Ho Ho Hoping for The Best

Dear Santa,
Now that Christmas is just around the bend, I’m writing to head off any repercussions for some of my actions this past week that may or may not be interpreted as naughty behavior. As for dressing up in that Michael Meyers mask and scaring neighborhood children who came to the door on Halloween, I was simply teaching them that things that often seem scary aren’t so bad underneath their exterior. I must say, it worked really well, too. Err, I feel obligated to point out that I was not in on that alone. Hubby was the one giving me the cue to pop up in front of the kiddies when they stepped onto the top step. Come to think of it, I think he was the one who came up with the idea. Yeah, I'm sure he was. Let me state for the record that I did not jump out at anyone who seemed to be under the age of five…or so. And squirting the toddler friend in the face with the water dispenser on the refrigerator when she went to get a drink that night was a complete and total accident. I swear. Besides, she thought it was funny.

I’m sorry I hid the Halloween candy from my family until the night before Halloween, but it was for their own good. I was really just looking out for their teeth. On that same topic I’ll plead the fifth on that incident involving the consumption of a large quantity of Whoppers that may or may not have occurred while said candy was hidden.

As for throwing the front section of the newspaper at Hubby when he jokingly told me I looked a lot like Sarah Palin, well, I plead self defense. I mean, really. He knows how worked up I get about her. Surely, you can understand my lack of self control over THAT. And the tossing of the comics in his direction, too. And the knock down, drag out debate about politics that ensued afterward, mostly because I couldn’t shut up. Are you keeping a running tab on that whole can’t shut up thing? Yeah, I thought so. Hmmm...Do you give extra credit assignments?

Okay, well, that about does it for this week. I’m sure I’ll be in touch again…soon. There are 51 days until Christmas. I’ll try to be a good girl between now and then, and it should be a lot easier now that the election is over. Of course, there are a lot of family get-togethers between now and then, and Mama J. and Papa T. are probably going to have some surgeries, so the family stress level could be a little high. About that extra credit?

Love,
Hula

PS Santa

Dear Santa,
In reviewing my previous letter to you, I realized it’s possible I may have overstated the quality of my behavior during the past year. Saying that I’ve been “an extremely good girl” may have been an exaggeration. Not that I intended to mislead you. I was under the influence of a Milky Way when I composed that letter, and I really cannot be held accountable for anything I do during a chocolate/caramel buzz. I would not want my inaccurate information to affect the quality or quantity of gifts you choose to bestow upon me, so perhaps I should ‘fess up to some stuff and explain a few things before you slide down my chimney.

First of all my profanity has been much better this year than in past years. While I certainly have not eliminated it from my vocabulary, I have made greats strides in curtailing my cussing. I have found that “doodles” and “puddin’” are great substitutes for the really ugly words. I do let a few of my old favorites fly every now and then, but it’s usually when I’ve hurt myself….like this morning when I stubbed four of my toes on the end of the bed. Surely you can understand that.

I was kind of bad during Hubby’s colonoscopy, but you must admit the whole flatulence thing was pretty funny. And the gaping hospital gown, wasn’t that a hoot? What’s a girl to do when presented with that kind of opportunity? I am sorry about that. Really, I am, but they say laughter is the best medicine. I just thought it would help him feel better. I know I felt better afterwards.

Then there was the cookbook incident. I borrowed one of Mama J.’s cookbooks and thought I returned it. She asked for it back, and I swore I gave it back to her; insisted that I gave it back to her; argued with her about it until I had convinced her she was wrong and then I found it in my hutch about six weeks later. I didn’t want to admit to her she was right so I slipped it back on her shelf when she wasn’t looking. Yeah, I know it was wrong, but think about it. Don’t you hate it when you have to eat crow in front of your mother-in-law? I thought so.

To be honest I don’t pick up my phone when my mother calls between 8 and 9pm on Thursday nights because Grey’s Anatomy is on. It’s shallow, I know, but I hate missing one little minute of hospital melodrama and smut. I’ll work on this one since I have DVR now. Besides, I always call her back later.

And finally, I should probably apologize for the way I spoke to that young babe that tried to cut in front of me and 50,000 other people in line for the port-a-potties at the Jimmy Buffett concert. I may have been a little too …hmmm…shall we say assertive….in that situation. It was the margarita in me talking, and I had to pee really badly. If it makes any difference to you, I’ve bitten my tongue many times this year when I wanted to ream someone out for cutting me off in traffic…or screwing up my fast food order….or cutting in line at J.C. Penney’s….so… well, you get the picture.

