The Things, My Love, Murphy and li’l ol’ me wish you and yours a Merry Christmas. As always, enjoy your ‘elves!
Meanwhile, I’m off to deliver eggnog around the neighborhood. While I’m gone please enjoy this little piece about The Things’ Christmas lists that appears on DadCentric, “It’s the Box That Counts.” Cheers!
My Love made the appointment for last Tuesday. Not being one for history, she didn’t realize the significance of selecting December 7 as the day for her and Thing 1 to finally make good on someone’s promise to chop off her tresses for a good cause.
“Pearl Harbor Day,” I told her. “When the Japanese bombed us into World War II. ‘A date which will live in infamy.’”
“Oh.”
“It’s OK. I’d still love you bald. Or looking like that crazy doll head with the erector-set legs in the first Toy Story movie. I mean, you did put up with my mustache for a month.”
Combined, the two of them donated seven locks, each at least 10 inches long.
And hardly a tear was shed.
And yes, Thing 1 still wanted to know if she could get paid.
She settled for a plate of sliders and wings at a restaurant down the street.
For more information on donating to Locks of Love, visit its website and FAQ page.
Time for my annual rant about putting out the Uncool Family holiday cards, but with a tangy twist! This year I’m borrowing the “I’m Right, You’re Wrong” format from Marinka of Motherhood in NYC, a classy and sassy woman who I’d be lucky to have on my side during a knife fight at Zabar’s.
Cast of Disagreers: Uncool and My Love.
Disagreement: Do you need to hand write a personalized note in a holiday card when said card already includes: 1) a thorough and entertaining family newsletter and 2) all the family member’s names (dog included) expensively embossed inside?
Position 1: We do all that other stuff to AVOID having to personally communicate with these people, many of whom we haven’t seen since our wedding. A handwritten note is only necessary when adding essential and timely information, such as “Don’t pick the scabs!” or “Plead the Fifth when the Feds come!” Not exactly keeping with the spirit of glad tidings, though.
Position 2: People may not be able to read our chicken scratch but they’ll figure out we’re attempting a bit of personalized sincerity here, Scrooge!
Please weigh in. The stamps are burning a hole in my pocket.
It’s well established that I’m not an authority on Judaism and such, but am I the only who finds it odd to sell things you kick around like this as Hanukkah gifts?
I know I’m two days late for my final mustache showing of Movember but both cords we have for downloading our digital cameras mysteriously disappeared.
So I bought a new camera.
I had to. Mine was tragically smacked out my hand by an 8-year-old (not named Thing 2) at a birthday party in May, and it had been shooting with a wonky focus ever since. That’s why I’ve been looking so Cybill Shepherd in Moonlighting-ish of late.
So without further ado, here is my Day 30 ‘stache, in which I channel my inner Keith Hernandez.
Because Keith is a one-time Most Valuable Player and 11-time Gold Glove winning first baseman.
Because Keith, in 2007, won the American Mustache Institute’s Top Sports Mustache of All Time award and had his own mustache tribute day at Shea Stadium:
Because Keith played a central role in one of the best episodes of Seinfeld ever.
Because Keith is a spokesman for Just for Men Mustache and Beard dye gel which, I admit, I had to use not so much to hide the gray but to darken the blonde so people could tell I was growing something under my nose.
Because Keith, while broadcasting a Mets game this year, reflected the feelings of all the team’s fans by falling asleep during the “action”:
God save you and your mustache, Keith.
And God save those of you who contributed to me and Team DadCentric, to help us raise more than $1,300 to fight prostate and testicular cancer.
As for those of you who didn’t donate this time out, I’m sure you were saving up to make a HUGE contribution this spring when I ask for you to support Cure JM in the Seattle Rock ‘n’ Roll Marathon/Half Marathon in June.
Now back to our regularly scheduled, unfuzzy and Uncool face:
Two packages arrived at our doorstep a few weeks ago that had me giving thanks well before the cranberry sauce and mashed potatoes hit the table this past Thursday.
The first package: a box of wine.
Not that $3.99 cube sitting on a shelf at the 7-Eleven between the fried pork rinds and the dusty orange bottles of STP Super Concentrated Gas Treatment. That’s “box wine,” Goober!
No, this was an actual case of the bottled fermented grape. Stopped up with real corks and wax ‘n‘ stuff. This normally would have meant little to me, the resident beer drinker of Uncool Estates. Besides, My Love had joined an online wine club earlier in the year and cases of malbecs and fruit de loops had been showing up at our place periodically.
This case, however, was the fifth to arrive at our door in the past two weeks. In fact, the last time a case arrived even the FedEx man who delivered it raised his eyebrows and inquired about My Love’s imbibing habits.
Even stranger, My Love has been laying off the vino of late. She had been letting cases pile up so she could work on her goal of living a healthier life through better eating, more exercise and putting the usual kibosh on any suggestion I throw her way especially if it now involves whipped cream and pure Vermont maple syrup.
Package No. 2: Now this is what got my mind right back in the gutter and rolling around in the glorious filth.
This package, the unassuming brown corrugated kind about two shoeboxes in width, bore the return address of … an online costume store.
Hmm … Halloween has already passed …
Store probably had big clearance sales …
Well, some of you have been around here long enough to know what visions of sugar-walled goodness danced in my head. Go ahead, take a guess.
READER 1: “I know! Discounted saucy pirate wench outfit!”
READER 2: “No, no! It’s a cut-priced frilly French maid!”
READER 3: “I’ve got it! Bargain-basement beer wench!”
(Oops – never got around to writing about that last one, did I? Looks like I finally have a completely legitimate reason to post this Oktoberfest photo of Kim Kardashian:
Look at the size of those pretzel loops! Is there anything Kim can’t do? You know, besides productively contribute to society?)
That’s right, friends, I was pretty certain My Love was stocking up for the bender to all benders … and letting me be the beneficiary.
Bless me and thank you, O Mysterious and Magically Delicious Powers That Be, for providing a bounty of trimmings to make for a most glorious feast (in the locked privacy of our room) this season!
But that was many days and icy showers ago.
So here it was, Thanksgiving Day. The turkey gobbled up, the coffee brewing and pumpkin pie warming. Sure, I was thankful for many things, most prominently my being able to wear elastic waistband track pants for the next three days but, golly, I felt a little cheated after letting my imagination run wild for most of the month.
And then, when I least expected it, the mystery of the second box revealed itself – not only to me, but also my incredibly embarrassed children and hysterical parents.
Down the stairs of our home came My Love, looking regal in this:
I could use some of that wine about now.
* * *
Hope all of you had a great Thanksgiving and that you’ll give a little more thanks that in two days I’m shaving off my Movember mustache. You can help celebrate by donating to fight prostate and testicular cancer.
%5B7%5D.jpg "Oktoberfest Kim Kardashian beer wench")
