Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Wolf-Bears, Swamp Orchestra, and Frogs With British Accents

I'm not sure if I mentioned Christmas (aside from the X-rated dinner talk) - but it was very easy, and probably one of the best Christmases I've had. And not because I got a pony (thirty years of asking and still - nothing), and not because my sister and I stayed in our super ugly, all-gray sweats all day, even when we went to the grocery store, which just exacerbated the ugly because with the gray clothes and the fluorescent grocery store lighting we looked so washed-out and sickly that I'm pretty sure the staff thought we were just let out of the hospital as some sort of diseased-twin-Christmas miracle, because no one would help us, probably totally afraid they'd catch whatever it was we had that made us look like that/made it totally impossible for me to tuck my t-shirt in so that it just hung out of the back of my sweatshirt and down to almost my knees like it was hiding my tail.

"They want to know what aisle the graham crackers are in."

"I'm not gonna show them. That one looks like she might be a leper and the other one has a tail. I don't want a tail."

"You can't catch a tail."

"How do you know?"

"Good point. Let's go on break."

Anyway, we did shower eventually. But the thing that made Christmas so good was the fact that Becky and I picked Michael up and brought him over for presents and he was so happy all day it was infectious.

This picture is right after we picked him up and I was singing Do You Know The Muffin Man to him as Christmas-y as I could. (Sidenote: there's not way to make the muffin man Christmas-y. Same goes for Mickey Mouse Club. Which was what I was told to alternate with the Muffin Man. Muffin Man. Mickey Mouse. Muffin Man. Mickey Mouse. It was a very alliterative Christmas morning.)

Look how pleased he is with my singing! I felt like Celine Dion!

The past few years he's had so much bad shit going on, that he's been just miserable. Imagine for a second that ALL of your sinuses are completely blocked/infected, so you can't even chew without ripping pain, and you've had tubes in your ears since you were three that are still there that the doctors forgot about, and you get migraines, your sister still calls your Sugarbutt, and you get generally depressed like anyone but you can't talk through your sadness because you don't have the skills so you just suffer in silence, occasionally stripping naked in public, or biting, or bruising or whatever it is you do because you can't communicate the pain you're in.

(You probably don't get naked when you're mad, but whatever. He doesn't know - that's the beauty of his Autism. He could be naked all day long in a Church full of nuns and baby birds and wouldn't care a bit so long as he got some peanut butter and jelly and the nuns and their weird little birds left him alone for God's sake.)

So, my mom has taken him to various doctors and therapists and specialists for the last few years trying to find a combo of stuff that will make him not so miserable and I don't want to jinx it, but holy crap! Look at that smile!

He even sat at Christmas dinner and had a good time, and then I put Rupert and the Frog Song on for him and he retired to his room to watch the movie which I can only describe as his way of trying to tell me he used to be really, really stoned in his previous life.

A little bear, that looks more like a wolf-bear, spies on some frogs that do a synchronized song and dance number and there's an old grandpa frog that smokes a pipe and yells at his son in a British accent while ogling a lady frog who has just had a baby. Just like any other normal family.

Anyway, the holiday was fun. Next year I just hope Michael will let me work some more songs into my repertoire, because if I have to sing Mickey Mouse Club one more time it'll be through gritted teeth, and will have a lot more curse words than Walt originally intended.

I'm just saying.

Monday, December 27, 2010

I Want Him To Move In And Sing Like This While I Shower, Clean, And Just Generally Do Things

I love this so much! At first I was like, "I didn't know that's what Taio Cruz looked like. I thought that was some Pacific Islander way of saying Tom Cruise."

And then I realized the magic that was happening!

And this is a bonus for one of my favorite people, because they inexplicably love this song more is considered normal. As do I.

Christmas Porn

I went into work on Christmas Eve because my boss said it was urgent. It didn't occur to me that it was Christmas Eve and we're a tax office, nothing is important unless it's in April or October. But my boss has mind control voodoo so I ran over there like a surgeon about to preform emergency open-heart surgery on a child the Jews are calling the real Jesus.

Here's what happened:



"We need to talk about the porno."

" . . . "

And that's when I went into a coma-like state and simultaneously tried to remember if I've ever looked at porn at work, and if I had why would I be stupid enough to leave a trail on my work computer of all places, I must have gotten distracted by a meeting or something and left some site running that magically spread itself through the office network and onto everyone else's computer so that suddenly my romantic-porn (I wish!) was thrusting itself on everybody's screen, ruining their spreadsheets, but hopefully brightening their day a little because if I was looking at porn at work it would be more like soft porn, with a good storyline and romantic kissing, and would not have as much spitting (spitting! really?) as normal porn, and at the end it would have like a half an hour of cuddling (if I felt like it) and the production of a positive pregnancy test.

