Roll Out the Red Carpet

There is a special 5 hour festival of fashion and congratulations held every year to honor Martin Luther King and give starlets a chance to wear sparkly gowns honoring their golden globes. 

This year's event was hosted by a funny man with crooked English teeth, and while I can't comment on his funniness because Downton Abby trumps the GGA's, I can tell you that these awards are given by something called "The Foreign Press Assocation."  A little investigational digging has lead me to discover what the FPA is all about.

The sole member of the "Foreign Press Association" is a 9-year-old kid named Ghalib who writes press releases on a MAC out of his parents basement.  He tivos the last half of the big night because he has to be in bed by 9:00.

This year, Ghalib requested each actor to wear an outfit as a tribute to something/someone

 Emma Stone wore shoulder pads in solidarity with her little brother Everett 

who is playing Pop Warner football this year.

 Reese Witherspoon left her dress unhemmed, in honor of "those unsung heroes who alter clothes".  The scarlet starlet wiped out three times tripping over her excess dress material and is resting today with an icepack.

 Busy Phillips choked up as she dedicated her hair to her sister Wanda, who recently passed away but left her a "bump it"

The hirsute gentleman to the rear of Clive Owen dedicated his ensemble to "the sixties man...to the sixties."

 Tilda Swinton blew a kiss to her twin brother, David Bowie

 Pied Piper Perabo snuck in several homeless children under her voluminous gown 

as a general protest against the Republican party

 Juliana Margulies wore a sleek protest gown comprised of thousands of miniscule halibut scales painstakingly glued to a lightweight silk jersey by Alaskan fisherman who are out of work because of irresponsible oil spills caused by Mitt Romney

Sarah Michelle Gellar commissioned her daughter's Montesorri preschool group to tie dye the fabric for this voluminous gown constructed by the Jr. High sewing class as a reminder to "Sew as You Grow"

 Angelina wore a valentine tribute for Brad but his embarrassing response was to bring the cane he uses to poke his wife under the table when she is over her 123 calorie per day allowance.

 

Nobody does tributes like Hollywood

photos found here

 

Downton Abbey is Spiffing Brilliant!

I've been so nervous anticipating the second installment of Downton Abbey that it has nearly put me off my feed  Oh no!  Now I've gone and done it again, throwing out a horribly vulgar American farm expression, when I have been eating crumpets and trying mightily to be worthy to watch the upper crustian Lord and Lady and the lower crustian servants in this marvelous story.

Here's a run down to bring you up to speed

Lord Robert Crawley has only one job, which is to keep the huge pile of rocks that is his boyhood home from becoming Stonehenge.  This is a difficult job due to constant interruptions to open tiny little letters delivered on a silver tray by his formidable butler, Mr. Carson






Mr. Carson may look like he wants to tear out your cholesterol-clogged American heart, but he is really as gentle as clotted cream




 
Lady Cora Crawley was initially married for her revoltingly modern and obscenely large American fortune but her titled husband grew to love her in spite of her grating non-English accent

Lady Sybil, Lady Mary and Lady Edith are the three feminine progeny of their poor male-inheritorless father.  Mary is the oldest and as mean as a rattlesnake, while Edith is as mean as a slightly homely cobra.  Sybil is as harmless as a garter snake except that she likes to sneak around with the chauffeur to political rallies and once wore harem pants to dinner.

Violet, the oldest Crawley is so condescendingly English that she will make you want to give the United States back to Queen Elizabeth with a note of apology.

The staff, which works 15 hours, 364 1/2 days per year, unless their mother dies--is totally devoted to the Crawley family with the exception of O'Brien and Thomas, who have been known to soap the floor causing the miscarriage of a long awaited male heir,  and raid the wine cellar, respectively.

Tune in to PBS on Sunday to find out if World War I 
causes a starch shortage and resultant fainting spells.

 I can hardly wait!

Resolution Dissolution

The tree is gone and I missed plugging in the lights this morning.  I am always the first one up and lighting up the Christmas tree always makes me feel like Thomas Edison.








The holidays were chock full of family, because we reunioned together in California...the first time we have been all together in ages, and the last time we will be able to for a few years.

So, now it's on to resolutions. 

I have become painfully aware of a deficiency in my character that I have been blind to for many years.  This is something I'm not proud of and only share with you, dear readers, because you have shown yourself to be a kind and nonjudgmental sort.

Here goes.

If, by chance, you happened by for a visit to my home and were obliged to use the "facilities", you would, at some point in performing your ablutions, have reached for the toilet paper roll only to find it, ahem, starkly unadorned.

May I take this opportunity to apologize for my insensitive behavior.  I know I must have offended many a delicate sensibility with the sight of this undisguised utilitarian cleansing tool.


But...the year is new and I have the will to better myself.  I hereby resolve to cover each roll and protect family and friends alike from the unpleasantness of a brashly nude roll of toilet paper.

