Don't open 'til...New Years

I used to write term papers the night before they were due. I file my taxes every year on April fourteenth and leave for work each morning five minutes late. I have perfected the fine art of procrastination and Christmas is my opportunity to shine. The day after Thanksgiving, when people get up at 4 a.m. to stand in line for sales? I'm at home stuffing my face full of pumpkin pie.

Since my family and friends live in other states and I have to ship their packages, my deadline for the hoopla is earlier. Last year, I waited until the 23rd of December and ended up having to FedEx them overnight so the little gremlins would have perfectly coiffed and coordinated gifts under the tree in time. It cost $186 - almost as much a flight I could have gotten to DELIVER the gifts in person. I am happy to report that this year I went to UPS (so I could use that awesome internet tracking device that tells me everything is currently in Sharonville, Ohio) and all my gifts should arrive in time. Eventually I'll get smart and send gift cards, but for this year, I can finally relax.

My ex- will be coming back from Iraq in about two weeks, which means he'll repossess his truck and I'll be buying a car. I can probably get a better deal if I wait until the last minute, right? RIGHT?!


The sweet, sweet smell of single

"You bought a WHAT?!"

"And paid HOW MUCH?!?
Being single means never having to rationalize any purchase or hide packages in my trunk. I stroll leisurely to the mailbox on the 22nd of each month, when the credit card bill arrives.

Meet my new Canon Powershot S80 8 megapixel digital camera...for no other reason than I wanted it. HA! Take that, you big fat man in a red polyester suit!



Pass the Resolve carpet cleaner

My bulimic cat Savannah purges most days between 3 and 4 o'clock in the morning. Since I replaced the carpet in the house when I moved in, I try to get up when I hear those pre-retching noises, grab her, and throw her in my bathroom, which is tiled, for easier clean up.

Right on schedule, this morning at 3:17, I heard the beginning of another puke ritual. I had two kittens sleeping beteen my legs, one on my chest and one near my head, so as I lept out of bed, I became twisted in the duvet and landed flat on my ass.

It's been one of those weeks.


And on the sixth day, she said, "Let there be Lucky Charms."

Apparently, six is the number of days I can stick to a low-carb diet before cracking, sitting on the kitchen floor eating bowl-after-bowl of Lucky Charms. It all started with Doritos, just a handful of crumbs from the bottom of the bag that my son had left sitting on the desk. Once I started...well, let's just say that while I understand the concept of moderation, I cannot practice it.

Damn the Doritos.


Royal Indigo

Each morning, I pull out my identification to show the guard, who lets me pass through the gate, onto the base, so I can go into the hellhole otherwise known as work. Yesterday, the guard at the gate said to me, "Has anyone ever told you that you look like Princess Diana?"

Technically, yes, but he had Down's Syndrome so I took it with a grain of salt. I'm sure it's the hair combined with my regal nose, but it still made me smile...perhaps my son will look like Prince William.

If you change points of view
You may change a vote
And when you change a vote
You may change the world
Princess Di is wearing a new dress
- Depeche Mode



Four times per day, seven days a week, I feed my kittens a well-balanced assortment of food guaranteed to please: liquid Whiska's catmilk, tiny cans of overpriced soft food, and crunchy chow.

What do they prefer? Dog food.