Meh-ry Christmas

I'm sitting here enjoying my Christmas decorations.

I'm not saying they are really sad or anything, but basically, my festively decorated home consists of a Christmas card from my insurance agent and my Yule a Go Go (now with LED lights!) Christmas tree.

What happened? I used to really be into Christmas. I need to blame someone.

The Spawn (who by the way, is an extra in a Bollywood movie being filmed today) has pretty much outgrown toys and stuff. All of the Crotchety Old Lady's grandkids just want cash. Bottom line, another toyless Christmas.

I suggested that maybe we have a kid. That didn't go over very well. She said caring for one big baby at a time is enough. I have no idea what she was talking about. Maybe she was just cranky because I complained that she didn't stir my hot chocolate right. She can be like that, you know.

But I like toys, darn it. I thought about setting up my trains (I have a few hundred) but they bore me.

I have suggested to the Crotchety Old Lady how much fun it would be to set up a slot car track in the living room, but she's against it. *sigh*

I even picked one nice set out for her, and I'm pretty sure that annoyed her even more.



There is just no making that woman happy some days.

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Men and Women Are Different. Seriously.

One of my buddies (rubba) told me his grandson is really into model trains. The little guy just turned 3, so you know he's curious, and into everything.

He was playing with his trains with grandpa, and rubba warned him to not touch the track.

So, he licked the track. Naturally, he got a shock. I hear this, and got the same reaction rubba had~~hysterical laughter.

When Mrs. Crotchety heard, she became upset.

And this describes how we view nearly everything. Shows like America's Home Videos, ( Country Fried Home Videos for my Arkie friends,) where at least once per show, someone gets either a whack in the naughty bits or there is some other potentially injurous event. I'm rolling, and the Mrs. worries. "Look at that poor man," she'll say. Of course, I can barely hear her because I'm laughing so loudly.

And it's the same with sitcoms and all the cartoons I watch. She focuses on the injuries (trust me, Peter Griffin and Spongebob are fine) and misses the hilarity of injuries, real or fake.

It's not that she can't suspend belief. She's a huge Tarantino fan, and the bloodier the movie, the more she likes it. Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction, any one of them, she'll watch and barely a flinch.

But have a guy stick a screwdriver in a socket, and she gets upset.

They Always get hit in the Naughty Bits at

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A Mind is a Terrible Thing

Sometimes my mind takes me places I'd rather not go.

I woke up in the middle of the night last night with one all consuming thought--what happened to my Motorific cars from when I was just a crotchety little kid? I never would have thrown them out, and I know I never gave them away. I also had this cool little Martian flying saucer that kind of sat on a stand and whirrled away. It kept me busy for hours. It didn't do much, but I was a pretty boring kid, so it didn't take a lot to amuse me. Where is it?

Then I started thinking about everything from my childhood. It is all gone, more or less. Where did it go?

Was there a giant garage sale that I didn't know about? Is there an orphanage somewhere with piles of my old stuff, and some little orphan kid wondering why in God's name he has an Al Kaline bat, when all the other kids have Al Pujols models? And, by the way, who the hell is Al Kaline?

These are the things that keep me up at night. I sit in the dark at 3 a.m. and ponder.