to three times its normal size, and I become gleefully, giddily drunk off all the festive revelry and merriment.  And now that it's officially December 1, I don't have to feel weird about furtively turning down the all-Christmas-music radio station when I stop at traffic lights so that nobody in the other cars will know my shame.  So to celebrate the season, the drudgery bin will be dedicated to ALL THINGS CHRISTMAS for the next twenty-four days.  Then it's on to Boxing Day, and the holiday spirit really just peters out by New Year's.

Image via Shorpy.



Cyber Monday

What's the opposite of a shopaholic?

It took me five hours to decide to buy a pair of glittery heels and a grey peacoat tonight.  Wild times at the drudgery bin.

Image via Gatewood Hall.


7 Foxy Dudes Whose Names are Not Ryan.

Dear Ryan Gosling, 

Alright, we all get it.  You're handsome.  But you've had your day.  To save your ego from inflating out of control, I think it's time to objectify some other sweet man flesh.

Like Bret McKenzie.

Or Donald Glover.

Jorma Taccone and Andy Samberg 2GETHA 4 EVA.

And then there's John Krasinski.  Hiding hickeys, no doubt.

Even Dick Van Dyke got some moves.

And, of course, Redfoo, who knows how sexy he is.

I'm sure you're beginning to see a pattern about the type of guy I like, Ryan.  And you...well, you're good-looking and all, but I guess you just don't have enough verve and pizzazz to keep my attention for long.  To be honest, you're kind of one-dimensional, hiding your flat persona behind that charming smile and those intense eyes.


Okay, fine.  One picture.  But that's it.  And no pictures of you with a dog--that's cheating.

Also: beards make you look a little chubby.  No offense meant.

Now.  Go get on that multi-talented, funny-guy train.  Some people work for their adoration, slacker.

Fond regards,
Tracy Thunderbolt.

Images via Amoeba, Paper Blog, Homorazzi, Screencave, Grigware, Vegas, and Perez Hilton.