And because of all this I had to come in on Christmas Eve, because she found my porn and was going to fire me before Christmas so that she wouldn't have to do it on Christmas in front of the whole family, which I thought was very generous of her. Never mind the fact that I'm well aware that I have never actually looked at porn at work, nor would I, I'm not even sure what to do if someone asked me to find porn, I'd probably just Google 'Megan Fox' and see what came up. Once when I was staying at Gige's house I googled "gay male porn" and left it up on her husband's laptop hoping to stir up some shit, but they didn't even blink. I'm apparently becoming predictable.

And also never mind the fact that no one wants to hear their Grandma say "porno" on Christmas Eve. (She also said it at Christmas dinner by the way) (And she's not crazy, that's just how she tells stories - with an 'o' at the end of words, to make them sound even more creepy than they already are) (and 'the porno' because it's so severe it needs to be addressed the same way she addresses 'The AIDS' or 'The Chinese' - like they can all be grouped into one.)

So anyway, as I sat there for what seemed to be yeeeeeeears trying to get myself out of something I hadn't even done she said:

"We need to do better bookkeeping."

". . . Yes?"

"Because one of my clients had a porno charged to them every month and they didn't know and I don't want that to happen."


"Ok, now are you coming in tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow is Christmas."

**Big heavy eye-roll-y sigh**
"So I guess that means you're taking the day off?"

You bet your ass I'm taking the day off. Like my porno is gonna watch itself?! I don't think so.

Thursday, December 09, 2010

Eyebrows, Glee, Dawson's Creek And My Brand New Home

Sometimes a show comes along and saves lives. And that show is Glee.

Just the other day Glee cured cancer.

Ok, fine, maybe it didn't, and maybe it doesn't exactly "save lives" but I'm pretty sure if they had a time machine, ninety-nine percent of the population would use it to transfer into Ohio Glee World, where they get to do rain choreography with Gwyneth Paltrow, and sing with Finn, and make out with Finn, and sing while making out with Finn. (And yes, time machines can be used to transfer to fictional lands, otherwise what are they good for?!)

So anyway, somehow I was way behind on my tv watching and had to watch the last four Glee episodes in a row yesterday. ("had to" - my life is so hard)

Anyway there seems to be a lot of talking and not a lot of singing going on in some of these episodes. If I wanted to see a lot of kids jabbering on about themselves I'd re-watch some Dawson's Creek.

But oh my gosh - that new kid - the school boy who's so super cute he makes my underwear practically shine with the heavenly light of a thousand stars, beaming out of my pants and into the eyes of my soul?

I love him.

I'm taking my time machine to break up with Finn and just stare dreamily at . . . whatever his name is. I can't date him because I'm fairly certain he's gay in this show. Oh, how a huge part of me wishes I was a gay teenage boy so that I could fantasize properly.

I'm gonna be honest and say that I probably wouldn't like him so much, save for the fact he did this little number right here. And not so much the song even, but the fact that the school boys all start side-stepping in time. Moving! At the same time! To a beat! I'm so easy really, but there's something magical about boys doing the same moves. It's why the military and school bands are so hot - because they march in time.

Look at his eyebrows. They're so thick and bushy I just wanna curl up inside of them and roll around in my little eyebrow teepee. You could stay warm for a year with just his eyebrow hair.

I bet they are. I bet they are the most comfortable eyebrows ever.

I haven't seen the Christmas episode yet, but I'm about to get in bed and watch the crap out of it. Right after I re-watch some Dawson's Creek.

Monday, December 06, 2010

You're Welcome In Advance

I love movies. I love them to the point that I probably like some more than I should just because it's a movie. Old School? I wanna marry it. Citizen Cane? Awesome. E.T.? My heart just swelled a little. Goodfellas? Yes please. Bride Wars? Kate Hudson is freakin' funny in that, I don't care what you say.

And I will forever stand by the fact that Grease 2 is my favorite movie and that Casablanca is a piece of shit.

(Just kidding, I've never seen Casablanca. I'm sure I'd love it.) (As long as it has people singing while straddling a guy wearing a leather jacket exposing his chest hair.)

Hmmm, maybe it's not exposing any chest hair, maybe I just like to imagine that part. Oh, Michelle Pfiffer - I wanted to be you so bad when I was a kid. I don't even care that Stephanie Zinone and Michael Carrington probably ended up pregnant and married by 18, still working at the gas station, and living upstairs from it in a studio apartment they share with a renter named Len and his pet snake Tito, surviving off of Corn Nuts and food stamps, and the sheer power of love.

But I may have found something to battle my heart for Grease 2.

Everyone, I present to you - The Room. The sleeper hit of 2003.

It only took 6 million dollars to make this movie people. That's it. Six measly million.

It's sort of like Christmas in video form!