Muse Swings: Bloggyland Christmas Tour - What A Day!

Muse Swings: Bloggyland Christmas Tour - What A Day!

Blicky: Stuck in Virtual Traffic?

We’ve had spotty internet access this week because of ice storms. I was so sad to miss out on the bloggy fun! I had the gifts all wrapped and the wine all mulled! Here it is late anyway! 

Welcome bloggy friends! Brrrr come on in it’s cold here in Massachusetts! Feel free to take off your shoes and stay awhile. Oh no, a certain little someone has drawn with magic marker on our living room carpet. Almost forgot this is bloggy land though. Just let me open Photoshop and get rid of that. Oh now the kids are making a racket, what did you say? Hold on, I’ll just open Photoshop again. I’ll just paste in a nice picture of them playing angelically. Please help yourselves to some mulled wine and grab a seat near the fire. It’s actually punch. A friend from Austria taught me to make it the traditional way at a party last night. You make caramel in the pot with a hunk of butter and about two cups of sugar. Then you add some hot water. Watch out! It gets hot and bubbles up. While the water heats up you have to stir up all the hardened caramel on the bottom. Then you add two cups of wine and two cups of orange juice and heat it all up with some black tea and mulling spices. When it’s had a chance to steep a bit you add some rum according to your taste…and tolerance. Of course it’s best if you get the Austrian kind which lends a subtle cherry flavor.

We found a beautiful Christmas tree this year. It’s prettier when you can see it against the pine trees in the woods out back, but my Photoshop skills are limited. I love looking at the ornaments because they come from all over the world. One comes from the Marshal Islands where my sister went as a Peace Corps volunteer. Some of them came from the Kindermarkt in Munich, some my parents bought in Europe when I was little, one comes from Thailand where my Mom traveled with my sister and many of them are of the more prosaic homemade variety.

Look for your name on the gift cards. Email me at BlickyKitty@comcast.net if you can't find your name because there's one for everyone. I’ve been really generous here on the blogosphere since I can make all things appear magically through Photoshop legerdemain. The first one is for our intrepid and gracious hostess, Cynthia at Muse Swings. It’s the-most-beautiful-Christmas-ornament-in-the-whole-world. I know...they were almost out. I got the last one. Kat gets this illustrated first edition of the Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Deb gets a gift card good for an unlimited shopping spree on the Champs Élysées (and a special place in my advent prayers). Lavinia is getting a bejeweled keychain from Cartier to keep track of the keys to her many castles, chalets, flats and mansions in sundry places across the globe. Mary gets the original Cold Meiser puppet from the old puppet Christmas special. Margaret at Nanny Goats in Panties will receive the actual Greek muse, Thalia (muse of comedy and bucolic poetry) for her new writing endeavors. She was impossible to wrap so I just altered the scale in Photoshop and put her in a box. Willow at Life at Willow Manor gets season box tickets to the opera in Rome. Over at Cassoulet Cafe I was going to give a universal translator for shady Mexican restaurants (by Ronco), but I think prayers are in order for her family friend. All those super saucy SITS girls each get a leopard skin upholstered settee and a box of Godiva bon-bons. For my new friends at Humor Bloggers I’m getting rubber chickens (all in elegantly wrapped packaging) and wiggley Fozzie Bear ears. Anna at Life just Keeps getting Weirder gets the Rolling Stones (I got them all to get into the box but Keith Richards is wandering around in the basement) because she totally rocks. The always awesome Mel at Bean Sprouts gets a solar-powered clothes dryer. Hot Belly Mama gets a little kumquat...but not from me. Stevie Wren gets the Flight of the Conchords to perform at her next function. I bought Mama over at whatmamasaysgoes a wet nurse good for one full night's sleep, but she was a challenge to wrap because her lactating breasts crinkled up my paper.

Help yourself to some cookies! I’ve been trying out different recipes for my eldest kitten’s class party. Apparently there is now another mom in Mrs. F’s second grade class who bakes. One day my kitten arrived home looking a little bashful and said, “Mumma, Catherine’s mom made these cookies for the Thanksgiving party and everyone said they were sooo good. It made me feel bad because your cookies are special and I wanted them to be everyone’s favorite. Hers were really fancy looking but yours taste better.”

