Wishing all of you the merriest of Christmases. My special Christmas gift to you? Click here.   Love y’all — MWAH!


Wishing each and every one of you a very Merry Christmas!    (Particularly any of you who would like to volunteer at this point to come sweep up three pounds of green and red sugar sprinkles from my kitchen floor.  Because, you know, I can’t just spill something once.  I have to do it a couple of times.)

. . . so guess what time it is?

Yep.  It’s time for this.

My favorite.  This year marks the movie’s 25th birthday.

And I’ll probably watch it 25 times.


. . . when they are getting up to stand in line on Black Friday for a must-have laptop for Miss Priss, that is…

  • Why did I have children?
  • Can’t she just put the desktop computer in her lap?
  • No matter how much makeup you put on, at 3 a.m. your face looks like a potato.
  • God it’s dark.  The only people on the roads are drunks and idiots.
  • And I haven’t been drinking.
  • Heck. I thought I looked bad, but that woman must have thought she wasn’t going to see anyone.
  • What was I thinking?
  • I wonder if the Waffle House employee that ambled over here to see what all the fuss was about (and decided to stay in line for the remainder of his shift) actually clocked out.
  • Of course he didn’t.
  • Think he’ll go get me a coffee and hash browns scattered, smothered, chunked, and covered?
  • Nah.  He just went to sleep on the sidewalk.
  • Little b*tch better remember this when I’m in diapers.

All is said and done now, and the new laptop – oooooooo, shiny – is safely at home.  As am I.  With leftover turtle cheesecake.



Okay.  Before you read this, go to yesterday’s post and vote in my poll.  America needs your vote.   Do it now.

Done?  You may now proceed to today’s post.  Thank you.

Day one of extended stay-cation.  Menu is planned, turkey is ordered, trip to store is in order.

Wait.  Turkey is ORDERED?  [Insert SCREECHING HALT here.]

Yes.  That’s what I said.  Ordered.

I finally broke down and did what I’ve wanted to do for a long time.  I ordered a Cajun deep-fried turkey for this year.

I have roasted the bird every year since I got married.  I have inhaled the heady aroma all morning, basted it hourly, inserted the thermometer (because I don’t trust the pop-out timer) and consulted it carefully.

But not this year.

Because have you EVER tasted fried turkey?

Before you go screaming and yelling about fat grams and calories, stop and listen to me.  There’s a two-gram difference in the fat content between the same portion of fried turkey and roast turkey.  Cooked correctly – at a very high temperature – the fat is not allowed to permeate the meat to that great of an extent.  (Besides, really, when you are slathering everything else with gravy and whipped cream, what’s a couple of extra fat grams?)

More importantly, cooked correctly, you’ve really never tasted anything like it.  The meat is juicy, because the high temperature seals the juices in.  Cajun seasoning is injected throughout the meat, and the result is pure heaven.  The skin is crispy, not rubbery, and the taste is, well, divine.  And no worries about undercooked meat here.  (If you’re really interested, read here for details.)

So I did it.  And now there will be plenty of room in the oven for the other fixin’s. And I won’t be stressing about whether the turkey is thawed in time.  And that’s what it’s all about.  Me being able to relax.  A bit, anyway.

So that’s that.  And I’m relieved.

Now if I can just stop thinking about the fact that there is a turtle cheesecake in my freezer.


And now, we resume our regularly scheduled programming. Without any reference to this, or this, or this. I can’t promise you that this will be a football-free zone until THE BIG DAY, but I appreciate and respect the diversity of my readers. Which brings me to the point of this post.


Guys, most of you know my politics. Even better, you’re nice to me in spite of my politics. But you also know that I appreciate diversity, I don’t judge people in any way shape or form (unless they drive a minivan, but that’s another whole post), I appreciate our differences. I celebrate our differences.

But dammit, I also celebrate Christmas. There. I said it. Not “the holidays”. Christmas.

LSU was the most recent entity, for lack of a better word, to attempt to change their annual Christmas Tree to a Holiday Tree. Fortunately, they put it to da people, and there was a resounding vote against changing the name of the traditional tree. So it was a Christmas tree once again.

As it should have been.

I don’t go trampling all over other holidays. I think there’s a place for your Hanukkah right next to his Ramadan and just to the other side of their Kwanzaa. And I would never, ever think of asking those with different beliefs to change the name of their holiday to one that I felt reflected MY beliefs as well.

Just as winter is winter, and Monday is Monday, and January 7 is the day LSU becomes the National Champions (oops, sorry, I slipped there), Christmas is Christmas.

Happy Hanukkah to those of you who celebrate it.  (See?  Didn’t hurt me a bit.)

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