Happy Winter Solstice! Merry Christmas! Happy Hanukkah! Happy Kwanzaa! Happy Holidays!

Today’s my last day of work for awhile. I’m off until January 3, and could I be happier? NO!!! I could not!!!

My posts until after the new year will be hit-or-miss, as I plan to sleep in a lot, hang with the kiddos in our pjs, watch a lot of movies, go a-visiting, and recover from nearly sliding into rampant exhaustion.

So, to all of you, I wish my warmest, sincerest wishes for the season. Stay well, be safe, be happy!

Shameless Product Endorsement

‘Homeopathic’ medicine…I’ve come to believe in the stuff.

I’ve been fighting a cold here, a cold there, since late summer, pissing me off with every sneeze and cough and choking hack that brings up another bit of lung material.

About a month ago, my work friend Celia recommended I try Zicam, the swabs you swirl around in your nose.

Swirl.
In.
Your.
Nose.

It sounded easy, albeit a bit gross (and it brought to mind lyrics from a Barry Louis Polisar song: “Don’t put your finger up your nose/‘cause your nose knows it’s not the place it goes/you can sniffle/you can sneeze/but I’m asking you please/don’t put your finger up your nose.”).

What the hell.

I slunk to the store and bought some of the stuff.

Okay. They’re individually-wrapped swabs, bathed in a clear jel. You open the packet and stick a swab in one nostril, just a quarter of an inch in, and swirl it around. Then pull it out, push your nostril closed for 15 seconds, and throw the swab away. Repeat with another swab in another nostril.

It was dumb.

But then…

…it worked.

Jeebus Monty Christo in an unobstructed airway!

Within a few days, my cold symptoms were gone. Totally. I could breath, no coughing, no runny eyes, no sinus headache. CURED!

But.

Since I volunteer in the kids’ school library, handling all the returned books, loaded with germy germs from coughs and neglected bathroom washings and god-knows-what from the bottom of their lockers, I got another cold this weekend.

Fack.

This time I bought Zicam ‘Oral Mist’. It says it’s Mint, but it tastes like shit. I started it Sunday. And last night, Monday night, I actually slept straight through, didn’t wake to run to the bathroom in an emergency-nose-blow, or launch into a coughing fit, or wake up with a Mohave Desert mouth from sleeping with it open.

My colds never stop this quickly on their own. I can only figure it’s the Zicam.

Now, my question is…is this a placebo? Or do their active ingredients, Zincum Aceticum and Zincum Gluconicum, really do something magical? Does anyone know? Help?

That’s Nobody’s Business But The Turks’

One of the department heads of our Customer Service department is from Turkey…Istanbul (not Constantinople). He's lived in the States 20 years or so, and goes back to Turkey once or twice a year to see his mama, to eat his childhood food, see friends, take photos for us of the Bosporus and the mosques and the open air markets. He used to be a professional soccer player, he’s well-spoken, truly nice, and always smells good. Whenever he gets a new cologne, he comes by my cube and says, “How about this one?”, and lets me press my nose into his neck for a good, deep inhale. They’re always swoon-material.

Let’s call this guy Constantine.

Constantine is a great cook.

Let me say that again.

A.
Great.
Cook.

To thank the IT department for all we did for him this past year, Constantine made us a pan of baklava.

B!A!K!L!A!VA!

Not just a wee little pan, either, nossirree bob, he used one of those professional bakers’ pans, those things that Rachel Ray and Emeril and the Good Eats guy uses. Bigger than a jellyroll pan. Deeper. Thicker. Better.

Ten minutes ago, Constantine wheeled in a pan of his homemade baklava, dripping with syrup and spiked with citrus peel, stuffed full of chopped walnuts, blanketed top and middle and bottom with crunchy, flaky pastry.

It’s on our IT food table.

And it’s ONLY for us.

For the 8 of us. Constantine’s orders.

