Pretend this was posted December 26th

Christmas 2011 consisted of lights,

food,

and Justin Bieber. Life-size.

I learnt that there is no way to wrap a frying pan without it looking like a wrapped frying pan; that not everyone is familiar with GPA (I said 4.0 and they said outta 10?); and that sometimes, you're gonna get photo-bombed by a shark.

No really, a shark.

O Christmas Tree

The Christmas tree was lying on the truck bed, bristles poking out of every branch, as my sister and I stood in front of it. Sister clutched at a blue saw. I clutched at my cellphone and checked out my manicure in the yellowing  night lights.

We'd assumed that our parents would be home already and thus could help us chop off the bottom and stick the tree in water. AKA Dad would do it. Instead, it was just the two of us freezing in the driveway.

Sister wanted to get it cut now, before it could dry out anymore. She stuck the saw against the thick bark and went to town, hustling back and forth, little bits of sawdust bouncing out.

She got an inch in before the saw got stuck. Then it kept getting stuck. I kept getting colder. I helped by looking for the camera because that's what you do in awkward situations, right?

I couldn't find the camera and when I came back, I was promptly handed the saw and told it was my turn. I stared at the tree. A sawdust crust had formed around the cut.

I texted Dad to see when he'd be a home.

The saw felt light and flimsy. After twenty seconds of flailing, the weapon was taken away. Good move, Sister.

"We should flip it over." She said.

I regarded the honking, prickly bush. "...How?"

We exchanged looks. Sister went to work again, and I texted my brother.

Ten minutes later and we'd only gotten another inch in. We ended up both grabbing an end of the saw and pulling back and forth.

I'm pretty sure there was a challenge like this on Survivor. We definitely would not have won immunity.

Miraculously, the stump finally fell and we grabbed onto the tree at both ends. Well, she grabbed, I gingerly avoided spiders. We heaved it into the garage, plonked it into water, and stepped back to appreciate our feminist accomplishment.

Success!

(we're gonna pretend I'm not a day late posting this, 'kay?)



My cat's Canadian. And drinks Starbucks.



Christmas 2010

How come the italian bulldozers on Cake Boss can create beautiful cakes and I can't decently decorate a sugar cookie?

Exhibit A:


Gingers need representation too.
S'all about equality.

I tried to just use dots because even I have to be able to do that, and they looked okay on the trees and stars. Not so much on the snowmen. How come all my cookies look ill?

Well, at least these ones look happy. 



Naked, but happy.

But you know what kids craft I didn't fail at? Reese's Pieces. Booyah.

I guess there were other things going on other than my chocolate awesomeness. For example, decorations:

But then there's my decoration:

Feathers in my hair.
Waaay cooler than a Dancing Santa.

The rest of Christmas looked like this:

 

This guy sits in the kitchen and stares at me with his black eyes and scared felt skin.  Think Frosty meets Hannibal Lector. He's also at butt-level, which makes him even creepier.

 You see it too, right?

The Kings nearly brought me down.

Today I made Thanksgiving dinner.

Actually, I stirred gravy, but that's the most important part, right?

While stirring, I was fingering my pearls and, when I got really bored, started swishing my skirt back and forth. I felt very stereotypical so I drank Coke from a can. Stereotypes don't drink from a can, right? Unless there's product placement. I'll drink a no-name next time.

We played cards after dessert and I won an epic game of Chase the Ace. It came down to my sister and I. We were very not stereotypical as we beat all the guys and rubbed it in their faces like the demure, respectable young women we are.

My nine of spades trumped her seven of hearts. Bazinga!

Just Bump It

I blame Tim Allen.

Watching Santa Clause II got me all hyped for presents and cheer, and consequently my room ended up covered in tape, littered with wrapping paper--there's a bow still stuck to my desk--and crumpled post-its are everywhere saying things like 'DVD for Mom' or 'nail polish for unknown'.

My sister had told us about her friend who used to receive presents from 'the Naughty Elf', 'Santa's Mistress', or 'Rudolph's Evil Twin' instead of Santa. She thought it was creepy, but her Mom thought it was hilarious, and so did we, so this Christmas, my sister received a gift from Farmville.

New tradition? I think so.

Since I had been rudely awoken at eight thirty (a.m.!), I went back to bed after all the presents were opened on Christmas day. When I woke up several hours later, I was late, still needed a shower, and relatives were due to arrive any minute. Oops.

They arrived, I greeted them with wet hair, and the chaos descended. No one really noticed the creepy name tags, but they were still worth it.

Dinner, card games, and Cornation Street scene-it later, Christmas was over and we all stumbled into bed (literally in my case, since my parents blow up bed was in my room and there was no space to walk).

For the second time in a row, I was abruptly awoken, this time by my little cousin.

The adults were all talking downstairs, her brother was off playing a game, and she was determined to get me out of bed. In some cruel twist of fate, she is both persistant and a morning person.

I am neither. I earnestly tried to convince her that I would get up soon and meet her downstairs (yeah, right) but she shook her head and said, "Now."

I know it's lame to let a six-year-old boss you around, but she always has the option of crying. Or screaming. Or just wailing in the middle of the room until she gets her way.

...okay, I let the six-year-old boss me around.

I got out of bed. I then tried to convince that since it would take me a while to get dressed and ready, she might as well wait downstairs.

"Now."

Fine. I ended up brushing her hair for thirty minutes while re-telling all the fairy tales I could think of. I think it's fair to say that she got her way.