Good King Wences-What?

It all started earlier in the week when Ken and I were at a local holiday banquet. Ken was tasked with creating a ‘fun’ trivia quiz, and I wasn’t allowed to know anything about it so that I wouldn’t have a leg up on everyone else because I’m very good at trivia–my mind is like if a jukebox had a baby with an encyclopedia and they all had OCD, and also, the jukebox NEVER STOPS PLAYING. At any rate, one of the trivia questions was about Good King Wenceslas from the Christmas Carol.

What year was King Wenceslas born?

640 BCE
907 CE
1595 CE
1853 CE

So I said 1595, since none of the other answers made sense, but the correct answer was 907, and I was confused because they didn’t have saints before, like, the late 900s AD or something, being as there was no Christianity before 0 AD or whatnot, but then Ken pointed out that I had misread the question, that it was his birthdate, not when the song was written, and that CE was the same as AD, but that AD was a religious term and Common Era wasn’t so it was better to use ‘CE’, and then I POINTED OUT that AD is the common vernacular, and I’d had a couple of glasses of wine, KEN. Anyway, my partner Cathy and I did really well on the trivia, despite the dating debacle. And the wine.

Then, the next day, we were talking about it and I remembered why Good King Wenceslas ranks up there with the most stupid carols. Let me break it down for you:

“Good King Wenceslas looked out
On the feast of Stephen”

So he has nothing better to do during a feast but look out the window? Shouldn’t he be hosting the banquet that HE organized?

“When the snow lay round about
Deep and crisp and even
Brightly shone the moon that night
Though the frost was cruel”

That’s some heavy foreshadowing right there. Best to stay inside where it’s warm, but no…

“When a poor man came in sight
Gath’ring winter fuel”

Why wasn’t he invited to the feast? Is it because he’s poor? So classist.

“Hither, page, and stand by me
If thou knows be telling:
Yonder peasant, who is he?
Where and what his dwelling?”

So he just assumes that his servant knows every single peasant? Even more classist. Also, it’s like the way people conceive of Canadians: “Oh, you’re from Canada? Do you know Bob from Kamloops?” Narrator’s Voice: She does. Just like the page, because plot twist…

“Sire, he lives a good league hence
Underneath the mountain
Right against the forest fence
By Saint Agnes’ fountain”

And those are some VERY specific coordinates. Like maybe he’s been there before, probably when the weather wasn’t so shitty, maybe for a barbeque…

“Bring me flesh and bring me wine
Bring me pine logs hither
Thou and I will see him dine
When we bear them thither”

Seriously? We’ve already established that ‘the frost was cruel’ and now we’re going traipsing out in the middle of the night into a blizzard to give a guy, who already HAS WOOD, some MORE WOOD, as well as some FLESH? You couldn’t wait until the morning? So impetuous. Also, who’s carrying all the flesh and wine 3 miles through the snow? I bet you dollars to donuts that it ISN’T Wenceslas.

And then of course, you know the rest. The page almost dies of hypothermia, the king is like ‘Oh, just walk in my footsteps and you’ll be fine, and by the way, don’t drop the flesh and wood,” and we never find out if they get to the peasant’s house.

Me (driving): I’ve never understood the popularity of a song about some sundowning old guy deciding to wander off into a snow storm during a banquet that HE organized and almost killing his page.
Ken (on his phone):It says here that the feast of Stephen isn’t an actual feast. It’s Saint’s Stephen’s day, December 26th.
Me: Yes, I’m aware, KEN. That was just for comic effect.
Ken: It also says here that he wasn’t an old guy. Wenceslas was only 28 when he died.
Me: Only TWENTY-EIGHT?! Well, now it make sense. He wasn’t trying to be charitable—he thought the peasant was getting ready for a party and he wanted to horn in on the action. He was just lonely, and the flesh and wood were weird-ass hostess gifts. He and the page were probably already drunk and like, “Dude, it’s so BORING here in the castle–isn’t this supposed to be a feast day? Let’s find a peasant we can hang with. Don’t worry about your coat—it’s only a couple of miles. If you get cold, you can just…I dunno…walk in my footsteps,” and the page was like, “Cool. Maybe it’s a barbeque.”
Ken: Wenceslas was murdered by his brother.
Me: Honestly? Not surprising.

Breaking The Mold

Update: I posted the following, and then went to WordPress and saw all the comments–from NOVEMBER 2023! I have no idea what’s going in. I literally couldn’t find any evidence that this post had EVER gone live, until I published it, seemingly for the first time, and discovered that it had, indeed been previously posted, to very great success. I had done keyword searches, looked through all my posts, and nothing. So my only conclusion is that it’s The Pirate’s Revenge!