Constantine and I had the first two pieces. The nutty sugar dripped between our fingers as we haphazardly tried to use paper towels for plates. We stood facing each other, munching, not speaking but moaning softly, our knees buckling, our eyes twinkling and then rolling back like sharks with mawfuls of prey. After the first piece, we gazed at the mountain of baklava left, and chatted about the Ottomans, and how as they traveled throughout the Middle East, their cooks left the recipe for many things, most notably this. Different people make it different ways. The Greeks use honey. The Turks, corn syrup, which makes for a lighter, softer pastry, and they add lemon and orange zest, and more spices.

We looked at each other. We looked at the baklava.

Who were we fooling?

We grabbed clean paper towels and each took another piece.

“Oh boy, I’ll have to work out extra hard tonight!”, Constantine laughed.

“Mrfmmlrp mooop!”, I grinned.

Who were we fooling?

No we won’t!

Even old New York was once New Amsterdam….

Party Party Party

I wuz up til 2 a.m. getting foods and crafts and gifts ready for the kids school holiday parties today (yes, "Holiday"...in a university atmosphere, with international students and a healthy mix of all-y'all, we celebrate Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Chinese New Year, whatevah the kids do).

The trunk of my car is full of stuff. I just crammed my face full of cheese danish (we have food constantly at work, we're getting so gordo). I need more coffee. MUCH more coffee. Three nights this week of staying up til 2 a.m., up around 6:30 a.m. Sheesh. I need a nap.

If any of you are interested, I can show you how to make a pomander of clove-stuffed oranges, or maybe a fetching candycane made of pipecleaners, or a lovely icicle-like beaded ornament. I got crafts comin' out my ass, people!

Not *literally*.

Have a good weekend, everyone! Please be careful on the roads if you live in the midwest. Damn salt trucks don't always know where the icy roads are. Fack. Up the street from work, a car hit a moving train this morning...slid into it. Cynical Girl, where you are is *dangerous*! Be careful!

Things I Learned At The IT Department Luncheon Yesterday

1. If the first person there orders beer, then everyone drinks beer.

2. Be nice to the waitstaff, and they’ll be happy to help you move to another table…three times.

3. Separate checks are not only a good idea, they’re mandatory.

4. It’s okay to eat your soup if the person beside you has no soup. It’s also okay for them to ask for a chunk of the cheese covering your lovely French onion soup BUT it’s only okay for you to give them the chunk if you’ve seen them cry or seen them naked.

5. Salad bars are overrated.

6. When it comes to Secret Santa, *everyone* is a suspect.

7. The most religious person of the group always drinks the most.

8. If you order filet mignon, and you insist on getting a bowl of ranch dressing to dip your filet mignon in, expect some horrific teasing.

9. It’s okay to mercilessly tease the boss when he relates the side-splitting story of how he tried to fix his own furnace, turning a $40 replacement job into a $400 ‘call the repairman’ job.

10. If you split dessert with someone, ask the waitstaff for a separate plate. And another fork.

11. Only be as loud as the raucous table of 12 next to you.

12. Wear loose pants.

13. Leave before you get too drunk. Or too friendly.


Oh, and as for yesterday's quiz, here are the answers, in short form, as I am again hard-pressed to goof-off today. Each one will make a future post. Make sure I do that.

Q1: b
(Everyone experiments in college with *something*. The experience was fine, but it wasn't my flavour. Although I'd do Lisa or Orange in a second!)

Q2: b
(Almost all bodily fluid is salty. It's saline-based. Except poop, which is...uh...poop-based.)

Q3: c
(I'm too easily distracted. One thing at a time, fella....)

Q4: c
(After drinking a bottle of Boones Farm Strawberry Hill. Ah, country life.)

Q5: not so much busted, we're all frantic with end-of-year crap around here, and it was Lonely-Guy-In-Loveless-Marriage, so he has bigger fish to catch, gut, and fry.

Wicked, Bad, Naughty Zoot!

Once again, I’m the dwarf under the fat girl today. Damn work. Damn marketing.

I promised a post on oral sex today. Okay. I don’t lie.

Which is a lie.

But not this time.

Here’s a short quiz for you on oral sex. On Mona’s history of oral sex. I can’t guarantee a prize, but I can feel that, perhaps, after this week of hell, there may be a boobie photo coming next week.


