I Got Christmas Chills and They're Multiplying

I know it's only October, but I have to admit it...I am SO ready for Christmas. ​

It is, bar none, my favorite holiday.  I decorate the entire house the beginning of November, which means that my children have never known what it was like to eat Thanksgiving dinner without a Christmas tree in the background. It also means that I start playing Christmas music November 1, and oh, the Christmas music. I have everything. 

​Or at least, I thought so until today. For it was today that I read an early Christmas wish is coming true. The one Christmas album I NEVER thought I would have will be available shortly for purchase:

                                    SHUT THE FRONT DOOR!​

​Yes, Sandy and Danny have reunited to bring us all the sounds of the season as only they can and I can promise you it's cheesier than a nut log at Hickory Farms. And while those wacky kids from Rydell High are bringing us all our traditional Christmas favorites, there's one song I am especially anxious to hear. It's a little tune called "I Think You Might Like It" and it's being described as the sequel to that famous "Grease" duet, "You're the One That I Want." Will the Pink Ladies be singing backup? I don't know. Will the T-Birds be doo-whopping? I don't know that, either.  All I care is that this miracle of holiday albums is right around the corner. 

​This is going to be the best Christmas. EVER.

A Place for Everything and Everything in its Place

​There are tidy, well organized people in this world for whom a pile of clutter is akin to nails on a chalkboard; who relish compartmentalizing their office into a highly functional workspace, complete with labels and plastic bins; people who would rather gouge out their own eyes than allow the accumulation of plastic water bottle tops or coffee cups on their desk; people who would die of shame to find sunflower seed shells on the floor around their wastebasket. 

​I am not one of those people, but I have tried to be. Really, I have.  

I have drooled over the pages of glossy magazines featuring pictures of perfect offices; pictures that showed the late morning sun casting its rays over pristine orderly workspaces where neat and tidy people do neat and tidy work. Beautiful offices that looked like showpieces, both stylish and functional. I wanted an office like that, so I purchased organizers and letter holders and plastic bins so that there would be "a place for everything and everything in its place."  I put up an "inspiration board" (this was pre-Pinterest days) I even went so far as to buy an honest to God label maker, reasoning that if I had a visual of where things should go, I would be more inclined to put them there. Kind of like Label Guilt.  But that purchase quickly went south as I found it more fun to label the chair, the phone, the children, and the dog than to actually use it for its intended purposes. 

And then it hit me: I am not a neat and tidy person-I am someone who would rather label the dog, than organize her office. I mean, no matter how beautiful that magazine office is, I simply couldn't be creative in it until a couple of Post-Its were on the floor, a drawer was semi-open and my phone was lost under a pile of paperwork. It's how I roll, and although I know I will never be an Ikea poster girl, I'm okay with that. 

Now, excuse me while I try to find my stapler. ​

Give Me My Bacon

As I type this, I am trying my best to remain calm. My nerves have been shaken to my core; I feel myself breaking out in a cold sweat and I hear an odd buzzing in my ears. Why, you ask? Am I getting the flu? Oh no, although I wish it was something as simple as that. ​

No, my friends, my heart palpitations are over the disturbing news I read today courtesy of the LA Times. It seems the world is bracing for a...for a...for a...PORK SHORTAGE! Yes, according to the news report, drought conditions have lessened the pigs food crop, resulting in a decline in herds. A decline in herds? What is this nonsense? We can put a man on the moon (well, not anymore, but we used to) but we can't prevent a shortage in the Best Meat of all time? How can this be? We can talk to someone across the world 24 hours a day, but we can't provide bacon? This is a travesty of unspeakable proportions. (I have always wanted to say that.)

​My friends, however, aren't buying the story. I mean, they believe there could be a shortage, but they don't think it's drought related; they think it's Missy related. In my defense, all I can is this:

Don't Make Me Open Up a Can of Whoopie-Pie On You

Dear Starbucks in the Old Navy Shopping Center,

I appreciate you.

I appreciate that when I am doing some Old Navy shopping, filling my bag with “Fleece for the Whole Family,” you are there on the corner to meet my caffeine needs. And because I am a whore for convenience, and usually opt for locations with drive-thrus, it is unusual for me to actually park my car and walk into a Starbucks. You are my exception.

With that in mind, let me say that I am very, very disappointed in your behavior as of late. I drove to your store last Sunday evening. I was bone tired and in need of a little Starbucks cheer. I had Whoopie Pie on the brain and could almost taste that creamy red velvet treat. As I pulled up to the store and glanced inside, I saw the chairs turned over onto the tables. Anticipation turned to dismay as I wondered if you were closed. Upon closer inspection, I noticed the hours on the door read that you close at 7pm. It was only 6:15.

As I entered the store, the two employees behind the counter seemed less than thrilled to see me. As did the guy leaning on the counter, drinking his coffee, and conversing with said two employees. I placed my order. It was only for a coffee. Why no pastry delights, you ask? Let me think…oh, yes, I remember…

BECAUSE YOU HAD ALREADY PULLED THEM ALL FROM THE PASTRY CASES.

6:15 and you had de-pastried the cases. I felt violated. I was as though I had slipped into some alternate universe where coffee cakes and whoopie pies are dangled just out of reach.  And because I COULDN’T have them, I wanted them even more.

To make matters worse, when my Amerciano was ready, the barista handed me a a 1/2 gallon jug of cream. A JUG, I say! It seems they had already cleared out their standard silver dairy pitchers and, instead, were handing customers a big ass jug of half-and-half, instead. I’ll bet had I arrived later, they would have thrown a canister of powdered non-dairy creamer at me.

Now, Starbucks by Old Navy,  I don’t expect you to be open when I want you to be open. That would be lovely, but I am sensible enough to realize that the world does not revolve around me and my Coffee and Whoopie Pie needs. I do, however, expect you to offer your customers  the same experience and products 45 minutes before closing that one would find earlier in the day.

I was nice about it THIS time, but I make no guarantees if it happens again.

Nobody stands between me and a Whoopie Pie.