I had just settled down for a long winter's nap . . .

Worry no more! I was finally able to get into the Christmas spirit. It came upon me in the wee small hours of the morning, as I was slowly drifting off to sleep. I was a mere inch away from sweet slumber when all of the sudden the Husband let out a noise that can only be described as a billy goat under attack. He did so twice.

Needless to say, I found it near impossible to get back to sleep after that, afraid that I might get trampled to death in a ferocious billy goat stampede.

So there I was with loads of time to whip myself into a holiday frenzy. After much contemplation I decided that this would be “The Year of the Beaded Garland” as well as “The Year I Buy New Twinkle Lights Instead of Spend Two Hours Fixing the Ancient Ones.” I even toyed around with the idea that I would go all classic with white lights, but ultimately I knew deep in my heart that my allegiance has always belonged to those multi-colored bulbs. But sometimes it’s fun to pretend you’re a different person than you really are right?

Anyway, after much soul-searching and many an important decision made I found myself right excited about the season. Then I fell asleep and had weird Christmasy dreams. For example, I dreamed I gave birth to a baby in a blizzard whilst surrounded by goats, even though I had washboard abs (hey it was a dream) and not even a hint of heartburn so I was pretty darn surprised to have a full grown baby in a blizzard. Then I totally understood how all those ladies could gestate for nine months and say “I didn’t know I was pregnant” with a straight face. It’s called empathy folks. And I had some of it. Christmas miracle!*

Then I woke up to my real life kid crying and remembered his real life birth and once again decided that those ladies are full of something other than a baby…

But none of that matters! Because the Christmas elves left us stuff behind door number one!

{Oh hey, Rudolph}

*I should probably stop eating burritos and taquitos before I go to bed, obviously.

The Rhythm Is Gonna Get Ya

Miracle of miracles, I actually went out this weekend. And I do mean WENT OUT. Physically and mentally, sans kids and Husband. The cause of such an occasion was my sister had a birthday or some such nonsense. I should have warned fellow party goers that I have not been OUT in awhile. Yes, I really should have had more forethought and compassion.

For what unfolded was an unholy purging of all my pent up energy. Not too unholy though. I was da belle of da ball. Whatever that means. Here’s what I think it means: It means I was crackin’ jokes left and right. Receiving hearty laughs in return, mixed with odd stares. Dancing in the streets. Turning everything into a song, including “I have to go pee.” It was a catchy tune that got stuck in the brains of all those who were privy to my performance. Wish I could remember it now though. It was really good. I swear.

Most of my pictures turned out like this. I think it’s all just too funny not to share.

I can’t say that I was a one woman show though. Others who also had the propensity to act foolishly when surrounded by food and fun were my accomplices. We were running off pure joie de vivre, without the aid of spirits. I don’t drink. And I shudder to think what kind of semi-human thing I would turn into if I did. No. Apparently all I need to shed my awkward shy layer is a little Mexican food, and a waitress that speaks so quietly she could make a fabulous relaxation CD consisting of just her, reading passages from the dictionary.

You’re probably wondering what I ordered. Verde Burrito. Works every time. Of course I removed those green discs of blasphemy. Of course I did.

After we paid a visit to a local comedy club we made our way back to our vehicular transportation sometime after midnight. I may or may not have danced part of the way back, performing such dance moves as The Sprinkler, Spank the Monkey, and One That Shall Have No Name. It must have attracted some attention though because out of nowhere a car pulled up alongside us pedestrians. They seemed to be asking for directions. It was a harmless looking young couple so I approached them with an average amount of caution. Then they asked me where they could find a good place to make out. I thought it an odd thing to ask a stranger, but who am I to judge and stand in the way of love.

So I told them they might as well just stay right where they were if it was so important to them. They said they would prefer someplace where other lovebirds go too. Now I would be lying if I had told them I didn’t know of such a place, because I do know of such a place, in myth. Personally I’ve never gone there. Well, okay. I have gone there, but purely for the panoramic views of the city. I swear.

So not wanting to lie, I told them about the place. Then they wanted to know how to get there, and now I was getting fairly bored with all this communication and wanted to tell them to GPS it or something. They must have sensed my disinterested mood because then the guy promptly asked me if I would like to get in the car and show them how to get there and then we could all make out.

Dang my fiery dance moves. They always get me into situations like this.

You better believe I gave them a huge eye roll and exhibited signs of disgust. Lucky for them they drove off. Why are people such freaks? That’s what I would like to know. And I’m not referring to myself.

Anyway, to end the night on a high note, as we were driving home we witnessed three men dressed head to toe in spandex, one red, one yellow, one blue, frolicking across the dark deserted street. Did you know such a thing exists? A spandex suit that covers everything . . . ? I just never imagined the possibility or the necessity.

Then I realized that this tomfoolery is what I miss out on most days, as a married mother of two younglings. And most days I’m just fine with that. Some things are better left unseen.

Don’t you think so?

Friday Confessions: Give me Bayless, or give me death (not really, I 'm just being dramatic)

Alright fine. I’ll admit it. I’m crushing on Rick Bayless. Okay, maybe not so much the man as the chef, if those two can even be separated. And maybe minus the facial hair and necklaces. Is it possible to just have a crush on the food? Infatuated with food? I think that sounds even worse so I’ll just stick with my original confession.

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When I first stumbled upon Rick’s (we’re on a first name basis now) cooking show, Mexico -One Plate at a Time, I’ll be honest, I thought he was a looney toon. His exuberance over Mexican food just seemed berserk. And I didn’t like how he made my own tacos and burritos seem so un-authentic and goopy. Come on Rick, just slap come beans and taco meat on it and call it dinner for the love of guacamole!

But I’ve slowly changed my opinion after a one-day marathon viewing of his show. Isn’t that the way all crushes go . . . repeated exposure leading to fascination. And now if I notice Rick is on, I get a little giddy. I just want to jump through that T.V. screen and rip that fresh salsa right out of his cilantro covered hands. Come on people! He prefers to use rendered pork fat in his homemade flour tortillas. If that’s not drool worthy I don’t know what is.

Now I know he can be totally cheesy, but at some point in your life you’ve got to acknowledge the power of cheese and welcome it into your life, whether that be manchego, queso fresco, or a man whose shirt says “Bacon is meat candy.”

I don’t want to sound desperately hungry or anything, but I sure wish he would invite me over for dinner sometime. I’ll bring the Husband and the kiddos along. It won’t be awkward at all.

Don’t worry Husband. Your beans and rice will always have sentimental value to me. And since I just publicly revealed to the blogosphere that your wife has cheating taste buds, I will allow you one chef crush as well, as long as it’s not Giada.

Now go out dear readers and have some proper Mexican food this weekend and send me a generous tip.