archive for the 'christmas' category

january 3

I totally had my post-holiday blogging re-entry all scoped out.

I was totally gonna start with Day 1 of my holidays, also known as “The Day That Everything Went Really Friggin’ Wrong”, which was punctuated by the experience of cutting my finger on a potato. Not on a knife with which I was cutting a potato. No — on on actual potato. Considering that Solanum tuberosum does not appear anywhere on the 2007 Year-End Top 100 Things That Are Sharp And Will Cut You, Bitch list, this was a fairly remarkable feat. Be it resolved, from this day forth the lowly potato is my nemesis and I will henceforth revel in my slow, tasty decimation of its entire species. [Perfunctory super-villain laugh.]

Next, I was gonna transition into our trip to Newfoundland, Land of Heavy Starches and Force-Feeding In-Laws. We had so much food thrown at us everyday that we did not get to eat a single bite of turkey leftovers. (Also, stuffing stings when thrown in the eyes, but not as much as cranberry sauce.)

The only mitigating factor to the lard-producing quantities of food was the two games of Ultimate I got to play (yay!) and the three-freaking days that I got to shovel several feet of snow (anti-yay!).

Note: I would have had to shovel four-freaking days in Newfoundland, but my back seized up after the third shovel-o-rama — compounded by the 5 hours I spent hunched over attempting to set up a new Vista laptop to be “foolproof” for My Lovely Wife’s aunt — so I got to sit out shovelling on our last morning on the Rock.

But never fear, because upon arriving home that afternoon, I had to shovel OUR driveway out. And when I say “shovel”, I actually mean “repeatedly drive a metal gardening shovel into the 6 inch thick sheet of ice covering our driveway and cry”.

And then I got to do it again the next day.

That’s right. Five-freaking days of shovelling.

Good times. Good times.

Then I was going to Snoopy-dance into the story of how the Small One seems to be completely out of the woods with his bladder problem. He — and the house — no longer smell like pee and he’s back to his regular cuddly self.

Note: Actually, both our boys seem to have reacted quite strongly to our holiday absence and are taking steps to prevent our further departure from the house. For example, they have fashioned crude shackles out of cat hair and dander (not particularly secure — except for the very allergic — but props for effort!) and have chained themselves to our bodies. Bedtime has never been so warm nor so furry. Last night, My Lovely Wife was mad at me for two hours for snoring before she realised that it was the Large One sawing logs in her ear.

And then I would have mentioned some other stuff.

Really, I could have gone on and on and on about every speck of minutia concerning our holidays.

But then… this morning I received this email from My Lovely Wife:


Today is Jan 3rd. Three years ago something happened…


It is true.

I forgot our anniversary.

[Hangs head in shame.]

And everything would have been JUST FINE if we BOTH continued to forget.

But My Lovely Wife remembered. Before me. And she got to be the one who told me.

If our marriage was a game — let’s say, Dungeons and Dragons — I totally failed my saving throw against Anniversary and took full damage. I’m at 0 hit points and need binding soon if I want to live. The DM is chuckling and rolling dice behind his screen.

Luckily… our marriage is not a game [listens for sound of polyhedral dice] and I seem to be at full hit points.

More importantly, I am married to the coolest chick in the world.

Heck she even put down my visor for me on our drive to work today so I wouldn’t get sun in my eyes.

(And she only complained a little while she did it.)

Ladies and gentlemen… that’s love.

When it comes down it it, only one thing matters.

I’m the luckiest guy in the world.

Happy Anniversary, Sweetie!

christmas quote of the day

“Oh no! It’s velociraptors!! RUN BABY JESUS! RUN!!!”

- Somewhere on the Masthead

christmas… now even paganier!

With a long sword and a morning star dripping blood and viscera, I hacked and hewed my way through the invading hordes at the Great Christmas Shopping Melee at Mic Mac Mall last evening.

I began my journey with my trusty elven companion at my side, but even with the elder magic of the Deep Woods at his disposal, he was overcome not twenty feet from the front door of The Dreaded Old Navy. I lit his death-pyre there, in front of the Body Shop of Healing and Powerful Scents, speaking the ancient words of power that would send his spirit over the western sea to the Great Court of Food. Then, I made my way forward, though tears streamed from my eyes, blurring the barbarian hordes that flowed like so much avaricious water.

I was on the trail of an artifact of glory, the purportedly mythical Perfect Gift For My Lovely Wife, and my hopes were growing dim.

I tracked down dwarven goldsmiths deep in the bowels of the The Ancient Hudson’s Bay Company, but they drove me off with their kobold soldiers and Blankets of Great Itching.

On I struggled, through many tribulations.

I forced the dark brethren of the Darkest Sect of Winners to their knees, but before they were able to reveal their treasures, a beam of moonlight broke through and the brethren disappeared in a cloud of brimstone and moths.

On I went.

From the confines of The Gap of No Return, I barely escaped from the poison-scaled clutches of the beautiful and bloodcurdling Sirens encamped within. Empty-handed, my quest continued.

Finally, after hours of blood, terror, and death, I found myself in the deepest well of the Mall, cut off from all escape. My sword lay shattered at my feet. I howled from the pain of dozens of wounds which threatened to overcome me. All hope seemed to be lost.

As darkness descended, a deep, honey-toned voice called to me…

“And what do you want for Christmas?”

Looking up, I saw a being out of legends. Tall, stately, with boughs that had never seen the woodsman’s axe. Needles of deepest green. And eyes that had seen the beginning of the world and seemed to look past the very end of time.

It was Woody the Talking Christmas Tree.

Woody the Talking Christmas Tree

Struggling to my feet and preparing myself to meet my doom — for one cannot meet beings of such power and expect to live — I swept an awkward bow and forced my eyes to meet its own. I heard myself speak:

“Oh great and terrible lord, I come from a distant land in search of an item of great power. I hunt for The Perfect Gift For My Lovely Wife. I do this not for myself. Oh no — my greatest desire is to find The Perfect Gift For My Lovely Wife and bestow it — funnily enough — upon My Lovely Wife upon the morn of the twenty-fifth day of this month.

“I am a simple man and do not expect to live after having gazed upon your countenance. All I ask are two boons. I beg of you — send my wife this gift… and send her my bones, so that she may lay them to rest with my ancestors.”

At that, I lowered my head and waited for my doom.

Instead, I felt a great warmth begin within my heart and spread throughout my limbs. I could feel my myriad wounds knitting themselves closed with a burning heat, yet it hurt not at all. And I heard a voice:

“Go, small mortal thing. Your adventures have amused me and taken my mind off my growing Visa bill. Your quest is over. The Perfect Gift For My Lovely Wife is a legend in truth, but I would not have you leave empty-handed…”

Then all was black and I knew no more.

When I awoke, I found myself outside my home. Cheery lights beckoned me.

And in my hand, if not The Perfect Gift For My Lovely Wife — for I now knew it to be a child’s fable and no more — I held a gift sure to make her happy. And I knew… it was enough.

I went in the front door and called out, “Well, I’m back.”