These moments provide us with those rare teaching opportunities. I will treasure forever the special conversation that ensued. I looked into her earnest little eyes and searched for words that would convey the true meaning of Christmas and teach her about how to negotiate her way in the world. Pulling her close to me I said:

“She’s goin DOWN!”

 

“Gee! I feel a chill. What’s the thermometer doing? .....Goin’ DOWN!”

 

“She should take the elevator and press “G” cause she’s .....goin’ DOOOWN!”

 

Want a joke? “What does Catherine’s mom have in common with the Nasdaq the Dow, and the Nikkei averages? There all .....goin' DOWN!”

 

“Knock knock. Who’s there? .....You’re goin’ DOOOWWN!”

The Crush

The phenomenon of the Crush has long been a topic of fascination to me because I realized long ago that I didn't get crushes like normal people. I just don't see the fun in hopping on the bandwagon with the celebrity crush. I tried that long ago but neither Donny Osmond nor Eric Estrada ever answered my letters. Since then I've never understood why my only crushes either last 5 minutes or focus on unconventional recipients.

Here are some of my crushes over the years:

I really don't have any explanation for myself here.

Roberto Benigni is just plain hysterical, especially if you've spent any time in Tuscany and funny men are just awesome, which is why I married one. I almost had a chance to meet him once in Italy and the crush vanished. I think I just had a platonic crush because of how he made me see things to love in people and how sweet he is about his principessa.

I know normal women are supposed to get crushes but even the fantasy of it doesn't work for me. Say you actually get to meet your Brad Pitt/George Clooney person. What then? Who's going to watch the kids? Also there's the minor fact that they hang out with chicks that I'm pretty sure are actually a different species from me. They are always magically coiffed and perfectly put together and they never get stinky even though they have to work out non-stop to look that way. When they get pregnant they apparently don't swell up like a big tick and have the guy at the drive-through mistake them for a man (That didn't happen to me. Who said that happened to me?). If Angelina Jolie were an animal and I was an animal, she'd be like a cougar or a doe and I'd be like a marmot or something. Still totally cute, but just a different species. I think also if someone came from a different planet and was all "Hey, just came to check out your planet. What's up?" I'd be all "Whoa, that's so amazing." Then once I got over that initial shock of new planet, greenish tint to the skin, intergalactic travel and all of that, let's say Angelina Jolie shows up. Who would it be weirder for me to stand next to? Honestly. I really couldn't say...

My husband and I each get a crush and his has always been consistent. Yep here she is: 

Wanna hear what an awesome wife I am? I found out that Cindy was actually going to be in town promoting her fine new line of home furnishings. My husband chuckled about it over breakfast and said "too bad I have to work." So at the appointed hour I piled the girls into the car. We're not a fast food family, but I had to stop and get sushi for me and happy meals for the kids to get there on time. I vaguely remember French fries falling out of our blicky old car as we went to meet "Daddy's girlfriend." I had my then 1-year-old in a vice grip as we entered the store. I lunged for a glass of free wine, picked a French fry out of the fold of my fleece jacket and tucked it into a potted plant. Then I waited in line for about an hour and a half with a squirming toddler, a loudly complaining six-year-old and most of the male residents of Seekonk, Massachusetts to obtain Cindy's autograph on one of my daughter's drawings for Daddy. 

We often think, "Oh it's just airbrushing, lighting etc. They're really just like the rest of us." Well, in Cindy's case that is patently false. It's like she's from another universe where everything's pretty and smells nice. Maybe if you have a ton of money you just start looking like that. Maybe she wakes up in the morning and puts a little Money Juice behind each ear and becomes instantly breathtaking. She smiled and said my girls were so cute and all I could think was, "She thinks they're cute! She wants to be my BFF!"  Then "Am I stinky? I bet she can smell French fries and she'll think we eat gross food. I need to go home and groom for like three hours. I'm going blow dry my hair every day and start wearing makeup." I also found myself wondering if she had ever found herself still in pajamas when the school bus came. Our bus driver always asks if I'm wearing my "good pajamas" today --as if I'd actually waste the good pajamas on the bus driver. Anyhow, I just giggled something stupid to poor Cindy and left, but it occurs to me now. I'm a girl (when I'm not pregnant) and here she has this effect on me. How does she make men react?