Options include:

The cupcake; for when your bum is craving something sweet

The scary baby with scissors; for when you want to caution your guests against profligate overuse of the roll

 

 

 

 

 

The saucy doll head;
for when your snoopy guests just have to find out what is under that blue hair

The sushi roll, roll cover; for when your body feels the need to replenish and release simultaneously

And for heavens sake, if you can't cover it up, at least do a little folding.

 Here's to resolutions

we can keep!

My Christmas Mailbox

Larainy loves it when her mailbox fills up with Christmas letters.  Then she doesn't have to fake it, by stuffing in credit offers and ads for National Geographic.  In the spirit of giving, let me catch you up on the news of some of my friends and family

Hal, Al, Cal and Morton aka the "Quads" graduated high school and are going their separate ways.  
From top right clockwise:
1)Hollywood 
2)Where's Waldo Undercover Training Camp in Fargo, ND 
3)Halloween Boot Camp and 
4) Applebee's Headwaiter Apprenticeship

Corwin and Melvina finally gave up their tent and abandoned their 
"Occupy Anaheim" protest because everyone was busy going to Disneyland 
and the movement never really took off .

 Cecil's only Christmas request was a mullet like Daddy's 
and doggone if the Holiday hair fairy didn't grant his wish

 Sophie Dilper suddenly figured out who was eating all the leftovers 
when she took a good look at Muffin in the family photo

A profound affinity for Nehru jackets led Norville to the clerical life.

Co-workers at the DMV have no idea that Lucinda 
spends her weekends working the pageant circuit.  
Saturday she was first runner-up in Pennzoil's 
"Miss Monkey Wrench" extravaganza in Abilene Texas

When Lawrence realized he wasn't getting any younger, 
he rolled up his sleeves and got to work on his image.  
Last year he had 52 pictures in the yearbook and this year he's going for 60.

When Eldus wrote Santa and asked for a brother, 
he was informed by registered mail that they were out of stock 
and he was getting a Pokemon character instead.

 Princess insists she is the black sheep of the family 
but everyone knows she is really a dog

Grandma taught Skippy to knit on condition 
that his first project use up the leftover yarn 
she has been hoarding since the 40's

 Clayborne never knew that his love of country would propel
him to chairmanship of his local Tea Party (Raleigh Freedom Fighters)
but also cast him as a confident and sassy fashion leader




What's in your Christmas mailbox?

Have Yourself a Green Little Christmas

Dear readers, I know all about the lives you lead,  busy lives full of mystery and intrigue, possibly including extended travel to exotic locales while wearing a poncho woven of llama hair and carrying only a worn leather satchel, a battered passport, and an adventurous spirit.  Hence, your Christmas shopping is not done and a unholidaylike panic is setting in, probably settling in the area of your neck muscles.

As you know, Larainy is somewhat of an expert when it comes to gift giving.  You can go here and here to be reminded of the brilliant suggestions of the past, but today, I offer to you the updated, 2011 green version.  These are gifts that you can feel good about, even if no one likes them,  because saving the environment is the trump card in today's society. People, we are going to save the environment even if it kills us and only the cockroaches are left to enjoy the last whiffs of green house gas in environment we saved for them.

 1.  Do you know that our landfills are literally clogged with mounds of old toothbrushes?  If used toothbrushes were placed end to end they would reach all the way to Neptune and back except that they would probably melt on reentry into the atmosphere.  Why not get rid of all that space junk and give the gift of a nice 12-pack of twigs as an organic tooth cleaning alternative.  A pack of twigs and a box of baking soda will have your loved one saying thank you with sweetly scented sawdust flavored breath.

2. Remember all great-grandpa's tender stories about the outhouse and the Sear's catalog?  This year, you can recycle  those perfumed catalog inserts into handy wipe size toilet-paper alternative gifts.

3.  Giving a pet is never a good idea, but when you give a turkey vulture, you are not giving a pet.  Oh no, you are giving a multipurpose, multifunctional tool.  The gift of a household turkey vulture will provide years of carrion clean-up for your yard and neighborhood.  Who wouldn't welcome a hovering presence, sharp eyes in the sky that will instantly gobble up expired wildlife, instead of leaving it to stink up your pretty green lawn.


 
 4.  Don't forget gifts that will come in handy during the long hot summer that Al Gore says will start in late February 2012 due to global warming.  Why not give your loved ones something that will enable them to unplug the old air conditioner and exercise those droopy upper arms?  The combination of a crisply folded paper fan and an occasional mist of organic water from a spray bottle will have your giftees thinking of you fondly and often while sweat drips down their bodies in a naturally cooling experience.

