Merry Christmas, Ya Filthy Animals: A Christmas Tag

So, Milkshakes and Dumpy can’t act right, so we don’t have any content for you this week (we are the worst). We are hoping to be back next week with a holiday-themed shit storm for your reading pleasure.

Until then, enjoy this Christmas Tag post I got from Cherie on her blog From Michigan to Germany . I hear tell she got the idea from Debbie over at Deb’s World.

What is your favourite Christmas film?  Love Actually, hands down. I have to watch it every single year while I’m wrapping presents and drinking egg nog or it’s just NOT CHRISTMAS AND WE CAN’T HAVE THAT ALRIGHT.

Have you ever had a white Christmas?

In Reno-Town, where I live, it could be a whiteout on Christmas morning or it could be sunny and 50 damn degrees. I, 100%, prefer a white Christmas. We don’t get enough snow, so when we get any I get stoked as hell. So, yes, three inches is a lot to us. In case anyone needed to know, you know.

Where do you usually spend your Holiday?

Up until just a couple years ago, I was still spending Christmas Eve at my parents’, who live a whopping 10 minutes away. Along with my spending the night, we still participated in all of our favorite Christmas traditions- reading our favorite Christmas books, leaving milk and cookies out for Santa, hanging the stockings, etc. (no, I’m not shitting you).

Now, we have our big Christmas dinner on Christmas Eve (because on Christmas Day, we are too present-ed out to cook), hang our stockings, and read our books (no more leaving out cookies, because Santa will just get into the cookie tins, anyway). We are 78, 68, 35, and 30 and we still sit around the fire to read The Night Before Christmas. Only now, my dad has to be bribed with fudge to participate, and he pretend farts and cracks inappropriate jokes throughout. My brother acts like it’s too stupid, but we still end up fighting about who will get to read first.

Then, because I’m totally an adult, I go home to sleep, then drive back over at 7 AM to see what Santa brought me.

The happiest mother-effing elf this side of The North Pole!

What is your favourite Christmas song?

Ya’ll are gonna kill me, but I LURVE Mariah Carey’s All I Want For Christmas is You. Sorry not even sorry.

Do you open any presents on Christmas Eve? 

Since I can remember, the girls (me, my mom, aunt, various girlfriends or wives of my cousins and Uncle Gary-because at Christmas, he’s one of the gals and Grandma- when she was with us) have exchanged “Christmas Eve” gifts. They are supposed to be Christmas-themed and/or homemade and not excessive. Over the years, we have just used it as an excuse to go balls to the wall insane with gifts. Besides opening my stocking, it’s one of my millions of Christmas favs.

Can you name all of Santa’s reindeer?

I really should be able to being a Christmas-obsessed 3rd grade teacher. So, we have Rudolph, Comet, Vixen, Blitzen (that’s one isn’t it?), Buddy (no, wait- that’s an elf)…That’s all I got! I can’t name them all, ya’ll!

What holiday traditions are you looking forward to the most this year?  Making cookies with my mom- that end up being eaten almost entirely by us- has become a favorite tradition. Cookies for daaaaaaays (or, maybe not a lot of days since we eat them all the day we make them).

Is your Christmas tree real or fake?

I’m probably going to jinx the fuck out of myself, but I’ve had the same fake tree since 2004. I’ve had to add a couple strings of lights over the years, but it’s still mostly kicking. When I was a kid we always had a real tree, but it was almost half brown by Christmas Day every year. My mom was tired of the fire hazard and having a dead tree in all of our pictures, while my dad was tired of pretending to water it, so when I was in middle school, we got our first fake tree.

What is your all-time favourite holiday food/sweet treat?

I’m straight addicted to my mom’s Muddy Buddies. We called it dog food when we were kids (Shit, maybe it was called Puppy Chow. Yeah, that sounds more appetizing). I also love the Scottish shortbread my mom and I make. It gives me warm fuzzies and a bit of heartburn- if I’m being honest- because one or ten never seem to be enough.

I know it says sweet treat, but my mouth is already watering thinking of the Christmas prime rib and Yorkshire pudding we have on Christmas Eve.

Be honest:  Do you like giving gifts or receiving gifts better?

Who doesn’t love getting gifts? But, I do love the giving part of Christmas. My mom always says I’d be ecstatic with an old shoe, because I’m just so in love with every gift I get. But, if I find something really amazingly perfect for someone, it’s *almost* better than receiving. This year, the gift I found for the dude could be the most epic gift I’ve ever given him, but I could also be way off and it’ll be a total dud. I think it’s the not knowing that’s so exciting?

What is the best Christmas gift you have ever received?

Until a puppy pops out of a box on Christmas morning, it’ll forever and always be my Barbie Dream House.

Literally the one I had. My mom is going to be really sad knowing had she not “maybe gave it to Goodwill”, I could have paid her everything I owe her and then some…

What would be your dream place to visit for the Holiday season?

