We created our family ornament last night and I had every intention of blogging about this family bonding experience, the agony and the ecstasy and all of the WE ARE GOING TO ENJOY THIS, WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT, SO SMILE DAMMIT, THIS IS FUN in between. With pictures and everything!
But then I remembered that I have no Photoshop anymore due to my hard drive failure.
And no one sees my pictures until they’ve been completely overhauled in Photoshop because my photography skills suck dirt and my handy dandy dslr camera, the one I affectionately refer to as Damn Stupid Little Ratshit That Cost A Lot Of Money (DSLRTCALOM for short) is sadistic and lives to psyche me out by flashing stunning previews on its LCD screen, only to turn around and download horrid, blurry, over exposed, under exposed, blatantly lousy images onto my computer. Just to mess with my head.
So my photos do not see the light of day without Photoshop.
I wish I could say the same for my body. Except my ears. I have nice ears.
Photoshop, please come back! COME BAAAAAAAAAAACK.
I miss you.
This leaves me with nothing to blog about except random thoughts bouncing around inside my head at this very moment and I don’t know about you, but I certainly don’t want to read about cramps and bloating and constipation, much less write about it.
Do you? I didn’t think so.
Mental note to self #1: Get a life.
Mental note to self #2: Get some fiber, while you’re at it.
Therefore, I think I’ll answer a few Christmas questions because I am all about Christmas, baby! Six more days! Ho Ho Ho! Meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerry Christmas! Ho Ho Ho!
Mental note to self #3: Stop it.
Here we go:
Wrapping paper or gift bags?
For most of the year, I’m all about the gift bag. A bag lady, if you will. Or you don’t have to. It’s up to you. Just know that if you do, I’m not your average bag lady. I smell better and shave more often.
However, for Christmas, I’m all about the paper. And I’m here to tell you that it’s long, hard, grueling, tedious work, being all about the paper. It’s no piece of cake. Which reminds me.
Mental note to self #4: Feed me.
It’s not uncommon for me to spend hours picking out wrapping paper, giving a lot of thought and consideration to its weight, sheen, color, pattern and dimensions, leaving and coming back to the store three or four times to get a fresh perspective, creating a mental picture of how the colors will combine under the tree.
Will they be balanced? Will they compliment each other? Will they look festive?
Will they joyfully scream IT’S CHRISTMAS! RIP ME OPEN!
Or moan UGH. STOP STARING AT ME. DON’T TOUCH ME. LEAVE ME ALONE.
Gosh, that sounds so familiar. I know I’ve heard that somewhere. I’ll have to ask Nate. I bet he’ll know.
Speaking of Nate, sometimes I drag him along to get his opinion on paper selection, but when that opinion is expressed after only 2.3 seconds of deliberation because he was distracted by his iTouch or his blackberry or whatever electronic gadget was cemented to his face at the time, I tend to hemorrhage all of my Christmas jollies all over the floor. And there’s nothing festive about that.
Do you like eggnog?
Yes, but only if it’s made with Dove dark chocolate eggs. Then it totally rocks. Otherwise, not on your life. Mine either.
White lights or colored lights?
After laboring for a combined total of 80 hours in order to have my uterus ripped to shreds twice so that two miniature human beings could burst forth from my body and control every single aspect of my life from that point on until eternity, I don’t think it’s too much to ask to have all white lights on our Christmas tree.
White lights, it is.
Blinking lights or non-blinking lights?
After laboring for a combined total of 80 hours in order to have my uterus ripped to shreds twice so that two miniature human beings could burst forth from my body and control every single aspect of my life from that point on until eternity, I don’t think it’s too much to ask to gaze upon my Christmas tree without the urge to pack an overnight bag and go on an acid trip.
Non-blinking lights, it is.
What’s on top of your tree?
After laboring for a combined total of 80 hours in order to have my uterus ripped to shreds twice so that two miniature human beings could burst forth from my body and control every single aspect of my life from that point on until eternity, I don’t think it’s too much to ask have a beautiful, wired ribbon bow atop our Christmas tree.
A star, it is.
Apparently, one worn out uterus and two little humans only get you so far. Who knew?
Mental note to self #5: Find a surrogate
That’s it! I’m done. It’s over. You can open your eyes now. It’s safe.
I’m hoping that before Christmas, I can post photos of some inked Christmas ornaments I made last year. They turned out beautifully. I’m just waiting for the photos to be restored to my hard drive. They’ve already been photoshopped and they make it look as if I actually knew what I was doing.
Mental note to self #6: Photoshop my life.