Lifted from House of Snark

People who know me will SO find a particular part of this funny....

You Were Nice This Year!

You're an uber-perfect person who is on the top of Santa's list. You probably didn't even *think* any naughty thoughts this year. Unless you're a Mormon, you've probably been a little too good. Is that extra candy cane worth being a sweetheart for 365 days straight?

I am a people watcher by nature, and so while waiting for my train to depart I tend to watch all the people as they get on and take their seats. Not in the lurking stalking kind of way, mind you. Really, I'm quite stealth about the whole thing.

I saw one gal get on last night that looked like death. Her hair looked as though she'd been sweating all day and her face was really pale in some parts, and really red in other parts. Clearly, the woman was sick and I was happy to see her go up to the next level to find a seat.

From that point on, I could hear her hacking all the way from the next level. It was a nasty cough too... the kind that makes me visualize all of the cough particles floating around in slow motion right into my lungs. For the hour trip home, I was imagining what all of the passengers around her were thinking. It would be impossible for them to find a different seat, really. The train is always packed to capacity. But in my head, there were several empty seats and rows around her. A big germ bubble, so to speak.

As we got off the train, I wanted to say, "Lady- go home and get some rest." "Oh, and stay off of public transportation with those germs of yours."

Yuck.

BJ and I were driving around last Sunday and I noticed a cow with horns AND udders. I thought surely this was a freak of nature, or perhaps a hermaphrodite. I mean, everyone knows girl cows don't have horns, right? So I queried hubby about it.

BJ, coming from a family tree of Oklahoma cow ranchers, looked at me in udder (get it? huh? do ya? huh?) disbelief and then informed me that I was indeed wrong.

Whaaaaat??? I'm 44 years old and just NOW discovering this? What else is there that I don't know?

Shuddering...

BJ's office holiday party was last night. All of the houses made it to the banquet facility without falling apart. Even the crack house (that was our nickname for one of the houses that had a small crack on one side.)

Ok, sorry, I have to digress for a moment. It's been my holiday tradition for several years to make either gingerbread or candy houses. It's something the boys always enjoyed and it was good, messy, family fun. One year when it was gingerbread houses, one of the houses broke while coming out of the mold. I decided that we could probably hide the fact that it was broken if we covered it with enough candy. We each had houses to decorate and my oldest son decided to take the broken one.

Before you say "oh, what a sweet boy" about it, let me finish my story. It wasn't because he was being nice. It was because the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. He had decided that he was going to make it a crack house. Yup. I'm going to have to find a picture so I can post it at some point, but it was hysterical. He took tires off one of his old toy cars (he was about 18 at the time) and put them on the roof. He put trash all around the outside of the house. All that was missing was a fridge and lazy-boy out in the front yard. It was truly an abomination. This mommy couldn't have been more proud. Seriously. I love it that I have funny kids, it SO makes up for their horrible report cards.

Ok, back to the office party. The plan was that we'd put the houses in the middle of each of the eight tables and then put a sticker under one chair at each table. While giving his holiday speech, hubby was going to tell everyone that we had made the houses, then have people look under their table for the sticker to see who got to take the one from their table home. Fun, huh?

Right before giving his speech, the temporary services admin assistant (who has proven herself to be a complete imbecile on more than one occasion) came up to him and told him not to say anything about the houses and wouldn't tell him the reason. She was so insistant and flustered that hubby decided to keep his yapper shut about it. He just didn't want to deal with her lunacy right then. He gets enough of that at home.

BJ had to leave early for a previous engagement (involving three words: Texas + hold + 'em), and of course I left with him. We left before anything was mentioned about the houses, so I was robbed of the fun of hearing everyone chuckle about the fact that their boss had made these houses. Frankly, I'm mad. The whole time I was making them, I got a lot of joy out of the idea of hearing everyone's reaction. I feel like a spoiled brat because I just can't seem to get over it. I want to stomp my foot and call her bad names.

I think the only thing that will help is if I hear him say, "Off with her head!" ....and then get to witness it.

No matter what you did, I'm sure it wasn't nearly as fun as what Martha Stewart (ahem, hubby) and I did last night. BJ's Christmas party is tonight and we've decided to make the centerpieces for all eight of the tables. The centerpieces are houses made entirely of varieties of chocolate. He's da boss of a multi-million operation and so I'm sure the fact that he made these things will be particularly funny for his employees. Apparently, his reputation at work is that of a stuff shirt. This, I fear, will change.

I, being mentally 14, decided that we might as well have a good time while creating the centerpieces, so I found ways to make sexual innuendo's out of the most innocent things. "Honey, let me hold your bag (referring to the pastry bag) for you. Then, he'd get the eyebrow's up and down move, along with the naughty giggle. Ummmm, I'd get back the eye-roll move. Yeah, I get that a lot. Every day.

He did find my Madonna pose to be particularly enticing, so he was kind enough to take a photo. pastrybags.jpgThose are pastry bags, in case you're wondering.

We were having a great time putting these things together. Until I got tired. I've had the flu all week, so I still didn't have a whole lot of stamina. When the stamina is gone, so is my sense of humor. Oh, and patience. That also leaves the building, right behind Elvis.

Here's a little known fact about me. OK, maybe it's a well known fact and I'm unaware. I'm a perfectionist. At work, that's a good thing. At home, not so much. We were making eight candy houses and I wanted them to be perfect. BJ just wanted them done. I'd notice that they were catywampus, and he'd tell me just to leave it alone because the 'glue' (it was a special frosting you use to hold these things together) was setting up and "Pleeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaase quit messing with it because you're going to break it."

Ok, so I did make one roof fall. Sue me.

Here's fact number two. I am almost paralyzed by clutter and mess. I need my surroundings to be neat. So, when this --->spill.jpghappened I swore like a truck driver. Then apologized. Swear, then apologize. All night long.

I opened a bag of powdered sugar and it went everywhere. It spilled on me, on the counter, on the floor and all over my nice clean and always shiny appliances sitting on the counter. It was at that point that I wanted to cry. Of course, I had to stop the assembly line so I could get everything cleaned up even though there was a distinct possibility of this incident happening again.

I forgot to mention that I had a moment of complete insanity earlier in the day and asked hubby what he wanted for dinner. I told him that he could have anything he wanted because he had been traveling all week and I wanted him to feel the love with a nice home cooked meal. He decided he wanted fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy. Whaaaaa.........t????? Does he realize how messy that is to make? But he did get his fried chicken, because I am wife of the year.

Eventually, my hands got tired of squeezing the pastry bag (more 14 year old innuendo ensued) so hubby took over. He really had flair. He made beautiful ribbon with the icing. I told him he'd better stop with all the flair or I'd begin to wonder about him. Not that there's anything wrong with it- I just don't want to be married to so much flair. Eventually his hand got tired too and as he'd squeeze he'd say, "Son of a beehive". Yeah, he's edgy like that.

SEVERAL hours later, we finished all eight houses. Eight very catywampus houses, I might add. 8houses.jpg

And up close: house.jpg

I can't wait to see the reaction from his employees. That, my friends, will be worth every moment it took to clean up the aftermath.