'Tis The Groundhog Season

I love writing Christmas cards. I love buying them. I like everything about the whole damn process. This year, we elevated the experience to a new level and made our own cards, thank you Shutterfly. We live in the desert, so what better picture to adorn the front of a card than a bedecked cactus.

Yeah, you're thinking "Like that hasn't been done before" to which I would respond, "Shut the fuck up." Anyway, back to my story of Christmas cheer. We spent a Saturday afternoon averting park patrol in the Phoenix zoo, searching for that perfect cactus Christmas card cover. We'd skulk around looking for a Saguro, making sure there were no nearby observers before we unloaded two grocery bags of decorations.

After much deliberation, we decided on a picture and I ordered 30 cards for the holiday. Even if I had free reign to all 30, I'd have to omit some people from the distribution list. The friend guillotine rears its ugly head.

The cards finally arrived last week and they were perfect. I might have squealed once or twice when I saw them.

Michael: So how many cards do you think you'll need?
Chris: I thought you were sending them.
Michael: I am. For my friends. How many do YOU need?
Chris: One. Wait. Maybe two.
Michael: What about your grandmother, brother, parents...
Chris: Okay. Three. Why are we sending cards again?
Michael: Because it's important to stay in touch.
Chris: Uh-huh. Can you address mine?

His cards are still sitting on his desk, untouched. So if any of his friends happen to read this, please know that Chris means well. He is just communicationally-card challenged. You'll eventually get one, it just may be Groundhog's Day by the time he mails them.

2007 Annual Budget

For those of you that know my sister, you'll know she's not a quantitative gal. Excel? Sounds like a gay bar. Depreciation? Sounds like a skin condition. So when she was asked to provide a 2007 spending budget for work, I am sure she nearly dusted the floor, save for the fact she had on a smart new skirt/jacket ensemble from Ann Taylor and refused to get it dirty.

Now- she has landed a job to make any normal human being jealous. She currently manages marketing efforts in Latin America for a telecom/data provider. Trips to Mexico, Venezuela and Brazil, short work days, constant social interaction, fancy hotels.

I hate her.
But as her dutiful brother, it was not my position to judge. Merely to help with her mathematical shortcomings. So I present to you MFM's 2007 Budgeting Plan.

We Got Spirit, Yes We Do.

I think I felt it coming on about noon yesterday. I’ve been avoiding it thus far, but crumbled under the pressure of my random visit to Homo Depot. I was only going to buy extension pruners (no comment) but made the fatal mistake of parking next to the Christmas tree stand. Kids were running in all directions with sap-covered hands and demonic smiles. Couple that with the incessant ring-ring-ring-ring of the Salvation Army donation ringer and I didn’t stand a chance. The holiday spirit is on, girlfriend.

I am going to temper it, though. I am really going to try. But with our house, it’s a travesty not to decorate the hell out of it. I mean, it’s a two-story craftsmen that begs to be decked. Last month, we cleaned out the garage and removed eighty years of build-up, abandoned furniture, old tools… AND five storage tubs filled with multi-colored Christmas lights. Apparently the previous owners switched to Buddhism or something. Chris saw the look on my face and told me that I could hold on to them, but c’mon. That’s like leaving a recovering heroine junkie alone in a medivac tent. The second he left me alone I would have been hauling ass to Lowe’s to buy a backup generator, extension cords, and industrial-grade stringing wire.

So I am going to play it cool this year. I bought three-pointsettias at the nursery yesterday and put them outside. That’s so tame it’s almost agnostic. And I thought we could maybe buy a wreath. A small one. For the front-door. But only if Chris doesn’t mind. And maybe an animatronic lighted reindeer.