Every time I look at my list of posts on WordPress, I see one in my drafts folder called Blow Molds. I remember writing it—Ken remembers reading it after I initially wrote it, and it never even occurred to me that I had never posted it. It was supposed to go live on Sunday, November 19 2023. I realized this week after investigating that IT NEVER GOT POSTED AND NONE OF YOU EVER SAID “WHERE IS THIS WEEK’S POST, MYDANGBLOG?!” At any rate, it was really funny, so I’m posting it this week so I hope you enjoy it, even almost 2 years later when I no longer work in an antique market:

It’s gotten quite a lot busier at work lately. First, because the summer construction project that was supposed to finish in September is finally done, and people have actually stopped using the antique market parking lot as a bypass/speedway and are now parking and shopping, and second, because Christmas is coming and everyone buys their Christmas antiques in November. The current trend, carried over from last year is BLOW MOLDS. If you don’t know what a blow mold is, it’s a large plastic figure in the shape of a Santa or a Snowman, made out of plastic which has been blown into a mold—hence the name. They plug in and light up at night, turning your house into a veritable winter wonderland, even if you still don’t have any snow. These things are getting as expensive to buy as ceramic Christmas trees (you know, the ones everybody’s grandma had in the 70s). And the more savvy collectors are looking for the extra, the unique, the really hard-to-find ones. Currently, about the cashier’s counter, we have a giant blow mold Santa in a blow mold sleigh, with a team of blow mold reindeer pulling him. Along the side, it says “Noel”, which already caused a stir because one of the young bosses had apparently never taken French in school and thought that Noel was Santa’s first name, like “Noel Santa Claus” and we all had a good laugh until someone corrected him.

And it’s no surprise that on Wednesday, my boss came to the till with an older couple. He pointed up to the shelf above the cash counter and told his brother to get a step stool so they could get a purchase down. I was standing ready as the couple came to my till. My boss called over the vendor number and the price, which I thought was extremely high, but then again, it WAS a lot of blow mold, and in the item description I typed “Santa Reindeer Blow Mold” as one would. The woman who was buying was quite excited:

Me: That’s a really awesome one. Good for you—great find.
Woman: I know. It’s so cool.
Me: I’ve never seen one like that before—really unique.
Woman: It’s perfect. Our foyer is a pirate ship.

And if you’re like me at all, you probably just did a double take. “Our foyer is a pirate ship”?? And several things went through my mind simultaneously, like 1) What the f*ck does she mean? Does she actually LIVE on a pirate ship, the bow of which she considers her foyer or 2) Is the foyer in her home DECORATED like a pirate ship? And 3) Why the f*ck would anyone a) live in a pirate ship or b) decorate their home like one and 4) The biggest question of all is HOW THE HELL IS THIS GIANT SANTA/SLEIGH/REINDEER COMBINATION A PART OF THE PIRATE MOTIF??!!

I had a vision of the whole thing hanging from the ceiling above the foredeck with pirates down below all gesturing and threatening it with their pirate swords and whatnot, when I suddenly realized that the guys had simply moved the whole blow mold out of the way to retrieve a huge, framed shadow box that was full of replica pistols. And then the whole thing suddenly made sense in that weird “it doesn’t really make sense that anyone would be that jazzed about pirate decorating” but at least the fake guns were more aligned with the aesthetic. Afterwards, my boss had to correct the item description in the computer system so the vendor wouldn’t be confused over someone paying $600 for a blow mold instead of his gun box. But it was surreal.

Falling For It

Well, it’s almost Christmas and you can tell because the ads on my social media are getting more and more weird. Case in point:

Is it me, or does that dude look a little too excited for his bath time, like maybe it’s also his “special man time”? And he looks almost too large for the bathtub—based on my knowledge of human proportions, where the hell are his legs?! At any rate, a one-person spa is absolutely perfect for me—I already take my own pillow whenever I travel, so now I could take my own bathtub with me. I looked up the translation of the company name and in English it means something like “glamorous water” and isn’t that what bathing is all about—being glamorous in the water? That guy in the ad sure thinks so. And the best part is the ad next to it, which is cut off, but that’s the beautiful irony of it–I looked up “glark” and it literally means “to figure something out from context”. So here’s the challenge: can you glark the glarks?

But I’ve had my ups and downs lately because I keep getting scammed online. First it was a purse company that seemed legitimate until I paid for it and immediately got a message telling me that my item wouldn’t ship until I sent a SCREENSHOT OF MY CREDIT CARD. After a lot of back and forth, they finally agreed to ship the item without the photographs and then sent me a fake invoice with a tracking number button that did nothing. So I contacted my bank and the rep in the Disputes department that I spoke to was very nice and he made me feel better about being so dumb:

Me: I can’t believe I fell for this.
Rep: It happens all the time. If something’s too good to be true, it probably is. What was it that you bought?
Me: A Louis Vuitton purse. I mean, I figured it was fake, but I should have known it was also a rip-off—it was way too cheap.
Rep: No kidding. Those things cost a fortune. And the reason I know that brand is because just last week, I had to deal with a woman who got taken for over $1500 for a pair of Louis Vuitton shoes.
Me: …They make shoes?