I’ve always wanted to go somewhere that’s well and truly cold and snowy. Or, to the cottage and village where Kate Winslet’s character lived in The Holiday.

#englishcottagegoals

Are you a pro present wrapper? Or do you fail miserably?

I mean, I hate to brag, but I’m kind of amazing. Wrapping presents is in the top three of my favorite things about Christmas. I always hope I get a fellow lady when we do Secret Santa at work (But, if I get a dude, I just put it back and redraw, anyway. Shh- don’t tell), because the way I put their gifts together is even more fun than shopping for said presents and women actually notice if it’s nicely wrapped*.

Most memorable holiday moment?

It was Christmas ’94, and I was an idiotic eleven-year-old. I had been given toe socks for the first time.

They were all the rage. I was really excited to stuff my fat piggies into their own warm, snuggly sleeping bag.

While some of the adults were talking after a gluttonous family meal, I was working intently at getting all of my toes into their own toe hole. My big toe was in, then the next three went in seamlessly. As I went to get my littlest piggy (and when I say little, I mean little. I possibly have the shortest human toes on planet Earth), it was gone. All of my toes appeared to have their own hole, yet my pinky toe was gone and it’s toe condom (what else does one call an individual toe cover?) was still limp.

Without thinking, I yelled, “OMG. My pinky toe is gone!”

Everyone froze, their 8th piece of after-dinner-fudge, mid air.

My mom just said, “Oh, honey.”

My dad said, “I knew those would confuse her, Judy.”

My Uncle Gary just laughed and laughed and laughed.

It turns out my pinky toe got stuffed in with its neighbor and 24 years later, even after numerous strokes and some pretty debilitating health issues, my uncle still asks about my missing toe as he laughs and laughs and laughs.

Sexy toe socks ain’t working, hunty…

What made you realize the truth about Santa?  ARE YOU SAYING SANTA ISN’T REAL?

Do you make New Year’s resolutions?  Do you stick to them?

Ain’t nobody got time for that business.

What do you wish for for Christmas this year?

Health, happiness, and the ability to eat myself silly without gaining any weight. I mean, a Christmas miracle *could* happen. You never know.

What makes the Holidays special for you?

My mom. Christmas is so special to me because of the magic she created and then let blossom in our hearts. I’m a huge Christmas freak and it’s 100% due to her. My Scrooge of a boyfriend is forever grateful to her that I have Rocking Around the Christmas Tree on repeat all season long.

Favourite Christmas smell

Mrs. Meyer’s Iowa Pine dish soap and spray cleaner smells like the real thing. I’d spray the cleaner on me as perfume if I didn’t already obsessively spray it on every single surface in my house. I GOTTA MAKE IT LAST THE SEASON.

Also, the way every single one of my mom’s Christmas decorations smell. It’s a smell I can’t explain-a mix of winter berry, peppermint, cranberry, pine, and pure Santa magic.

Honorable mention goes to Bath & Body Works Spiced Gingerbread Swirl. I smell like a cookie all day and I’m not mad about it.

What is the worst/weirdest gift you have ever received?

See above. You could give me your old athletes foot-riddled tennis shoes and I’d be honored you thought of me.

Favourite Holiday drink? ERG NERG (Yeah, I’m bringing that back.)

Oh, and I’m positively obsessed with White Peppermint Mochas from the ‘Bux.

Have you ever spent Christmas in another country?  No, I WISH. But, really, would it be Christmas if we didn’t do every single thing the same, down to the order in which we do stockings, presents from Santa, and all of the other gifts, and how we always eat the same breakfast casserole on the same Christmas plates from 1992? No, I don’t think it’d truly be Christmas somewhere else.

What place/landmark in your town do you love to visit during Christmas? I live in Reno. There isn’t exactly landmarks all done up in gorgeous Christmas decor or expansive Christmas markets full of vendors and delicious treats round these parts. So, does the local Target count for this? They always have their store done up all in red. It’s quite festive.

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Were you naughty or nice this year? 

I feel like I need to know in what context this question is being asked. I was really nice when it came to holding doors for the elderly or giving to charities. If you’re asking about my spending, exercise or food habits, I’ll need an exact definition of what you mean by ‘naughty’ and ‘nice’. For example, I think it’s really nice that I ate my boyfriend’s chocolate pie, because two days before I ate his (and mine), he had commented on his pants feeling a bit snug. That was a really kind act, despite what he might say.

Do you own/wear a Christmas themed jumper or T-Shirt?

So, funny story. I used to own an especially hideous one. I loved it for the five hours I owned it. In our old place, we had this massive, ancient industrial-looking heating element on the ceiling in our bathroom. My dude had to be careful not to have it on when he was standing, as it was literally just exposed heating coils and he was almost gifted with spontaneous male pattern baldness on more than one occasion.

So, the year we found our hideous Christmas sweaters at a local thrift store, I immediately washed mine and then hung it up to dry. My boyfriend thought it’d be smart and time-saving to hang it on the heating element.

