A few weeks ago, I won an award. No, not a certificate of sucktasticness, which I proudly won a few years ago. Meeeemories!

I was nominated for a blogging award on my friend’s blog, Nurse Mommy Laughs. (The funny thing is–I can’t find it now–it vanished. Really. But I’m still a winner. I swear. I knew it as early as 7th grade, when I guessed the weight of a ginormous pumpkin at a fair, and won a free Rolls Royce ride around town. I have skillz–don’t want to brag but that was NOT easy. And, I have to say, ginger ale in a plastic wine glass has never tasted better. I’m sure that driver was so cranked to pick up a tinsel toothed 7th grade girl in neon pants and Barracuda jacket and her mom. Two thumbs up on your raffle investment, Rolls company!)

Anyyyway, I have a proven track record of winning. Clearly. And I hope you check Stacey’s blog out. Stacey is a mom who spent many years as a pediatric RN. Especially when you have kids of your own, you realize it takes a very special person to have the strength to work with sick children. I thank God there are caring people like Stacey who can do it because those kids deserve the very best, and I would be bawling in the corner. Guessing that would not be helpful. I tip my Bud Light to Stacey and all the health care providers who work tirelessly on behalf of children everywhere.

Nurse Stacey’s award came with rules. I don’t like rules per se, but since  I’m A. a nerd herd rule follower and B. Stacey is good peeps who knows how to wield needles, I’m going to do exactly what she says. So no one gets hurt. She said I’m to share 7 things with you all that you don’t know about me. Let’s try to get through this without horrifying anyone. Ready? GO!

1. I’m a LEO. (That probably splains a lot.)

2. I loooove to throw parties. And I’m a total “more the merrier–grab a red Solo cup and come on by” type person….how-e-ver, this has been hampered somewhat in recent years by children sucking me dry and their activities, but I hope to get my Martha Stewart Animal House on more now that the kids are getting older.

3. I am 74 years old.

*Please note my fashion and cooking prowess. I know. You’re wondering how I juggle it all. Many do.

4. I once got carjacked around the corner from Fenway Park in broad daylight. (Please visit the Boston Tourism Board to book your next, fun getaway! “The spirit of Massachusetts is the spirit of America!”) (Bet you didn’t see that one coming!) The funny thing is, it happened before car jacking was even in vogue. (I’m a trendsetter.) And, I was only 12. Nothing like being held at gunpoint to make a bucked tooth, Barracuda jacket wearing girl scream! I screamed so loud that I think the glass on the car windows shattered, the dude told me I could go, and I jumped out as he was pulling away. I have skillz again! I can wield off gun toting bandits with just my voice! (Shut up.) No need to carry pepper spray or a weapon. Armed and dangerous, right here. Step off, bad people! I will send you running. RAR!!!

5. I know. It’s hard to top 4. Ask my mom. Let’s see….I was born in Boston and lived in the same house from the time I was born until I left for college. I went to college in Ohio–completely random choice based on a brochure (really)–and loved it. I went home with one of my bf’s one weekend to Cleveland and asked her, “Why can’t I see the other side of the lake?” True story. She was like, “Um….because it’s in Canada, dummy!” Growing up outside Boston, we always went to the ocean and any lakes I saw were small–I had seen great lakes on map but didn’t understand the magnitude until I really saw one. Who knew they looked just like the ocean! (I’m worldy, I know.) I was also informed by my midwest friends that my plan to “run through cornfields because it looked fun” would cut me and hurt like hell. Who knew!!! So I just stuck to Coppertoning at the lake.

6. I once gave my scarf to a fun girl in a bar in Blarney, Ireland in the spirit of fostering international relations. Meaning….we bonded over Irish cider, she liked it, it was from Tarjay and I knew I could get a new one when I went home! Plus, I felt I owed something to the good people of Ireland for letting me kiss their cold, wet, germy, grey stone.