But I don’t need their shoes. I just want my fifty bucks back. And then, Ken and I decided that instead of moving, we’d turn one of our bedrooms into a secret library room and doesn’t every secret library room need a tufted leather loveseat? I found a perfect one on Facebook Marketplace and I contacted the seller. He told me it was available and when I asked if we could pick it up on the weekend, he said sure, but that he’d need a deposit to hold it, since he had “so many people interested in it”. And that kind of thing isn’t unusual, and he seemed legit, so I sent a small deposit. And that was the last I heard from him. (I even had a friend contact him pretending to want to buy the couch, and he pulled the same sh*t with her—he refused to give her an address for pick-up until she gave him money up front and when she wouldn’t, he ghosted her.) Again, I contacted the bank, but this time, because my e-transfer was auto-deposited, I couldn’t get it back. We actually called the police and filed a report, and the cop said the same thing, after lecturing me for a while about “overseas scams” and “fake IP addresses”. But the best part was that I (and my friend) reported him to Facebook, and they said they wouldn’t do anything because he hadn’t “violated their terms of service”. You learn your lessons the hard way, I guess. This was my face when I learned that I would be receiving neither a very cute handbag or a very stylish couch:

But never mind all of that. Christmas is almost here, and I have a lot to celebrate, including the fact that my publisher, DarkWinter Press, has submitted my humour book What Any Normal Person Would Do to the Stephen Leacock Medal for Literary Humour. My publisher can be a real pain in the ass and falls for a lot of scams but she’s very thoughtful so I forgive her. (It’s me. I’m the publisher.) Wish me luck! And if you want your own copy (which I just updated and filled with even more funny stuff) it’s available here:

Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays, Happy New Year, and all that great stuff to you and yours!

Decorating 101010101

As I may have mentioned, Ken and I have been doing a little preliminary house hunting with an eye towards downsizing. The perfect house slipped through our fingers a couple of weeks ago—the owners had accepted an offer literally hours before we went to see it—and since then, it’s been slim pickings. But the whole adventure has given me food for thought regarding our own de-cluttering since it’s become very apparent that some people, when they put their house on the market, just don’t give a sh*t. The other day, we went to see a place, older and even bigger than our own house, but at a price point significantly lower. The pictures on the online listing showed a LOT of Christmas decorations but the house had been on the market for a while and we just assumed the photos were from last year. Then we went to see it in person. The photos were NOT from last year. To say the owner of the house is a Christmas fanatic would be an understatement—there were fully decorated Christmas trees in every room, garlands draping over every surface, and more Santas, elves, stockings, and other Christmas paraphernalia than I’ve ever seen, even in a store that only sells Christmas sh*t. And the icing on the cake? In the dining room, under the fully decorated Christmas tree, were wrapped presents. Hundreds of wrapped presents. I’m the kind of person who’s still trying to buy gifts on Christmas Eve, and this lady has all of her shopping done mid-November?! I didn’t know whether to be impressed or horrified, and I haven’t even mentioned the outrageous number of dead, stuffed animals that decorated every room–there was a giant fish mounted on the wall above the headboard in each of the bedrooms, and a flock of taxidermied geese in the foyer. And yes, the geese were draped with Christmas garlands. Ken was looking quite happy about the whole situation, considering he’s the one who really needs to Marie Kondo his crap, but I didn’t want to give him any ideas, so I said to our agent, “I can see why you said it was important to scale back on extraneous stuff. I guess this person didn’t listen.” And then we both looked pointedly at Ken. Ultimately, we all agreed that it was very difficult to get a sense of the house or the space with so much distraction, and it made my own decorating taste seem minimal by comparison.

And I do have a very distinct decorating style, which I like to call Oscar Wilde In The Haus, which is like when a gay Victorian poet has designed your decor:

Which makes it even more weird (is weird even the right word?) that I recently got this ad from Wayfair with the caption “Your home makeover starts here.”

What exactly am I remaking my home over to? The f*cking Vatican? In which case, I need a LOT more stuff in my house because I’ve been to the Vatican and it is just PACKED, kind of like that Christmas house but with Jesus instead of Santa and taxidermied priests instead of geese. Could you imagine having a cardboard Pope as your aesthetic “statement piece”?

Guest: Is that–?
Me: Pope Francis? Yes.
Guest: Why is he–?
Me: Standing in the corner of the living room? He’s just hanging out. Do you want a blessing?
Guest: No, just a drink. I mean, that’s okay, right?
Me: Is the Pope Catholic?
Guest: Uh…I don’t know much about religion.
Me: Me neither. But I like his outfit. It matches the drapes.

