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:

Plaque City

​Nobody likes to go to the dentist. 

I don't care how kind and compassionate ​he or she may be, nobody relishes the moment you helplessly recline on a dental chair and surrender yourself to a man or woman with sharp metal objects destined for your mouth. 

​​It had been a year since my last check up and cleaning.  Me, of the every-six-months-like-clockwork-cleaning had waited a whole year and I'm not going to lie...I was worried. Would they find cavities? Would there be massive amounts of plaque? Would they believe that I really do floss three times a day? All these thoughts and more were running through my head as the hygienist smiled and instructed me to have a seat in the chair, open my mouth, and relax. 

She was a sweet lady, brown curly hair and warm brown eyes, but I swear to God she must have graduated from the Indiana Jones School of Dentistry, 'cause she attacked my mouth like an archeological dig. ​To say she was thorough would be a gross understatement. She delved into every nook and cranny and even when her sharp pointy hook thing nicked my gum and the warm copper taste of blood trickled down my throat, she did not stop. She was undeterred in her quest to eradicate every last trace of plaque from my mouth. I tried to yell out, but the two blue gloved hands in my mouth made sound impossible. Only once was I able to speak and that was simply in reply to her question of what flavor tooth polish I preferred. I asked if she had anything in the Happy Hour flavorings: vodka, margarita, chardonnay...but, alas, it was not to be. She dived back in with the gritty polish, which bore a striking resemblance to Comet Cleanser, and polished away. For my part, I gripped the chair arms, closed my eyes, and prayed to sweet Jesus that it would all be over soon. 

​And it was. After the last bit of plaque was removed and the last tooth polished to a shiny brilliance, she patted me on the shoulder, gave me my goody bag filled with toothpaste, toothbrush and floss, donned her brown fedora and was off on her next Cleaning Adventure, whip at her side.  

I breathed a sigh of relief. I knew I was home free, for all I had to do know was wait for the dentist to do his evaluation and really...how bad could that be?

I Was Hoping for a Little Faux Latin

I had intended  my very first "Here-n-There" blog post to be nothing other than the original faux Latin that the website puts in as placement text. You know, this kind of stuff: ​

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​Unfortunately, someone whose name rhymes with Wadden decided to delete it, leaving me with the need to actually put fingers on keyboard and submit my first entry...which is what I'm doing right now. 

Consider blog entry number 1 completed! ​I promise I shall be a good girl and write often. I make no guarantees as to where I'll go...much like our podcast.

xoxo​, Missy