To stuff or not to stuff

Gentle readers:

Another year has gone by in a blur, and has left us with the age old question: should stuffing be cooked separately, or in the bird? More on that later.

The year started peacefully enough, with me working on my book, and my husband working on trucks big enough to squash a fully loaded mini-van (preferably, not occupied). He had to turn down a cabinet post, because Washington D.C. is just too damn cold in the winter, and frankly, Secretary of Waste Management is just a nice way of saying “full of shit.”

As usual, we had to put up with ninjas this year. These guys must have been hired from Bernie’s school of ninjas and auto repair. True story: my kids and I were enjoying burritos on the patio of a cheap Mexican restaurant, when we spotted two men across the parking lot. They were staring intently at us while trying to act casual. They were wearing suits and just standing around for an hour. Occasionally they would give each other a man hug, just to break the tension.

They leapt into their car as we left, but I managed to lose them at the drive-through ATM. Obviously, they had forgotten their pin number.

In March, an online friend of mine proposed that we compile a humor anthology (My Funny Valentine makes a great Valentine’s Day gift, and is now available at Amazon for $9.95 plus shipping and handling. Just sayin’.) We wanted to showcase some really talented humor writers from around the country, and we’ve received some excellent reviews, thanks to our amazing contributors.

I published my own first book this year with Box of Rocks, a humorous mystery (see sidebar for multiple ways to click and spend money add this book to your collection.)

Now, back to the truly important matter. Christmas dinner is fast approaching, and my friend is lobbying hard to cook the stuffing in the bird. First of all, why don’t they call stuffing what it is, gooey bread surprise. People have taken this to the extreme of stuffing a bird with more birds – hence, the turduckhen. I’m not particularly emotionally invested in soggy bread, so I caved and gave my blessing on allowing her to stick unidentifiable semi-foodlike substances inside a turkey carcass. Also, she threatened to kick me.

I’d like to wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a happy and prosperous New Year. Thanks to all of you for putting up with my foolishness for the year, and God Bless us All, Everyone!

Think on these things

The Bible says, “Whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever doesn’t involve an emergency room visit, think on these things.” (NIV). My mind doesn’t really know the meaning of discipline, (Training that corrects, molds, or perfects the mental faculties or moral character) so the things I’m thinking on don’t really make the biblical cut.

Recently my mind has been occupied with trying to find three-inch rubber chickens, and an upcoming podcast. Will I be able to figure out the camera thingy? Should I have a bookcase behind me? Should I remove my Cootie bug and Gumby and Pokey from said bookcase and stock it with leather bound editions of National Geographic? If the camera only sees me from the waist up, do I really need pants?

I haven’t heard a recording of my voice in years. Is it still going to sound dorky, or will it now just be old and dorky? Can you edit out any loud farts during the podcast? These are important considerations, people.

My son decided that I needed help preparing for the interview, so he made up some sample questions:

How many nuns can you fit in a phone booth … and why?

If you were a lamp, what kind of lamp would you be … and why?

Have you ever been in a Turkish prison … and why?

Eight, gooseneck, and it was actually a Finnish bathhouse, where I had to watch my grandma scrub out her belly button. Close enough.

Thus, properly prepared for my interview, I can move on to other considerations, like a cover story for my daughter, who slipped in a puddle of dog urine while getting out of the shower Saturday, and knocked herself out cold. We’re thinking of going with bathroom ninjas. Now if I can just come up with a cover story for the UPS man, as to why I’m getting a box full of mini-rubber chickens, I’ll be golden.

Home for the holidays

Travel disclaimer. Before you decide that you can break into my home and steal my collection of authentic diamonelle pendants (which will get you nothing but scornful looks at the pawn shop), please be assured that I’ll have a housesitter while I’m gone. Matt is 6’3” and 200 pounds of pure steroids. My house is also protected by Rottweilers, tiger traps, anti-aircraft guns, an alligator infested moat, and ninjas. Continue reading