At any rate, I’ve eschewed His Holiness as a decorating motif. I think I’m more of a “giant cardboard cutout of RuPaul” kind of gal. At least, that’s what Oscar Wilde would have picked.

White Christmas

With Christmas two weeks away, I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve done very little to prepare. Things have been very hectic around here, what with Ken and me opening another booth at the antique market, this one on the third floor so we have to lug everything up three flights of stairs or use the dreaded, ancient, and evil freight elevator. But the rent was really cheap because “sometimes the roof leaks a little above the left wall”, so we’re making sure we don’t put anything there that could get damaged. It’s mostly for large furniture ie the furniture that spent the summer on the porch because we have nowhere in the house to put it, and I’ve given up trying to sell anything online because people are so annoying:

Rando: Hi, is this available?
Me: Yes, it is.
Rando: Will you take $100 less and will you deliver it?
Me:

So we decided it was better and less stressful to just take another booth. I’ve already paid the rent on it with the sale of a single vintage wool blanket, so it was definitely worth it. Also, I didn’t take the job at the bank. I had an interview and it went really well—all I had to do was one last thing for their external HR recruiter: VIDEO RECORD MYSELF ANSWERING QUESTIONS. I clicked the link, saw the first question, and ran into the kitchen:

Me: I can’t! I can’t work at a bank! I RETIRED so I wouldn’t have to do stuff like this. I like the job I already have!
Ken: So don’t work at the bank. I told you it was fine if you didn’t want to.

And my decision was a good one based on what happened on Wednesday when I rang through a customer, who wanted to pay with cash. I entered the amount and was making change when he suddenly said, “It’s probably easier if I give you another $1.55.” I looked at him, confused, as he counted out more money, especially since I had his change in my hand, ready to give it to him. I started to panic, and my 23-year-old boss came over:

Boss: What’s wrong?
Me: I—money—calculator?
Boss: Just give him back a ten.
Me: I’m not good at math.
Boss (laughs): That’s okay.

I don’t think the bank would be as forgiving. Plus, it’s good exercise, walking around a 90 000 square foot warehouse.

At any rate, it’s been busy, like I said, and I’m starting to have Christmas inadequacy, especially after buying a decorating magazine called Farmhouse Christmas. I saw it while Ken and I were waiting in line at the grocery store, and there were some cool instructions inside for making different kinds of ornaments. Of course, when it got rung through, I realized that it was literally the most expensive thing we bought at FIFTEEN DOLLARS. Was it worth it? Yes, if only for the laughs. Because there are several things in this magazine that are just bizarre.

1) Despite it being called Farmhouse Christmas, every featured house is decorated in white. Pristine white walls, pristine white floors, pristine white furniture—which leads me to believe that NONE of these people actually live on farms. If I owned a farmhouse on an actual farm, everything would be decorated in brown to hide all the mud and manure. Apparently one of the farms is an alpaca farm, and there’s a picture of a guy outside with two alpacas, but they look fake, like giant friendly stuffed animals. And I just did a lot of alpaca research for this (thanks Google) and discovered that alpacas are not actually that friendly, and that there’s a real thing called Berserk Alpaca Syndrome and that alpacas will spit at you and also scream at night. The two alpacas in the picture are called Scooter and Handsome (exactly what I would name stuffed alpacas) and that the owners love to “watch them interact with the sheep.” I can only imagine.

2) There are at least four different families represented in this magazine, and every single person in every single photo is BAREFOOT. With the exception of the guy with the alpacas, demonstrating that the only lucrative farming is alpaca farming, even if they spit and scream. But seriously—why is no one wearing any shoes?! Family posing on the couch—no shoes. Mother with child on her lap—no shoes. Woman standing in her kitchen—no shoes. Ken grew up on a dairy farm and I don’t recall anyone in his family running around the farmhouse without shoes or socks. I can imagine the photo shoots:

Photographer: OK folks, I love the matching outfits. Kids, those rosy cheeks are precious. Everyone ready to smile? Oh wait—why are you all wearing shoes?! This is a photo shoot, not a visit to an alpaca farm! Take those damn things off right now—you’re ruining my feng shui and disrupting my chakras.
Child 1: But the floor is cold…
Photographer: I don’t care. You remember what I said about shoes?
Child 2 (whispers sadly): They’re the devil’s footwear.

3) The most out-of-touch with reality thing in this entire magazine has got to be the story about “Cindy”, a blogger who decorates in white but likes to “sprinkle” other colours around to inspire her readers. In the photo, she’s also barefoot. But that’s not the crazy thing. THIS is the crazy thing: “My husband cooks and prepares all holiday meals. He takes the week off work to shop for all the ingredients. Our entire meal, desserts included, is made from scratch,” Cindy says. He takes THE ENTIRE WEEK OFF WORK TO GROCERY SHOP?!! Is he just really bad at it? Because Ken can literally buy a week’s worth of groceries in under an hour. And she’s bragging about making all the food ‘from scratch’? Did he personally raise and then slaughter the turkey? Then it’s not from SCRATCH, CINDY. Also, if Cindy’s husband can afford to take a week off work to grocery shop, then I bet he can afford to buy her a pair of slippers.