7. Once in college I went white water rafting with some high school friends in East Bumbleebee Ass Crack, Maine. We faux camped/shivered (Seriously. Northern Maine I think has like one day of summer. All the other days are fifty degrees or below.), cooked out, and drank beer to keep warm. All fun until the next morning, when I had to put on a tomato red wetsuit fatsuit (And seriously. Tomato red. Who looks good in that color? I want names.) Really regretted not taking the chilled out canoe trip–might have cursed my friend who planned it lured me with grilled meats and beer. We actually got in a raft where a 95 pound raft guide assured my girlfriends and I that if any of us fell out, she would pluck us to safety. Ok, crackhead, smoke some more dope in the woods, crunchola bar. Guess who dumped out first, went skkying down the river, sans paddle, with just my wits about me for a few miles? ME. Big Red. Let’s just say that now I know how my towels feel during the spin cycle and that a hung over muffin top is no match for the wilds of Maine! Eventually, after I said my mental good byes in my head to my family and the cast of The Outsiders (“Stay gold, Ponyboy! I’ll see you on the other side!”), forgave the carjacker, and pondered briefly who would be bequeathed my bitching mix tape collection, I rounded the corner, the choir of angels Van Morrison sang to me, and a raft full of hot guys on a bachelor party plucked my tomato ass to safety. As I choked and sputtered like a wrinkled, red, sexy beast. GAH! “Hey guys, look what I caught!” They were actually very nice guys. But now you know why me being outdoorsy is playing wiffle ball while I sip my beer!

That is all, muffintoppers. For verifcation purposes, my church going, 79 year old mother is on stand by to swear this list is almost 100% factual. (Fine. I’m actually 75.)

All right. Back to the funny bidness at muffintopmommy. That last post was cathartic but I’m ready to move on embrace being irreverent!

Oh, p.s., I did my good holy deed this week. Last night we took the kids out to dinner, and three nuns in full habits were sitting at the table across from us. Luckily, the boys brought their A-game.  No one took the lord’s name in vain even me,  although 3 year old did ask me if they were “the ice cream ladies” (I have no clue what he meant by that but I know my grandmother is in heaven clutching her rosary beads pleading, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what went wrong?”)

Hubs sneaky eavesdropper was floored to hear one of nuns say, “This is one of Adam Levine’s songs playing right now. He’s on The Voice and is really interesting!” Oh sister, muffintopmommy fistbump. He’s interesting all right. Is now a bad time to admit he’s on my Pinterest pinboard under the category of, “People I’m allowed to cheat on the hubs with”?

THAT'S RIGHT, SISTER. HE WAS SENT FROM GOD---EVEN IF HE'S PROBABLY NOT CATHOLIC.

So what if he weighs less than I do—many have faced greater challenges. Like infidelity. Which I would potentially totally commit with Adam Levine. But it would be infidelity with an asterisk after. Infidelity*: Hubs telling me to go for it is roughly akin to the time I was 8, huffed to my parents I was running away, packed my pleather rainbow suitcase (We are the world!) full of Ramona Quimby books and stuffed animals….and, they patted me on the head and wished me bon voyage.

Buzz.Kill.

They knew I was rolling in my pleated coolots straight toward THE LAND OF MAKE BELIEVE and would circle right back even though they dressed me in questionable attire with even more questionable travel accessories. I blame Fred Rogers. Lady Elaine ain’t real! (And neither is my quest for faux adultery. Don’t call the priest! Don’t.call.the.priest!)

Anyway, back to the good sisters. One of them forgot her leftovers so I ran out to the parking lot to give them to her. (Who knew when their next yummy meal would be? You know the padres probably get all the good eats. Grr.) The three were walking with their backs to me so I yelled, “Excuse me, sister?” and naturally they all turned around. “I had a feeling you’d all turn around!” I bellowed. (Badum dum dum…I just couldn’t help myself. Kind servants of God, they laughed at my lamo joke. Plus, they could see I had their chicken parmesan. And had been drinking.)

Me, 1. Kindly Nuns with kickass musical taste, 0.

Anyway, I do good deeds. I was practically in a coma, forced to drink draft beer with my dinner on a Monday night in front of the good sisters, because I had chaperoned a field trip to the wilderness. After riding on a plush, pimping yellow bus full of screaming first graders for half an hour, we got to look at frog skeletons, stuffed birds, catch bugs, and troll for creatures in a pond with nets and buckets. The woman who guided our tour is a howl and busted my chops for screeching, “Eeew! Yucky bug!” and guffawing at two bugs mating. Worst chaperone ever.

(Sidenote? Today I woke up with a migraine. Coincidence? Don’t ever, ever, ever, ever complain about teachers having their summers off. They need them to recuperate!)

I tried. But I am clumsy in nature. My idea of being outdoorsy is reading People mag at the beach or playing recreational cookout sports. Wiffleball while balancing a beer? Yes, please! Teetering with a bucket in swampophilia? Um, no!