Well, it’s just lucky we didn’t burn down our apartment building, because my sweater very quickly became a maroon reindeer and evergreen snowflake wool S’more.

RIP Exact Sweater My Third Grade Teacher Wore in ’91.

*This is a really sexist generalization, as my Uncle Gary loved to make his presents look amazing. He’s the only living man I know who enjoyed that kind of thing, though. So…

Why don’t you play along? I’d love to read how Christmas is special to you. If you don’t celebrate Christmas, write about a holiday you celebrate that’s special to you.


Just a little heads up, my dudes: I’m taking a very short, two week hiatus. Besides the McMilkshake and Dumpy post we are planning on for next week, the blog front will be a little quiet. It turns out I’ve done and signed up for too much this holiday season yet again.

So, (after the diet shit show post next week) the next time I’ll *see* you is after the happiest day of the year. Merriest of Holidays to all and to all a good couple weeks!

Throwback Thursday: The Five Stages of Thanksgiving 


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This is me limbering up for The Big Meal.

We all know about the five stages of grief, but did you know there are five stages of Thanksgiving? No? Well, sit down and unbutton your pants. It’ll be a bumpy ride along the lumpy gravy train to Food Coma Town. All aboard!

Anticipation
Stage one begins at the first sight of a fallen leaf. This glorious sight means pants weather. Fat pants weather. Fat pants weather means Thanksgiving is a-coming. With Preparing-for-Thanksgiving-Fat-Pants, comes the ceasing of any and all grooming below the belt. The growing hair provides warmth as the nights grow colder. Also growing, is the instinctual need to add a layer of blubber to the body for insulation. Diets begin to fizzle out, PSLs begin to replace protein smoothies, and an anticipation for what’s to come makes even the most sensible of individuals start to prepare their stomachs for the absurd amount of food that they’ll be stuffing into them.
As the days get shorter and the big day gets closer, the more competitive of eaters begin training their stomachs for the massive meal with marathon eating that includes, but is not limited to: the better part of large cheese pizzas, pints of Cherry Garcia, and entire bags of wasabi kettle chips.
Dreams are feverish, wanting, longing.

Delight
Stage two occurs during the day in question. The anticipation of mounds of gravy soaked carbohydrates and creamy cocktails to wash it all down has finally come to fruition. Despite a meals-worth of gherkins, deviled eggs, and shrimp dip, plates are piled high and inhaled with wild abandon. Oh, the rapture. The exhaltation. The pure delight.
Food is consumed at an alarming rate, and fabric is pushed to max capacity.

Disgust
Somewhere between buttering a fifth dinner roll and the unbuttoning, unzipping, and unraveling of anything constricting, a realization that “filthy pig” doesn’t even come close begins to weigh on the psyche. For only a split second, “Maybe I should stop?” crosses the mind, but someone says “pumpkin cheesecake”,  and any and all semblance of humanity is lost amidst belches tasting of turkey giblets.

*Delirium-
This is a bonus stage that only the truest of fat pants champions ever reach. This is when you become truly drunk on food. Instead of blood, you’ve got Grandma’s famous gravy in all it’s sodium-induced glory coursing through your veins. Incoherent babbling and hallucinations are common. If you’ve ever thought you were eating a piece of pie, but upon sobering up, you realize you ate half of a fabric leaf napkin ring, you’ll know you reached this challenge level.

Additionally, if you become food, you’re delirious af.

Depression
Stage four generally comes during the requisite food-induced coma directly following the unadulterated eating frenzy that went down like something normally reserved for the animal channel. After realizing that a five gallon bowl of jello salad has been demolished by only one person, in a span of four hours, a deep depression is expected.
The depression stage is especially bad if pant buttons are blown off due to the sheer force of an expanding gut, or expensive Spanx can’t even, so they jump ship.
Phrases like: “What the actual fuck is wrong with me? You promised yourself you wouldn’t eat six potatoes worth of mashed potatoes again!” And, “Did I even enjoy that half a pie I inhaled?” is common.
Usually, one must ride out this disastrous depressive stage at home, on the couch, with plenty of Maalox, hobo hair, and possibly Depends.

Amnesia
The last stage of Thanksgiving is amnesia, as anyone who survives Thanksgiving forgets the killer heartburn, diarrhea rash, and shame in less than a year’s time.
Unlike the five stages of grief, the five stages of Thanksgiving are cyclical and incurable.
Some scientists and theorists believe that there is something about the falling of leaves, the arrival of layered-clothing-weather and the availability of pumpkin spice everything that sparks something animalistic, ugly, and shocking in usually sensible individuals.

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Enjoy drenching your plate in gravy. Take pleasure in numbing your fat pain receptors with booze. Be mindful of how delicious pumpkin pie feels sliding down your gizzard. Enjoy the glorious gluttony!

Happy Thanksgiving from your favorite Fatty!