All this magazine did, besides giving me a good chuckle, is make me realize that I would rather live in a house where people are allowed to wear shoes, surrounded by warm wood and love. And tacos. Which Ken is going to make tonight. From a kit.

Christmas Carols

Christmas is one of my favourite times of the year. Twinkly lights (which Ken calls “twerking lights”), home baking, holidays, and of course, presents–for those of you who know me well, you are well aware of my love of presents, both giving and receiving them. But the thing that really captures the spirit of the season for me is Christmas music. I start playing Christmas music on the first of December, and I drive Ken crazy by listening to A Charlie Brown Christmas almost continuously (and when the music for the party scene comes on, I always dance like Snoopy. It’s FUN and I also do it at the antique market where I work–they have the radio tuned to the Christmas station all day long, so I get to do my Snoopy dance several times a day. Great cardio.). We also have some beautiful traditional Celtic Christmas stylings, as well as some instrumental stuff we got years ago with cool sound effects in the background, like birds chirping, sleigh bells jingling, or the sound of skates on ice. So as you can tell, I love a lot of Christmas music. But on the other hand, there are some really creepy Christmas songs out there.

1) One of the songs that’s been playing on a loop at work is the version of “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” with Idina Menzel and Michael Bublé. And wow, this is one hella creepy song. It sounds perfectly pleasant and festive but if you listen carefully to the lyrics, you start to wonder how this EVER made it onto anyone’s Christmas playlist because it’s about a woman who wants to leave a man’s apartment, but he’s refusing to let her go. At one point, he convinces her to stay a little longer, and pours her a drink, prompting her soon after to ask, “Say, what’s in this drink?” I’ll tell you what’s in your drink—DRUGS. Here’s a newsflash, lady—if you have to ask that question, your next move should be running for the door. But no. As he takes off her hat, she tells him she really ought to say “No, No, No”, at which point he “moves in closer”. Then she explains that her mother will start to worry and father will be pacing the floor. DUDE, SHE LIVES WITH HER PARENTS—LET. HER. GO. HOME. This guy obviously doesn’t understand CONSENT. Then he tells her that she’s “hurting his pride”. Is this not the epitome of a man who is about to be involved in a major #MeToo scandal? How did this song even get to be a “Christmas carol”? It’s not about Christmas; it’s about a guy trying to get into a girl’s pants. I think Jesus would have a serious objection to a song like that being used to celebrate his birthday. (I was going to say, “because Jesus never tried to get into anyone’s pants”, but then Ken just reminded me that some people say that Jesus was married to Mary Magdalene, and that’s why he appeared to her first when he was reincarnated or whatnot. Still, Jesus would never have been like, “C’mon baby, I’m not pushy, I’m just opportunistic”). But there are other carols which are actually more Christmas-y which, when you think about them, are equally ridiculous. Here are a few:

2) Jingle Bells: In what possible world is it FUN to dash around in an open sleigh? This song could not possibly have been written in Canada, where it’s regularly -30 degrees. If you’re dashing around without some kind of shield from the wind-chill, you’re going to get frostbite and your nose will fall off. This is only Christmas-y if you put a little bow on the nose and hang it on your Christmas tree. On second thought, that’s not actually festive, it’s just kind of gross.

3) Last Christmas I Gave You My Heart: This is a contemporary tune by George Michael. The first two lines are “Last Christmas I gave you my heart/The very next day, you gave it away.” Is this not the ultimate in regifting? I myself have been known to pass on a mug or something equally inconsequential, but even I wouldn’t stoop so low as to regift a human heart. This is the worst Secret Santa gift ever, like “It’s decomposing a little, but if you keep it on ice for a few days, you can hang it on the tree next to that piece of nose you’ve got there. It’s a nice theme.”

4) God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, The Shark Version: I googled this one and I can’t even find it on the internet, but it was on a compilation of Christmas songs called Santa Jaws that my brother and I had when we were little. The only lyrics I remember are:

God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen
You’re not so merry now.
The seaside signs said not to swim,
But you swam anyhow...

Moral of that Christmas song–never ignore seaside signs.

5) Honorable Mention: Christmas Tree by Lady Gaga and Space Cowboy: This one doesn’t get a lot of airplay because it’s just a tad raunchy. Thanks to Gaga, the phrases “let’s fa-la-la-la-la” and “underneath my Christmas tree” are now sexual innuendo. If she got together with the guy from “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” I doubt there would be a lawsuit pending—there would just be one very merry gentleman.