Another mom and I were chatting with the teacher about camping. She asked if I ever camped and I said, not really, because…. hubs and I are afraid of the woods. And don’t like bugs (who I now know thanks to the field trip are vital to our survival…but sorry, still not a fan!). And , we would scream like a 5 year old girl if we saw a wild animal. Yes! Squirrels are too scary! I would be all about camping if I were with someone who knew what they were doing— provided I had a campfire, running water, a shower, warm bed, smores, cocktails, and faux camped on the perimeter of the woods close to vital amenities like Target and the liquor store. Is that too much to ask?

I have no survival skills. None. I would rather be dumped onto a random city street at 2 AM with just my wits about me than be alone in the woods. Truth. At least you can negotiate with people in the city. You’re bound to find someone to help you. In the woods? Bugs? Would bite me. Food? No one delivers. Animals? Would totally eat me for dinner. They’d be all, “Look at that tasty muffin top!” And it would be game over.

Dumped in the city? No prob. Kind of like the time two of my colleagues and I wandered away on a business trip after hitting some bars in a strange city and found ourselves foraging for food at 2 AM. (Unrelated: none of us became CEO. Or CFO. Or anything with a capital “O” at the end.) Did I panic when we walked into the Domino’s Pizza and it had bullet proof glass? No. I just took it to mean Domino’s was the best damn pizza that city had to offer and that people would of course kill for it (It was the midwest. Sorry midwest. I luvs you long time and you rule at BBQ. But pizza should not be made west of NYC.). So, I gave the kid at the window $10 to sell me the very next pizza that came out of the oven. (You haven’t lived ’til you’ve played pizza roulette….was I getting Pepperoni? Was I getting ham and pineapple? Pepper and Onion? Who knew! I still don’t know! It was Domino’s!)

We had mystery topping pizza in hand within seconds and lived to do lots of corporate learnin’/detoxing the next day. ROI! Actionable! Market Driven! Blood alcohol content!

If we were in the woods, I would have kicked it first. No question. If a ginormous animal didn’t make me his Scooby snack, I’d have expired from Diet Coke DT’s or Target withdrawal. Survival of the fittest–I lose!

What about you? Would you rather be plunked in the city or the woods?

Ever since I returned home from Florida, I’ve been plotting in my mind about how I can get back there. I’m not having vacation withdrawal, I’m having weather withdrawal. I know, it’s ridiculous. I’m not saying it’s like I’m up here on the chain gang or something—I love my life here—the people, my house, the gig I’ve got going. It’s unarguably one of the prettiest areas in the country. It’s just that I am telling you, even though I was born and raised right outside Boston and now live in New Hampshire, I swear, this is not where I’m meant to be. Someone in my ancestry took a way wrong turn! So me going somewhere warm for a week is like giving a junkie a crack hit and then taking it all awayyyyy. (That ‘splains why I’m all shaky and shivery and shouty and stabby right now.)

See, I h.a.t.e. the cold. And the older I get, the more I hate it. Being cooped up inside while I *know*  (warm weather people reading my blog–please forgive my tone as I’m relatively sure it’s temporary insanity) other people (me-ow!) are drinking in the aroma of  fresh cut grass while they swim outside makes me ca-rabby. Booooooo.  So….I might have bought a lottery ticket this week. Or three. I know. I know. That’ s a game plan, right? Stay tuned to watch me get struck by lightning!

But I’ve been thinking. It’s probably better this way, that I live in the land of Vitamin D deficiency. If I moved south of the Mason-Dixon line, think about all the bad things that could happen:

1. Melanoma would surely ensue, because let’s review, I vacillate between the color of sugar and flour. And hell, living in the cold is surely better than swimming with the fishes. Maybe it’s for my own good I’m locked up half the year?

2. If I wanted to ensure I ward off melanoma, I’d probably A. bankrupt myself buying Coppertone and B. blind the neighbors with my doughgirl Irish skin…I’d have to provide them with those eclipse glasses. They’d probably throw garlic at me and no one would talk to me at block parties as I stand in the corner drinking my beer out of my Canadian souvenir cup. They’d be all, “Tacky tourist!” and start singing, “One of these things is not like the o-ther!”

3. If I encountered someone rude or surly down south while buying my case of Coppertone, I’d likely blurt out, “Awww, you’re just pissed we won the war!” and stomp off like I did in Pensacola once. And that’s not how a lady should act! (Hey, she started with ME!)

