whut i dun on my crimmus vicashun

It has been an interesting holiday, my darlings.
SWAG:
Almond Roca! (four pieces left)





Handcrafted designer beer! (gone, baby)
Decorative fairy lights shaped like little chili peppers for my kitchen snack lighting!
A t-shirt with the word 'SEX' on it!
Casho dollars and buckolas!






My daughter is getting married!
This is excellent news!
The Poor Bastard is a super good guy. He is great with the Goonybird and generally a really quality human being. He seems to have the Amazon's number, too, and this speaks well for him. I am all for this.
But the wedding?
A wedding?
I never had one, and I've been married twice. I never dreamed of one as a little girl either...Sure, give me the princess dress and the pretty cake. If you want a show, go to Vegas. If you want a ceremony join the Masons. Intimidated and without a clue; that's me. Great mother of the bride, don't you think?

My husband has a new job! He is now TORVOLD DOGSWALLOWER, WIELDER OF VOLCANIC HELL-BORN FIRES, ARMOURER TO THE IMMORTAL GODS!
Oh fine. He works in an aluminum smelter.
Yes I know. I do. I wish I didn't.
Now, this is a real job. This is American working-class heaven, in fact. The benefits package is actually the size of the Whatcom County phone book.

(phone book on right, benefits on left.)

The pay is obscene. They hand out overtime like big crazy overtime-handing-out guys who hand out overtime. The company ranks number one in the world for its' high standards of job safety. (It's Alcoa, not Reynolds, in other words.)
It all seem like a devils' bargain to me. I wish I could shake this. After all, he qualified with flying colors on the preliminary medical exams. He is smarter than me and any of you all put together. And of course HE is convinced that he is sixteen, bulletproof, chews coal and shits diamonds. Meanwhile I feel like he is being deployed to Iraq.

Holiday misadventures: none. Despite having a houseful of stray bikers, grandkid (that's half a houseful right there) and sleep-deprived Amazon, only one minor skirmish occurred over the steaming pots, where I was accused of being touchy. Which I am not. Am not, am not, am not. I was, however, hung over and trying to make conversation while simultaneously performing delicate and complicated cooking operations over a red hot stove, and certain people were doing that 'question every move I make and stand right over me and stick your nose into everything and demand snap answers' THING THEY TEND TO DO instead of staying out of my face when they can clearly see that someone is busy and they should probably go away and watch that "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer Prepares Human Flesh' show; which if that's what it was really about I'd be watching it too instead of COOKING YOUR HOLIDAY MEAL which I've been managing to do unassisted for a number of years now.

But really, one of the things we do best here at rancho FirstNations is provide warm and happy holidays. Nobody gets drunk, passes out, falls into the Christmas tree and splats facefirst on the floor with their pants around their ankles (one of my favorite holiday memories involving my father) Nobody has huge embittered arguments. Nobody gives or receives humiliating 'joke' gifts. The police are not called. No one sits in stupefied boredom staring at the 1120th annual holiday parade of scary inflated shit and marching bands on television. The sound of formula one cars is not heard throughout our land, nor are the electronically enhanced cheers of drunken sports hordes howling for blood from their televised arenas. We sort of romp and roam and munch and cook and make phone calls and mill around happily, play with toys, roll on the rug with the Goonybird, nap occasionally and then wake up and do it all over again. And the chow is always excellent. This year was no exception!
The Biker made a glazed ham; a perfect, flawless ham, a tender, pink and juicy ham. I did the overly complicated gravy, and a butter Yorkshire Pudding (a drippings one would have been kinda ick, under a ham and all.) The Goonybird ate mashed potatoes and peanut butter sandwiches. Don't Be A Dick, the stray biker, brought premium hoity toity beer, and the Stainless Steel Amazon brought chocolate cake and wine. There was other stuff too. It's all a blur. Ask the dogs; they made out like bandits.

partied out dog on partied out couch