At any rate, I wish you all a very Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays if you don’t celebrate Christmas. And if you’re looking for a last-minute gift (shameless plug coming as fast as a one-horse open sleigh), don’t forget that you can go to the Potters Grove Press website and download my short story collection Feasting Upon The Bones in either PDF or Kindle version and give it to someone you love. Tell them you know the author personally and that she’s weird, but nice.

Wink Wink Nudge Nudge

A few days ago, on Christmas Eve Eve (yes, that’s a thing and I’ve celebrated it for years by opening a special bottle of wine), I was on the hunt for that last elusive gift. Ken is an avid photographer, and I wanted to get him something camera-y, but I have no idea what kind of cameras he has (Nikon, Canon, Sony, Polaroid?) so I went to this strip mall in the next town to a little camera store that I found by googling “Camera stores near me”. A few days previous, I had phoned one of the larger chains, and when I told the man on the phone that my husband liked photography and that I was looking for something fun to get him for Christmas, he said, in a kind of weird way and with a heavy English accent, “Oh, ahem, I really couldn’t tell you…I would really have no idea…I’m probably the wrong person to ask.” Wrong person to ask?! You work in a goddamn camera store! But looking back on the incident later, it occurs to me that maybe he thought the conversation was more porn-based than it was in reality, which says much more about him than it does about me (or does it?). So when I went to the small camera shop on Wednesday, I was sure to preface my request with “My husband takes a lot of pictures of trees” and I refrained from adding, “Wink, wink, nudge, nudge”.

Seriously, here is one of Ken’s photographs of a tree. He’s very talented.

Advent-ures

Christmas is one of my favourite times of year, not because I’m particularly religious—in fact, I’m not religious at all—but because I love the trappings of the season, many of which date back to pre-Christian times. I adore the tree and the twinkle lights, the decorations, even the snow on the ground for one day of my life. And of course, the presents. I’ve never been too proud to say that I like getting presents as much as giving them, and if you know anything about me at all, you’ll know that the Jehovah’s Witnesses can come to my house as many times as they like, but until they lift their weird-ass moratorium on getting gifts, they will never own my eternal soul. But the one concession I make in terms of the more heavily Christian aspect of the holiday season is the Advent calendar. Every year, I buy several different kinds for Ken and Kate. The current favourites are Lego for Ken and Lego Friends for Kate. For a treatise on Lego and sexism, please feel free to go to My Week 266: Toys for Girls and Boys; luckily, Ken and Kate have no issues with ‘girl’ vs. boy’ toys and Ken’s Lego snowman is holding a pink and purple boombox decorated with hearts, while Kate’s Lego girl figure is wielding a sword (and why there’s even a sword in an Lego Advent calendar is a mystery for another day). I also got them your standard Lindt chocolate calendars, one of which I had also purchased for myself but then gave away to my nephew, leaving me sans Advent-ure.

And you’d think that SOMEONE in my house would be like, ‘Oh poor you—here, let me buy you an Advent calendar of your own so that you can join in the fun’ but alas, that did not happen. What did happen is that, hopes dashed, I went out at the last minute to get one for my own damn self, but all they had left were Reese’s Peanut Butter calendars. At first read, I’m sure you’re thinking, ‘Why, that’s not so bad’ but let me assure you that after last year’s Reese’s fiasco, I was none too pleased. Let me explain:

There are 24 doors on an Advent calendar, one for every day from December 1^st to December 24^th. Every door on the Reese’s calendar is exactly the same size, with the exception of December 24^th, which is HUGE. So every day last year, while Ken and Kate were oohing and ahhing over the adorable Lego, or the assorted Lindt chocolates (balls, bells, bars, teddy bears), I extracted a very small, very miniature peanut butter cup from my calendar. But the last window was so big that I consoled myself: ‘It’s going to be the BIG CUP. Maybe even the one stuffed with Reese’s Pieces!’ I mean, it had to be, right? There had to be a pay-off at the end that made the tiny cups, barely a morsel in the mouth, and all the waiting, worthwhile. Because part of the discipline of the Advent calendar is NOT ripping the whole thing open and eating all the chocolate at once—it’s having ONE each day no matter how bad your chocolate craving is. So every time I thought of skipping ahead, even by one day, I would remember the BIG CUP waiting, and I would go have a glass of wine instead. Then at long last, it was Christmas Eve, the day when I could finally reveal my Big Cup and gloat a bit while Ken and Kate were nibbling on their Lindt bunnies. I pulled back the giant cardboard window and guess what was in there? Inset into a much smaller container within the giant window was a very small Reese’s ‘praline’ cup. A tiny f*cking PRALINE CUP?! A month of waiting for that? I’ve been disappointed many times in my life, but this one made the top ten.