Question 1: In college, did Mona have/give oral sex with/to:
a) The head of the athletic department
b) A girl who lived down the hall
c) The entire men’s soccer team
d) The lead singer of INXS


Question 2: While going down on Sergei, does Mona think it tastes like:
a) Sweet wine
b) Salty chips
c) Whatever Sergei ate for dinner
d) Chicken


Question 3: Does Mona prefer:
a) Giving head but not receiving
b) Receiving head but not giving
c) Giving and receiving but not at the same time
d) Giving and receiving at the same time like some sort of porn star/sex kitten


Question 4: When did Mona have her first ‘oral’ experience?
a) In elementary school, with the boy down the road, playing “doctor”
b) In middle school, in the gym, under the bleachers, before a jr. high basketball game
c) In high school, parked on a dirt road one mile from home
d) In college, after a drunken party the first weekend of freshman year


Question 5:

Oops. I was just busted by the programmer next door. Gotta run.

Oh, a joke by another programmer that he loves to tell: “Why is 77 better than 69?”

“Because you get 8 more.” “Ate.”

Guess ya gotta be there.

Tease/Flirt

I have no time today, folks, work is crushing me like a fat girl on a dwarf.

No offense to dwarves, I do harbour a crush on Peter Dinklage.

BUT.

My thought this morning was to blog about oral sex.

ORAL!
SEX!

But that'll have to wait 'til tomorrow.

If the mere mention of 'oral sex' brings to mind a certain pleasant thought, please feel free to leave a comment and I'll incorporate them in tomorrow's post.

My thought: YUM.

If we hadn’t been in a moving vehicle, it would have been accompanied by interpretive dance, a la Martha Graham, or perhaps Bob Fosse.

I was rewarded with art on the way to school this morning. One of the benefits of living through those early childhood years, when you’d sooner plunge a spork in your bloodshot eyes than watch another episode of ‘Sesame Street’. It’s so much fun when kids get to elementary school.

Boychild and Girlchild sat in the backseat singing a round, a commercial round:

“Give me a break!
Give me a break!
Break me offa piece of that
Kit-Kat Bar!”

Around and around and around. Harmonizing. With ‘jazz hands’.

Then Boy-child hid his face in his coat hood, a stocking cap, and the Velcro closure of the coat, and squealed, “Where am I?!”, laughing hyena-like. Girl-child, 5 going on 15, chimed in, “I took your face and I’m gonna sell it on E-Bay!”

How did they know about E-Bay? Stupid commercials. Stupid television.

So I had to ask, “Is there something you can talk about that’s not a commercial?”

As if on cue, Boy-child made up this song, on the spot:

“Chunk-O, the Flying Squirrel!
It’s Chunk-O the Flying Squirrel!
Chunk-O the Flying
Chunk-O the Flying
(He’s my favourite superhero!)
Chunk-O the Flyyyyyying Squuuuuuuuuuuirrel!”


Not to be outdone, Girl-child chimed in with:

“It’s Big Head the Flying Nut!
Big Head the Flying Nut!
Big Heeeeead the Flyyyyyying Nuuuuuuut!”


So now I’m giggling and my eyes are watering. And the kids are breathless with ‘heeeheeeeheeee’-ing, and I turn into the school parking lot, where Boy-child says, “So which superhero is better? I think Chunk-O!”

And surprisingly, Girl-child agreed. “Chunk-O!”

Boy-child added, “And when you press a button on his superhero back, he says one of a number of phrases, like ‘Chunk-It-Up!’, or ‘Ha-Ha!’, or ‘Curse you Kittens!”

“Curse you Kittens!”????????

I sure hope the other moms didn’t see me pick myself up offa the sidewalk after that one.

And here endeth the Mommy-Blog for the day.

!SNOW DAY!

Two words that instantly turn on the 'glee' lights in a child of the Midwest.

SNOW!
DAY!

We got 5 or 6 inches of the powdery white stuff last night, enough so that when I stumbled downstairs this morning to check the weather, the local channels were all scrolling that familiar childhood delight, "School Closings", along the bottom of the screen. And, of course, they'd just passed our county, and I had to wait for bloody ever.