4. I think I’d have night terrors about the bugs. Dude. The bugs. They need their own zip code down there. I saw a bug on the ground at Epcot and it was so stinking big it attracted a crowd. Ok, a crowd of little boys but still. (Seriously. You pay Walt through the nose to get in to go on rides created by literal geniuses, and there are all these boys staring at this…..thing….When the bug is the wow factor at Epcot, that bug ain’t right.) I can only say it was so honkingly huge, I told the boys I thought we could fly home on it. EEEEH.

5. Let’s not underestimate what a challenge it would be to live in a climate where there would be virtually little to no chance of masking the muffin top with a toasty, roasty cable Lands’ End nerd herd sweater or fleece? I’m down with down, yo! Wearing that shizz down there would probably create an international incident when the feds started tailing me thinking I’m all up to no good hiding contraband in my coat on a hot day. “Sorry, officer, no! Please don’t take me away! I don’t have ANY weapons under here—just my muffin top! I love my fami-leee….Noooo! How will I Facebook from the clink?????”

On the other hand…hmm…prison time. Three squares, no worrying about what to cook, no one recoiling at my cooking. Lots of time to pump iron and bond with other chicks—far cry from the frat house. And I’m sure in no time I could get an online MBA, master license plate making, or become an internet reverend! Mama would be proud!

On second thought, maybe I should go turn the heat up and go check those lottery numbers………..

So I’m walking to the bus stop yesterday to pick up my first grader (in the balmy 50 degree New Hampshire freak weather–BOOM!), and I glance over at four year old who’s skipping along and ask, “Hey, how do you like your new shoes?”

“They’re TELLIBLE! They make me really slow!”

I THOUGHT THEY WERE PRETTY SNAZZY MYSELF.

“Oh, pumpkin, no.” I think to myself. “It’s not the shoes. It’s the DNA. There’s a reason why mama was never picked first seventh in gym class.” (Thank God for my sparkling personality. Which has gotten me nowhere far in life. Well, I did score that extra slice of cheese for 3 year old at the deli. A win for the chatty!)

I think it, but I don’t say it. Who am I to be a four year old dream crusher? Perception is reality, people.

“I don’t think you’re slow. Show me whacha got…go, run, go!”

Sure enough, he blasted off, stopped, turned around and beamed, “Oh… actually they make me really fast!” before leaping over a man hole cover at the bus stop for good measure.

“Awesome! You are SO fast!”

Being a parent is a buzz kill sometimes, don’t you think? By that I mean,  so many times during the day I find myself saying, “NO!”. No, you can’t climb the shelves of the pantry, three year old. No, you can’t eat fruit roll ups for lunch, four year old. No, you can’t play your new DS until you do your math homework, six year old.

You can’t talk with your mouth full. You can’t “fly” off your brother’s loft bed. You can’t use my floor lamp as a fireman pole. You can’t wear your Mario shirt to church. You can’t sit in the clothes dryer! (Definitely NO!) You can’t play ball in the house… right Carol Brady?

No. Nahnonono. NO!

Sigh.

UM, YEAH, I HAVE NO IDEA WHO "GIMP DADDY" IS....BUT THANKS ,PHOTOBUCKET AND GIMP DADDY, BECAUSE THIS BUZZ KILL PIC SAYS IT ALL!

Buzz.kill. Buzzzzzy buzzz buzzz. Buzz.

I decided I’m going to try to say yes as much as I can, when I can. Saying no as a parent is obviously necessary sometimes.  We can’t have the inmates running the asylum. And in a household of climbing, adventure seeking boys, no is literally a safety precaution. But would Cheez-It’s for breakfast once in a while kill them? Would tossing a football in the hallway really rock my world? If a lamp breaks, is it priceless anyway?

There is a gigundo grey area between prison warden and total anarchy, right? And our kids….are not us. They might look like us, they might even act like us (frightening?), but they’re not us. They are their own little selves. Fast or slow, good at math or stuck after school for extra help, fantastic singers or glass breakers, star scorers or bench warmers, they are their own unique selves. If I’m a slow runner, that doesn’t make my kid one.

Our kids are a clean slate. A beginning to a wonderful story that is still unfolding. It’s theirs to write with our help and guidance.

I saw this quote on (cough) Pinterest–it’s attributed to Albert Einstein. I have my doubts about if he really said it, but it doesn’t matter, as the quote is meaningful nonetheless:

“Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.”

Sometimes I think it’s best to keep our thoughts to ourselves, let our kids go, and watch them fly.