5.  Nothing says love like a tub full of teeny tiny carp to nibble away the dead skin of your significant other.  Who cares if the health department has banned fish pedicures in your area?  No one will ever forget your thoughtful concern for their podiatric health when they are relaxing their feet in a bucket full of tepid water while a hundred little carp lips are working over tired calluses.  No need to buy fish food for these little workers, they survive and thrive on your dead skin cells in a wonderfully symbolic circle of life.

Don't forget the reusable hemp wrapping paper!

Bust Out the Slanket

Alright, I admit it.  I climbed back in my blanket fort and ditched the gym, but people it is 34 degrees in Mesa, Arizona!  If mother nature shaves off another couple degrees, the emergency sirens are going to start blaring and all the snowbirds from Canada are going to demand refunds from their trailer park associations because they can't wear the plaid bermuda shorts that match their Hawaiian shirts.

We've had several cloudy, rainy days and even got a rainbow out of the deal.  Yesterday there was even snow on some Saguaro cactus and they are complaining to their union representative, Ed Prickley.  Sunday brought a foggy morning that had us totally befuddled.  Dust storms we Arizonans know how to handle, but fog has us speaking like Madonna with fake British accents and drinking herbal tea.

Last night I decked the halls with my decorative Christmas sheets so my flowers wouldn't die.

Seriously, I know I shouldn't complain, and yet I do, because I find if you're happy all the time, people tend to mistrust you.  I was very disillusioned when my children told me that they really hated the soothing, kind voice I used over the years to wake them up in the morning for school.  I should have blasted an air horn and called it like it is..."That Stinky Time of Day When You Have to Roll Out of Your Cocoon, Fight For Bathroom Time, Eat Your Cream of Wheat and Go to School". 

Now we're down to one lone child at home and she (usually) wakes up on her own, perhaps to avoid the soothing kind motherly voice of doom.   Last Saturday was Winter Formal and she looked beautiful.

And now it's time to write the annual Christmas letter.  I wrote the first one 17 years ago as a protest against all the over achieving letters we received.  It began like this...

What a boring year it has been!  How to fill the empty hours!  What a struggle we have had trying to keep ourselves occupied.  It is so embarrassing to have to come up with any news to report.  We have simply laid around since last Christmas!

I suppose it all began with the purchase of those seven Lazy Boy recliners.  A sort of lethargic peace settled over us all as we sat, vegetating, gazing hour after blissful hour at the television.  Oh, we roused occasionally to pop a microwave dinner in, but all in all we really were functioning at our lowest metabolic rate.  Our blood pressures plummeted.  We have never felt so rested.

And every year since I have produced a scintillating work of fiction about family exploits.  The husband and kids are always rather frightened to read about what they've been doing.

 

Maybe if I wrap myself in my holiday slanket I can force my frostbitten fingers to peck the keyboard.

 

 

Squashing Cancer

Larainy is so fond of her dear female readers, that she feels called upon to save your life by reminding you of certain preventative health procedures, that although unpleasant, will at the very least make you feel self righteous.  So, once again let me take you by the metaphorical hand and lead you through a 

mammogram

Remember the princess?  She is the one who likes to putter about among the flowers of her garden, mulching, dead heading the roses and squashing snails with a smart crack from the toe of her dainty boots.  One bright autumn day, after dispatching a goodly number of snails, she was scraping the goo off her Manolo Blahnik's when she looked up and saw the wise old man.  She knew he was wise because he was wearing a heavy gold chain about his wizened neck, and we all know that gold has proven to be a very wise investment indeed.

The wise old man squinted at the pretty princess, unable to see her clearly because of the gnarled tangle of overgrown eyebrows obscuring his vision.  "Come here my dear" he said, waggling his prodigious brows, "For I have something important to tell you."

"Oh no" said the princess.  "Not the magic powder again!  I was sitting on the throne for an eternity."

The wise old man slapped his knee and cackled with unsympathetic delight.  "No, no my child.  This is another adventure entirely.  Now listen closely and follow my instructions with care.

The lovely princess swallowed nervously and sighed.  "Very well."

"First of all" the wise old man said, "You must take a wet clump of moss and scrub off all the fine French deodorant you are wearing in your armpits."

The princess looked puzzled, but nodded her acquiescence.

"Next" he continued, you must search until you find Helga.

"How will I know her?" asked the princess.

"By her large hands and forearms, and the tight bun she wears that pulls her face into a tight mask of exemplary stoicism.  Oh, and she will be wearing pink scrubs."

The princess nodded uncertainly.  She had never trusted women with tight buns.  "What will Helga do to me?"

The old man pulled at his grey beard and continued.  "That, my dear is a mystery that men like me cannot fathom.  But I do know it involves..." and here he paused and coughed delicately, "compression of the love pillows."

And so it was that the princess bravely set off to find Helga, who did indeed compress, depress, constrict and wring the poor Princess' love pillows every which way to Sunday.  But the Princess endured it with regal grace and then went and drank a milkshake.