Scattershot: Late December Festivities

He's So Happy Because His Aunt Kept Letting Him Lick Eggnog Off Her Fingertip:

Christmas Song Least Likely to Be Heard in the Mall, Nevertheless Heard in the Mall - "Merry Christmas", Wesley Willis

Nothing says "happy holidays" like the musical stylings of an obese, obscene, schizophrenic "outsider artist". Hearing Willis in the mall is like hearing The Mentors in the orthodontist's office (although that certainly would have livened up those interminable bracket-tightenings and dire warnings about the hell which would be unleashed in my mouth if I kept eating hard foods). Although Willis is still preferable to hearing Wham!'s "Last Christmas" for the 10,000th time. Every time I hear George Michael crooning about how he's going to "... give it to someone speeeeeeeeecial", I inwardly leer, "Yeah, like you did in that public bathroom?"... and now you will, too (inwardly leer, that is. Not "give it to someone special" in a Port-o-John. Unless that's your method of spreading Christmas cheer). You're welcome.

Special Unrelated Note on the Orthodontist's Office:

I was quite possibly the worst orthodontic patient of all time. I whined, cried, came to appointments with bits of peanut brittle still clinging to my braces and wore my retainer for approximately 0.00002 seconds before flinging it permanently under my bed (just in case there were any maloccluded dust bunnies under there). Of all my dental transgressions, Dr. L chose to focus on my constant impertinent consumption of hard foods. He grew so frustrated that he once made me sit down and WATCH A VIDEO on the subject. "The Hellacious Horrors of Herman Hard-Food-Eater" was so inadvertently hilarious that, even to this day, I would pay serious cash to obtain a copy.

Every Previous Christmas Present Now Looks as Crappy as Slipper Socks:

My haul this year....

Two (2) movie passes
One (1) certificate for a one-hour massage
One (1) directive from husband to, "... just go and have fun. I'll watch the boy."

At first, I was planning to spread this gift of free time luxuriously thin, like foie gras on the toast point of the coming year. However, in the past three days, my beloved little boy has:

- Pooped on mom and dad's bed (I was unaware human excrement could exit the body so quickly. I was unaware human excrement could travel that fast under ANY circumstances, except perhaps when propelled by cannon).

- Once mom and dad's bed was cleaned, stripped and decked out in a new sheet, promptly peed on it (you'd think I would have learned).

- Bit mom's boob hard enough to draw blood.

- Grinned and looked especially adorable with mom's blood ringing his little mouth... kind of like an itsy-bitsy vampire.

So I'm considering just blowing my entire free-time wad at one go. Assuming I stay away from the kind of art-shock flicks to which I'm inexplicably attracted ("Le Monde est Merde", "Le 120 Minutes de Violence Sans Le Discernible Raison D'être"), it should be five blissful, excretion-free hours.