If we tell them they can’t enough, they just might believe us.

If we tell them they can enough, they just might believe us.

And I just checked the box. Cheez-It’s are made with 100% real cheese (only the best for mah babies!), making them a really not good breakfast indeed!

A few months ago, a friend sent me an invitation to something called, “Pinterest”. Have you heard of it? I didn’t know what it was at first so I did what I always do when I don’t know what something is….nothing. (I put the I in initiative.) Then I got another invitation so I took the next step, set up an account under my alias, Muffintopmommy, and promptly forgot all about it. Til one day a few weeks ago when a funtastic muffintopper pointed me to a recipe blog called skinnytaste (nom, nom, low fat goodness!) whose glorious recipe pictures led me back to……Pinterest.

People? 2012 is the year I met my personal crack cocaine.

It was a circuitous route, but like all addicts, I perservered. And once I got there? It was the point of no return—I was ALL in. So now what? Naturally, Iwanna do like most good junkies do…. give others a taste and suck you all down my wayward path. That’s right. After being asked several times last week by friends what Pinterest is, I feel it is now my obligation to spread the good word. (I’m not going door to door. That’s just silly. It’s January in New Hampshire and this territory is owned by Girl Scouts right now. Have you ever tried to cross a sash clad, ponytailed, four foot tall ninja carrying an order form for the holy grail of minty cookies? Don’t. Just don’t. Just smile and give them all your money.)

Wanna come along? Consider this Pinterest 101. Right here. Right now. Time to woman up. This isn’ t for sissies. And it can be confusing. After one friend emailed me asking me to explain it and why it was so addictive, I sent her an email that I thought made sense, to which she responded:

“Ok, I think I kind of get it.  I can pin things to my board and they will stay there if I want to go back to them?  Do you share stuff with others?  I take it back…I don’t think I get it at all.”

She seemed down, so I emailed her back, “You is smart. You is kind. You is important.” Thank you, Pinterest, for reminding me of that phenomenal quote from The Help! I love you Aibileen, I love you!

People who are smart, kind, and important still often can’t grasp the concept of Pinterest because you see, it’s one of those things that’s harder to explain than it is to actually do. I know that sounds weird, but my best recommendation is to jump in with both feet and try it. You do need an invitation from someone who’s already on Pinterest. I know, it’s super exclusive. That’s why I am surprised I got an invite. (But really…if you need an invite, email me and I’ll send you one.)

So here’s my best stab at ‘splaining it. Pinterest is a virtual pinboard. Did you ever cut out pictures from a magazine of things you liked… a fun outfit? A wedding dress? A cool looking kitchen? A yummy recipe? And pin them to an actual corkboard? (Yeah, me neither, but I kinda wish I did.) I hear people who aren’t like me (read:organized) do, or they carefully file these clippings away for future reference/inspiration.

Well now, even disorganized dopes with no initiative can display everything we love! The really crack coke part of it is, you can follow what others display too, and “repin” what they have displayed on your corkboards. And you can have dozens and dozens of corkboards showcasing anything and everything your muffin top desires! For example, I have categories like, “The Yummies” for recipes, “The funny” for hilarious sayings, “Shoes and clothes and shoes, oh my!” for houses (Der, clothes and shoes! Just making sure you’re paying attention–this is so not important!) ,  and “Let’s Get Physical” for exercise tips. I even have a board called, “People I Want To Have A Beer With” and “People I’m Allowed To Cheat On The Hubs With”! Calm down! Stop calling me Newt. It’s just for funnies and let’s face it, Coach Taylor from Friday Night Lights isn’t into me hasn’t returned any of my  calls, text messages, or emails.

And who doesn’t love a trip down memory lane? Someone’s pin totally brought me back and led me to the greatness of this 70′s commercial:

Time for Timer!

Makes me teary. And inspiration? Is at your fingertips, my friends!

Can you even guess where I found this fat-tastic weight loss inspiration? Who needs to pay for Weight Watchers! Pfft!

 So pin those yummy recipes, Julia! Showcase the most fashionable outfits you’ll never fit into or be able to buy, Gisele! Pine away for that perfect porch to have a cocktail on, Martha! Be inspired to conquer your muffin top, um, Muffintopmommy!

See, Pinterest is almost like the life we wish we had or everything we aspire to be: in shape, well dressed, well spoken, well intentioned, grammatically correct, repurposing, funny, inspirational, selves……..who drive fantastic cars, cook like famous chefs, sip gorgeous cocktails on sweeping verandas whilst taking time to smell the perfectly pruned hydrangeas.