Speaking of men I think I've finally found a celebrity crush that I can stick to: Jermaine from the Flight of the Conchords. He's like Donny Osmond and Eric Estrada all rolled into one. Hey baby (not the actual baby, I'm saying baby to Jermaine in a sexist way), you like 40 yr. old mummas? Yeah, I bet you do, and I might even break out my good pajamas if you want to make me laugh while I wait for the school bus.

In which a Torpid, Cartoon Sodden GenXer Encounters Her Spirit Animal

Many cultures believe that we share a cosmic affinity with a totem or spirit animal. In some communities, the coming of age ritual involved a journey into the wilderness to await some vision of their spirit animal. I always imagined mine would be something noble or beautiful, like a lion or a deer.

My majestic spirit animal finally did come to me in one of my direst moments on the ledge of a cliff. You might be asking yourself how it was that I found myself on a cliff in the first place. Well, over the course of my impetuous youth, one of my activities of choice was rock climbing. In all honesty, it started out as a way to impress my esteemed and nearly un-impressible older sibling who was an avid climber. But I grew to enjoy the feel of the rock and how my fingers thought their way over its surface, the fatigue and exhilaration I felt at achieving something I thought I couldn't and, of course...the view from the top.

One year my brother and I travelled to Tahoe to visit my friends and do some rock climbing. This is an image of the cliff. It's called Lover's leap. I have no memory of which route it was (Pop Bottle?) on the cliff. Below is a picture of Blicky climbing there. See those tiny things that appear if you really, really squint. Yes, waaayyy down there at the bottom? Those are trees. Tall ones. At this altitude the wind blows pretty hard and it's hard to hear your older brother/climbing sensei guiding you up the face of the cliff. 

We were on our last pitch and my brother was at the summit belaying me. There was a slight overhang on the first part of the climb that was beyond my pathetic skill level and I just couldn't start up. My legs were shaking from a combination of fatigue and fear that I think some refer to as "the sewing machine effect." Did I mention how far down the treetops were?See?? I think falls from this height have been scientifically shown to make the Coyote and Roadrunner whistling plummet noise, followed by a thump and a cloud of dust at the bottom. I kept shouting up to my brother that I couldn't do the move but most of his responses were inaudible. I'm not quite sure what my options would have been if I hadn't made it. Maybe I would've just stayed there and subsisted on rattlesnake and cliff bars stolen from hapless climbers. I think my brother would've figured something out, but then I would've had to endure the shame of having been hefted up that last pitch and the resulting ignominy. 

At some point we resolved that I would just have to try my hardest while he tried to pull me over that first ledge. I was completely paralyzed by fear. But all of a sudden my fear washed away and my spirit animal appeared to me -- that noble creature that best represents my inherent dignity and stately sense of gravitas.

Yep and here he is (he stopped in to help us string some lights this afternoon). That day on the ledge, all I could picture was the MetLife commercial where Snoopy struggles up a cliff, making these cute little grunts of exertion. Ultimately, there was nothing impressive about the move; my sorry, sorry arse had to be mostly hauled through it, and it's not like it was a super difficult climb (5.6, 5.7). But after I thought of Snoopy my fear literally vanished. These days I no longer climb and I do not permit kittens of mine to scale anything bigger than a breadbox. Maybe this will prevent them from ever encountering their own animal totems. But you know what? The cartoons they watch would just make matters worse. SpongeBob (OK they're not really allowed to watch at home) would just cry until his eyeballs bulged out and My Little Ponies (again, not really allowed) would just sing a song and encourage them to apply sparkly fruit flavored lip gloss.

Le Cirque d'Honte

We thought we knew this family. We read their charming little quips for a whole generation when the cereal box got too boring. But the truth finally comes out. Through years of indefatigable determination Blicky has found the evidence he needs to expose this family for who they really are:

Mommy says if I keep skipping meals I can look just like Barbie and then I can go to the Pretty Princess Pageant in Florida. She said food should taste like shame.
Daddy what does d-i-v-o-r-c-e mean? Does it mean we're getting ice cream?
Mommy's sayin' that Daddy should fork over the cash for Billy's spechul school since he dropped him on his head way more than she did. She says we're all a little slow on the uptake which I think means we like ice cream. 
Mommy is this where they sell the pills that make you so sleepy you forget to make us dinner?