BUT.

FINALLY.

There it was.

NOOOOOOOOO SCHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL!!!!!!!!

I trotted back upstairs, broke the news to Sergei, offered to stay home with the kidlets, and then forced some sex on the man.

Forced.

HAH.

So I'm home, with kids circling me like greedy vultures, "Let's go SLEDDING!", and "snuggle with me!", and laundry to do and Christmas cards to finally get out, crafty ornaments to be made, and now I can hear the snowplows down our street, which means this afternoon we'll venture to Local Mall to do some Christmas shopping for teachers and daddy.

I hate snow. Generally. As a rule.

But Snow Days frickin' ROCK!

Hey, if you're not doing anything, come on over, we'll make some hot choccie and pop some corn and watch something silly and inane, and have a good time!

I’m Lester the Nightfly, Hello Baton Rouge

It feels like I’m asleep today, I’m discombobulated and weary and can’t focus.

Like any other day, right?

Yesterday I went on a field trip with Girl-child’s kindergarten class, to a nature center. Outside, with 24 kids aged 4-6. Freezing cold, snowing, red faces turning to spy birds nests and evidence of deer and foxes. I was in charge of my girl and two very raucous boys who insisted on turning over every branch, slipping on every patch of ice, and dusting off every log to slide across with their snowpants-encased butts. But, and this is the weird part, once they knew who their group leader was (ME), they’d instinctively find me every few minutes, like a harbor light, and I’d touch the tops of their hats or brush the snow off their backs, in a sort of weird particle-orbit. Inside the main building, we examined snakes and turtles and frogs, stuffed birds and squirrels, marveled at the carcass of a 35-pound snapping turtle (!), and ‘oohed/aahed’ over the skulls of various varmints. Kids nowadays are so smart, it just floors me, with the questions they ask and their confidence, and the way they interact with each other. “Come see this!”, they’d say to a friend, and lead them by the hand to an exhibit, much explanation of the contents, pressing their faces to the glass and steaming up the aquariums with their sweet breath. At this age, my friends and I were just lucky to not pee our pants during forced naptime.

It’s cold today. I’m massively crushed with work, feeling behind and incompetent. Chrismas shopping lists on post-its near my pc. Feeling sick from my 4th (or 5th?) cuppa coffee this morning. Still finishing school board stuff. Stressed.

BUT.

There are 5 boxes of Girl Scout cookies on my desk, paid for and ready to eat.

AND.

Sergei gave me the ‘what-for’ this morning, so even though I’m hazy-foggy, I still sport a knowing grin and a tingling in my nethers.

Her mouth was wide and sweet as well

Work ain’t supposed to be sexy, unless you’re a stripper or a musician who gets somma dat ass on tour.

Work ain’t supposed to be sexy, especially in the IT department, fulla geek-boys who’d rather write code than watch football.

Work ain’t supposed to be sexy, working under deadline and feeling like your bowels will explode under the pressure of more management shit.
..
..
..
..
..
However.

In my IT Project Planning meeting this morning, I got all ooshy-gooshy when the geek-guys started talking about dlls and servers and files and routers and dotnet this and VB6 that and turning to me to ask, “Can we get together later to poke around in there?” I could feel that sexy smell coming out from my nethers, I swear.

And.

While investigating a system-expansion thing just now during lunch, I caught myself fellating a carrot. Quite aptly, I should add.

What?
The?
Fuck?

Now, y’all are computer-savvy, to some degree. Does this computer stuff turn you on? Anything about it? Does your cooter quiver when you hit ‘Publish Post’ on your latest blog? Do you enjoy fooling with the html? Does Technorati make you scream, “Oh Yes! Oh Baby, right there!”??

‘Scuse me, I’m needed to discuss ‘software’ with one of the guys, and it might involve me taking off my sweater….

I Love Cake

A few disjointed thing-ma-bobs because it’s Monday after a not-very-relaxing weekend and I’m s’posed to be working right now.