Mama can dream. Mama.can.dream. Don’t we all deserve a break, if only virtual, from cars covered in winter’s salt, shirts we bought because they were on clearance at Target, and humdrum dinners we could assemble in our sleep?

But hey, just don’t blame me if you’re soon writing status updates on your Facebook page like I did last week:

Dear Pinterest, thanks for making me hungry, hate my clothes, and want a new baby. I would complain, but your inspirational messages prevent me from not appreciating the wonderful kids I have, the (mediocre) food I cook, and (nerd herd) clothes I wear! Well played, Pinterest, well played.

Don’t hate the playah, just hate the game.

**You can even pin blogs! But apparently putting a pinterest button on my blog so you can follow me or pin my blog….is above my pay grade. I tried. And failed. On Pinterest, I’m much more talented…..so if you’re looking for me? Try there. And if anyone finds a blog post giving the 411 on that, pin it baby, pin it!

Whew!

I’m happy to report I survived Black Friday.

Granted, I was in my snowman pajamas snuggled under the covers sawing wood til the late hour of half past 8, but I am just so grateful my 2 year old didn’t pepper spray me and no one stepped on my face for some Wheaties here at Casa de Muffin Top. I know others did not fare so well.

I was worried. You just never know where danger lurks.

I love me some bargains but oooh, the thought of getting out of my toasty roasty bed after hosting T-giving (that’s right…..and opening that can of cranberry sauce was the last straw…it totally did me in…)was too much for any 50% off wafflemaker. Unless Coach Taylor was up for grabs, I was just not ready to do battle with the people of Walmart. I’m klutzy on a good day–half asleep with gravy coursing through my veins–you know I wouldda gotten taken out by one of those scooter people cuz I’d be too slow to pole vault away into a display of Faded Glory madness.

So here I sit. Not one Christmas present purchased. Not.a.one.

And the overacievers on Facebook are stressing me out. (You know who you are, you crazy little elves, you. Bastards!)

You know the ones–they’re putting status updates like this up:

Tree trimmed? Check! Lights up? Check! Christmas quilts on all the beds? Check! Holiday afghans knitted for the senior center? Check! Christmas presents for friends, family, bus driver, teachers, mailman, street sweeper, babysitter, dog walker, newspaper mystery delivery person, check out girl at supermarket, brother’s girlfriend’s stepfather’s sister purchased, wrapped, and under tree? Check, check, and cha-eck! Gifts from toy drive for needy children wrapped and dropped to shelter?  Check. *

Ugh oh. I knew I should have started my shopping in 2010!

I’m a terrible person! The worst! A total procrastinator. I have nothing for my kids! For the needy kids! For the hubs! The teacher! The seniors! The distant almostsortakinda relative! The butcher! The baker! The candlestick maker!

 Think, think, think. I can do this. I’m not stressed. I’m not.

See now that I’m off my pneumonia meds, I can hit the sauce.

Can you have a beer while you shop at Walmart?

NOOOOOOOOOO. (You really should be able to. It might take the sting out of some of the scenery. No really. Seriously.)

UMMMM. I DON'T SEE ANY POURING GOING ON, WALMART LADIES. SO NO DICE!

But I can in my family room. While I’m on my computer. Shopping til I drop in my snowman jammies! I can google for coupon codes with my best pepper spray game face on. GRRRRRRRRRRR. I can throw my muffin top around the family room and pretend to knock down little old ladies for wii games while I’m on toyrus.com! JOY TO THE WORLD! WINNING! It’s the reason for the season, yo!

CRUSHING CYBERSPACE FROM THE COUCH. HUZZAH! PARTY SNACKS AND BEERS INCLUDED. AND MAYBE SOME RHONJ RERUNS. ANYONE KNOW WHERE I CAN GET ME SOME CHINCHILLA??

I can have hot chocolate with fluffed marshmallow vodka while I swoop in and crush some ebay auctions.

Hellz yeah.

Don’t –don’t even try to grab up the last blender at amazon.com or I will cut you. I will. I will find your cyber arse and cut you with my sword mean unChristmasy, un Jimmy Stewart words.

It’s holiday time. It’s on. Good tidings to all and to all a good figh–I mean, night. Night!

*If this was your status update though, let’s be friends! Really! You can help people like me!