Feel free to add your own.

I know this is a  lot to take in so I'll leave you with something to make you smile:

Have Award Meow

Cue the orchestra. Blicky Kitty is honored to confer the coveted prize — Blicky Kitty's Blogs Worth Stalking. He will of course be stalking each blog personally. Please know that the nominees are so many that we must hold various ceremonies to include all candidates, so be on the lookout for more awards. The first goes to my awesome bloggie friend Cynthia at Muse Swings. She holds forth on everything from Victorian social codes to wonderful creative cyber happenings and parties that bring so many fun bloggers together. Blicky adds "social security number 352-86-0286, many Bit 'O Honey wrappers found in refuse, monitor for subversive content, must subdue canines."

The next award goes to Anna at Life Just Keeps Getting Weirder for making female facial hair cool again and for being a reliable source of audible mirth. I'm just one of a lively throng of acolytes over there. Blicky adds, "SS# 637-87-0246, found one discarded dental hygiene calendar in garbage, subject is a master of disguise, must stalk with caution."

If like me you've been searching for a blog that would provide updates on Middle Eastern beauty pageants for goats, and the best letter ever written to soon to be ex-boss look no further than Granny Goats in Panties. She actually needs a separate link for her trophy case, so Blicky coated this jpg with an extra layer of dust-resistant Scotch Guard. Blicky notes, "SS# not on file, flagged by the FBI. Found in garbage: empty take-out containers, board game rule books and scrap pieces of shelf-liner."

Seattle For the Culturally Sensitive Traveler

Well, I hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving. We just disembarked in Boston this evening. Here's a picture of the event because it's about time I realized that you, gentle readers, need to see my actual visage (I know, my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard).

Before I share my groundbreaking cultural observations about Seattle, I wanted to briefly impart some techniques for surviving the 6 hour flight with a 3 and 7 yr. old without the benefit of the cartoon network that features 24 hour feed of sea creatures with athletic, prominently-veined eyeballs and commercials peddling products designed to turn little girls into Slutz and little boys into thugs. Unfortunately, this technique requires a black felt pen and opposable thumbs, but luckily I got a little help from Blicky. Oh, and also my Awesome-Rock-Star-of-a-Sister manages to get cooler and more awesome every time I see her, which is perplexing because she pretty much ruled the world when I used to sneak in her room and steal her Bonnie Bell soda-flavored lip gloss.

I really feel like my knowledge and experience of Seattle is so vast now that I know it better than most residents. In fact, if you live in Seattle and have any questions feel free to email. The first surprising fact is that they don't all sit around and talk about the rain all day, and if you repeatedly refer to their meteorological challenges (So, how about this rain? Hey, don't overdose on vitamin D out there! What did the swarthy REI-clad raindrop say to the cute, socially conscious female raindrop? I'm falling for you! Hey how's your Seasonal Affective Disorder doing? You're all 'Whoa! Look at me, I'm so depressed!' Seriously, we should really call for help. I'll dial 1-206-WHOA-ITS-WICKED-RAINY) they don't clap and pronounce you the most culturally sensitive visitor ever. In fact they seem to just avert their eyes and shoot glares at the person who invited you. The other interesting fact is that even footwear in Seattle is apparently expected to be functional and English riding boots do not impress anyone as outdoorsy. 

Now, on a professional note: I was lucky enough to document for the first time, some real native Seattle-ites of Medieval European origins in their indigenous surroundings. I have already been contacted by the National Anthropological Archives at the Smithsonian, but remember you saw them here first. Below, we see a sword battle in a local park that still contains some true indigenous Euro-Seattletonians (as one should say in culturally sensitive circles). They were quite bloodthirsty by the looks of them, so we just tried not to make any sudden movements and hid our young. 
That whole Microsoft/Boeing thing must be a myth too because their technology was quite crude. Their weapons were held together with duct tape (which of course finds it's origins in European Medieval heraldic tradition) and I believe that's a garbage can cover in the battle below. They must be privy to some amazing forms of traditional healing because we observed that after a vigorous sword battle where several of them are slain and the victors skulk away furtively, they are inexplicably resuscitated and fully able to return to their habitat in a mysterious region of Seattle called Parentsbasement.