(Slight tangent: I was also very disappointed two days ago when Kate, Ken, and I finally finished the very complex 500 piece jigsaw puzzle we were working on as a family, only to discover, as I had indeed suspected, that Atlas had eaten several of the pieces, and Mexico City was looking very hole-y. Atlas defended himself by claiming that he was only trying to help, but undermined his own defence by whispering, “They were so delicious.”)

At any rate, I’ve made my Reese’s Peace with being deprived yet again of the Big Cup. And I’ve already bought the Lego Advent Calendars for next year and hidden them in the fireplace. And before you think I burned them in a fit of pique, let me explain that when we moved into our house, the previous owner privately called me over to the elaborate fireplace surround they had constructed, and pulled down what looked like a decorative panel to reveal a hidden compartment. I’ve used it ever since to hide presents, although it’s a bit too warm for chocolate. And then two days ago, Kate was assembling her most recent Lego Advent toy:

Kate: This Lego cake is adorable! I hope there’s one just like it in next year’s calendar!
Me: Who can say?
Kate: I’ll go look—it probably shows it on the box.
Me: What box?
Kate: The one in the fireplace.
Me: What are you talking about?
Kate: Your secret hiding spot. Behind the gold panel. Come on, Mom, I’ve known about that for years.

And now I’ve lost my secret hiding spot. Imagine my disappointment.

Find the secret compartment

All The Bits And Pieces

Well, it’s that time of year again, the time of year where we’re barely into November but the Christmas decorations are already up in the stores, carols are playing on the radio, the fireplace is merrily and virtually burning on the flatscreen, and the Bits and Pieces gift catalogue has arrived. And nothing says the holiday season quite like a cheap plastic puzzle box or a pantless garden gnome.

But just like every year, tucked in among the pornographic elves, the interminable pages of jigsaw puzzles and the novelty socks, there are always a few treasures. So without further ado, here are my favourite top 5:

1) Night Vision Binoculars:

For 39.99, you can “see a little bit more in darkness” with these night vision goggles that allow you to “hone in on any desired object”. Exactly WHO are we marketing to here? Someone sitting in their room at night, honing in on desired objects like, perhaps, the young pretty neighbour next door? The description also says these binoculars are “perfect for spying or just keeping track of what goes on in the night”:

Wife: Honey, it’s 3 o’clock in the morning. What are you doing?
Husband: Nothing.
Wife: But you’re sitting here in the dark with a pair of binocul—hey, are you spying?
Husband (affronted): No! I’m just keeping track of what goes on in the night, thank you very much!
Wife: Oh, well that’s normal.

Apparently, they come with a Velcro headband that “fits most”. It doesn’t specify most WHAT, but I think we can all guess.

2) Screaming Flying Monkey:

This is the official mascot of 2020.

3) Personalized “Hide Your Stash” Cylinder:

This ingenious invention is a small metal cylinder made out of “waterproof aluminum” (as opposed to the kind that gets really soggy when wet) and can be used to hide your “treasured possessions or emergency medicine”. The best thing about the cylinder is that you can personalize it with your own name. The stupidest thing about the cylinder is that it comes with the word STASH already engraved on it:

Robber: Stick ‘em up. Give me your stash.
Victim: But I don’t have a stash!
Robber: Nice try. It says Michael’s Stash right there on that cylinder you have attached to your belt. Hand it over.
Victim (despondent): Oh, my treasures!
Robber: Ooh, is this weed? Nice stash, man! Thanks!
Victim: How did it all go so wrong?

4) Beard Baubles:

As if things aren’t bad enough, now men can decorate their beards with tiny Christmas tree ornaments, thanks to Bits and Pieces. If the Screaming Flying Monkey is the official mascot of 2020, then Beard Baubles is the Seventh Sign of the Apocalypse, right after the release of the Four Horsemen. According to Saint John, “I saw the beast with 7 heads, 10 horns, and 12 beard baubles coming out of the sea.” It was prophetic. Of course, Saint John also said, “If anyone is to be killed with the sword, with the sword they will be killed”, so some of his prophecies were a tad self-evident.

5) Weener Kleener Soap:

This is on the same page in the catalogue as the fibre optic Christmas tree and kitty cat slippers, and it really blows the whole family-friendly vibe out of the water. This soap is shaped like a donut and is designed to have a manpart inserted through it for the purpose of personal hygiene which, according to the package, has “never been so stimulating”. It also boasts that one size fits MOST men.

Husband: Hey, this dang Weener Kleener doesn’t fit my weener! It’s all loosey-goosey and whatnot!
Wife: As I’ve long suspected, you’re just not like most men. Sigh.

All of the information on the package is also extremely sexual and doesn’t bear repeating here, but I’m sure you can imagine. My favourite part is the warning at the bottom that if the Weener Kleener becomes stuck, “soak the area with cold water”, I assume to provide the necessary shrinkage. To quote George Costanza, “I was in the pool!”