1) Do I have a frickin’ magnet in my head? One that attracts long trains? ‘Cause nearly every morning I’m thwarted at my attempt to get to work by at least one train. Going very slowly. Carrying calcium chloride or something that makes me think, “Hmmm…does that stuff burn?...if the train overturned, would I die immediately or would my body smolder for a good 10 minutes?” Hmmm….

2) Why does every bowling alley smell like my dead gramps and his dead friends were in there smoking it on up until their lungs resembled lumps of coal? And why can’t I make a visually impactive description of smelly bowling alleys that doesn’t involve dead guys? Why Dog Why?

3) Is it proper to tell a bratty 8-year old boy to ‘shut the fuck up’ when he gives me shit as I hand out cupcakes to his class?

4) I made a deal with Jeebus last Saturday, as we were driving back from visiting relatives in another state. As we hit a blizzard on the west side of Michigan. At night. Surrounded by semis and grandmas who haven’t driven in a year and assholes who thought 75 was a pretty good speed to propel their huge mo-fo trucks. As I dug my nails into a lovely rattan gift basket of jams and jellies, I silently said, “Okay, whoever is in charge of the world, if you get us all home safe, I promise to give up lusting after this guy.” We got home safe, and now all I can think about is the guy. Because he was my newest boyfriend. And I shot that all to hell.

5) But I did have a dream about Mike Doughty. Who looks like my newest boyfriend. So it kinda evens out.

6) At midnight last night I was playing Cake. Writing To-Do Lists and jamming to Cake. Now all I can think about is Cake. Cake Cake Cake.

7) Seven’s a good number to stop on.

Jack’s Nuts Roasting on an Open Fire

Damn that ‘Christmas Song’.

I had to stop at the grocery store this morning, post school-dropoff, to pick up my meds and some work snacks, and I swear, the entire time I was in that store (aimlessly picking up chocolates and fruitcake because the damn pharmacy didn’t open until 8 a.m. gdammit), they played ‘The Christmas Song’.

By Nat King Cole, natch. ‘Cause that’s the absolute bestest one. And I’ll sumo-wrestle you if you disagree with me.

I love the song, please, don’t get me wrong here. It’s just that the song sticks in my head all day long, like someone took the lyrics and plastered it to my brain with maple syrup. It’s so sweet and nostalgic, and makes me long to be 8 years old again and still believe in the magic of Santa.

Instead of being Santa.

Which is fun in itself, but puh-leeze, I hate shopping, and the stress is killing me.

My idea of a ‘fun’ holiday season would be…no work, no school…we traipse to ‘interesting’ stores and magically find everything we need in one trip. We then spend the other 3 weeks of December making cookies, watching movies, and sleeping in…like bears in winter…only we wake up to quaff bourbon-laced eggnog.

And the kids don’t hear me bonking Sergei yet again in a new and delicious fashion.


Check out his blog today, BTW, on his old crush. It wasn’t me. I swear.

Check out QWMaine’s blog today, he is most eloquent. I was expecting a sexysexy post, and got intellectualized, and that’s such a turn-on.

Check out the Libertarian site, which is an intriguing proposition. My friend Tom is trying to convert me.

If you think you're having a bad day, Check out THIS. (What it doesn't mention in this article, but what a friend related to me, is that the dead guy was on the receiving end. Mr Ed! No!)

Have a good weekend!

24 Days of Goodies

Today the kids get to start their Advent Calendars, the ones that have a hidden piece of chocolate behind every door, the thing that counts down to Christmas.

I was sitting here feeling so stressed with work, with impending birthday party that isn’t panning out, with trips this weekend and guests, with all the stuff to buy the families for Christmas, with the final stuff for the School Board thing I’m on, feeling guilty and sick and just out of it.

And I thought, what a damn shame they don’t make those Advent Calendars for adults.

Not with chocolate.

One day, you open the little door, there’s a Bloody Mary.

The next day, a pint of Guinness.

The third day, a shot of whiskey.

The fourth, a carafe of Riesling.

And so on.

And some days, more than one door.


I don’t think that’s too much to ask.

(P.S. -- Our friend Bored Housewife is the 'Blog of Note' today!)