I perused the entire catalogue and the only thing I’d even consider is the tin of “bacon bandages”, mainly because it says there’s a prize inside the container. But if the prize isn’t ACTUAL bacon, I want my damn money back.

My Week 222: And so this is Christmas…

Things are pretty crazy busy at mydangblog’s place right now, so here’s a little something from 2015 that you might enjoy (the original, My Week 59, also has a bit about my possessed vacuum cleaner):

Real Life Versus Magazine Christmas

I love decorating magazines. I have subscriptions to at least three different ones, and every month, I pour through the pages for ideas. I’m a visual learner at heart—I can read text very quickly and easily, but I LOVE anything with pictures. Anyway, Christmas is coming up, so all the current editions are focused on Christmas decorating and festive parties. As I was gleefully devouring up the images, it suddenly occurred to me how absolutely unrealistic it all was. Sure, I know that everything’s staged, but this year it seems that magazine editors have become so intensely out of touch with how REAL people live that I started to view everything with an extremely critical eye. Here are some of the more bizarre statements and ideas that I came across:

1) A designer on his Christmas room design challenge: “I arrived upon this magical masculine scene by mixing patterns and textures with eclectic objects. While the palette and the furnishings are traditional, the vignette feels fresh, thanks to whimsical organic touches like the felt bird ornaments and the pompom tree skirt.” Let me translate: “Nothing matches”. Also, “men like magicky things, and pompoms”. Someone should clue in this designer that real birds are organic; felt birds are NOT whimsical–they are things that kindergarten children make. Prize for runner-up goes to this designer’s statement: “I like to mix traditional with modern, and pair maximalist notions with more restrained sculptural items.” Again, nothing matches, but this time it’s JUST F*CKING INSANITY OVER HERE!

2) A page devoted to “choosing the perfect tree”. I don’t need a page of tips. This is how we pick a tree at my house:

Ken: That one over there looks nice.
Me: It’s too cold to walk that far. This one’s fine.
Ken: But it’s missing half its branches.
Me: That side can go against the wall. Hurry up, I’m freezing.

3) A decorating article on “Wrapping Pillows like a Present” to create a holiday feel. Screw that—I can’t even wrap a PRESENT like a present, let alone stupid accent pillows. If you’ve ever gotten a present from me, you might have thought at first that a toddler wrapped it. But the torn paper and scotch tape all over the place just reinforce how much I love you, NOT that I’m super-uncoordinated and have unwieldy manhands.

4) “Fun Things To Do With Your Elf On A Shelf”. Here’s the most fun thing I can imagine—put it in the toilet and watch it grin maniacally as it tries not to drown. Keep swimming, Bjorn! For a full treatise on the elvish devilspawn, please see My Week 61.

So many questions…

5) “Decorative pieces should change with the season”. Seriously? Who the hell has time to redecorate their entire house “with the season”? If you’ve got the kind of time to put everything in storage to make way for your holiday sh*t, then put all that away in January and completely redecorate AGAIN, you’re most likely neglecting other areas of your life, like your children or your personal hygiene.

6) A designer on a recent dinner party disaster: “Go with the flow. My copper garland broke, so I placed the beads across the dining table, and they looked pretty. ..it was a happy accident.” Absolutely. The next time I break a Christmas ornament, I will definitely strew the dining table with the shards.

7) Party tip a): “Always have a signature drink ready for your guests and hand it to them as they arrive.” We have a signature drink in my house—it’s called “wine”. When you arrive, you can have some of this tasty signature drink, or I can pour you a shot of the cooking brandy that’s been sitting in the back of the kitchen cupboard for the last ten years (I don’t cook with brandy that often).

8) Party tip b): “The Fabulous Four-Step Appetizer”. I can do you one better—the Tasty TWO-Step Appetizer. Step one, take a piece of cheese. Step two, put it on a cracker. For the adventurous, I also have the Throroughly Three-mendous Appetizer, where you can add a piece of kielbasa from the plate on the counter before the dog sneaks in and eats it all.

9) Party tip c): “Consider your guests’ dietary restrictions.” I am the f*cking master of this. I can create a veritable feast for people who are gluten-free, vegetarian, piscaterian, lactose intolerant, who only eat chicken, who can’t eat spicy food, and who refuse to eat normal human food like rice, pasta, or most green vegetables because they (Dad) are just plain picky. I do this because I love them all so much. Which brings me to my last point:

10) Magazine cover: “128 Ideas for an amazing Christmas”. Here’s the deal—you don’t need 128 ideas. You don’t even need ONE idea. All you need is the people you love the most—weird-ass food preferences, magic-y pompons, and all. Christmas isn’t about how beautiful and pristine your house is—it’s about the people (and animals) in it.

Merry Christmas everyone!