Well, that about does it. I could probably think of a few more things if I dug a little deeper, but let’s just call it quits for now. I think that’s enough for one day, don’t you? Besides, you don’t want to hear all about my occasional road rage or quick temper. And don’t get me started on the topic of being a smart aleck. And while I’m thinking of it, let’s just keep this letter between me and you. There’s no need to ask Hubby for more information or his opinion on all of this. And that whole cookbook incident? I’d rather he not know about that. Thanks Santa. See you in a couple of weeks. Don’t forget that bling. Size 5 on the ring finger.

Hugs and kisses,
Hula Girl

Santa Baby

Dear Santa,
I’ve been an awfully good girl this year. No need for independent verification on that. Just take my word for it. And I really see no need to get my husband’s opinion on that either. I’m sure he’d tell you the same thing. What? No. That is not my fingers crossed behind my back. I have arthritis, and they’re stuck that way. Anyhoo, in light of my excellent behavior I’m forwarding my Christmas list to you in hopes of some special treats under the tree in a couple of weeks. These are listed in no particular order.

1. A red, 1957 T-bird convertible. Blue or white would be okay, too, but red is my favorite. With sunglasses and a scarf I could pretend to be Grace Kelly. Come on, Santa. We’ll have fun, fun, fun until the state police take my T-bird away.

2. A permanent solution to this gray hair thing that keeps cropping up. Not only have I gone from a “once in a while” color to a regular dye schedule at my stylist, I’ve had to bump up my last few appointments. I WILL NOT go gray before I’m 80, so we need to do something about this. This is getting old.

3. A non-surgical boob lift. The girls are getting a little tired, and I’m scared of the whole cosmetic surgery thing. Ya’ got anything to jack those puppies up that doesn’t require a blade and anesthesia or twenty pounds of lycra?

4. One of those snazzy new treadmills with an iPod jack and speakers. How cool is that? I could lose my hearing and get fit at the same time.

5. Low calorie margaritas. Maybe you could put them in 100 calorie packs like Nabisco does its cookies. I’m thinking little juice boxes with a straw.

6. Some bling would be nice. Something in the two carat range because, despite what men say, you can never have a diamond that’s too big for your hand. That’s just crap they make up because they don’t want to spend a few grand on something that doesn’t run down the street on two wheels and is referred to as a“ hog”. Not that we’ve already had that discussion in my house or anything.

7. A condo in the Caribbean. I’m not really too picky about the location, but I’m awfully fond of Aruba. Just a teensy, weensy house near the beach? Pretty please, with sugar on top? I’ll quit swearing if you give me this one. Well, at least I’ll quit saying the really, really bad words…when people are around.

8. And finally world peace, because I would sound terribly selfish if I didn’t ask for something like that. Gosh, who doesn’t want world peace. Do I even need to write this one down?

So, there you have it. If you need any more information like my ring size (5)or favorite hair color (San Tropez) just let me know. Have your people call my people and we’ll work it out. Okay? In the meantime, take care of yourself and watch out for those cookies at the gray house up the street. They're always dry. Oh, and if none of the above items are available, I’ll just settle for some perfume, an iTunes card and world peace…especially world peace.

Hugs and kisses,
HulaGirl

Go Ho Ho Home Until November 23rd

I’m being stalked…by Santa. He’s everywhere I go. Dude, it’s only mid-November. I’m not ready for Christmas yet. He needs to go back to the North Pole and come back in a couple of weeks when I’m feeling a little prepared for the juggernaut we call Christmas. I know the holiday season gets earlier and earlier each year, but I’ve been seeing the Jolly Old Elf since late September. It’s just wrong for him to beat Halloween into the stores. It’s out of hand, and it’s making me nervous. He’s everywhere I look.

I walked into the grocery store Saturday. On the first main aisle there was a big cardboard Santa trying to sell me some Sprite. Four aisles over, he beckoned me to try the holiday Ziploc baggies. I went to Wal-Mart. A big rubber Santa waved at me near the rear door. I tried to run from him and tripped over the Christmas cards on my way to the shampoo. There he was, staring at me from the front of the cards. I stopped in J.C. Penney’s. There he was again, dangling from a Christmas tree. Next thing you know, he’ll be showing up on TV. I’m sure because the other night some penguins in holiday attire came sliding across my TV screen to sell me something. I’m not sure what it was because I put my hands over my eyes and screamed. The big guy can’t be far behind.

If you ask me, it’s downright scary how overwhelming Christmas has become. It was 80 freakin’ degrees the day I saw the first Christmas display in a local store. 80! I can’t think about Christmas when I’m sweating. Summer lingered a long time, and fall has just rolled right over me. I can’t believe Thanksgiving is next week, and to think I’m supposed to start Christmas shopping right after that. Great googly moogly! Let me off this train at the next stop. I need to finish my Halloween candy and have some pecan pie and some turkey before I can digest a dose of Christmas. I’m going to go lie down now and someone wake me up when the green bean casserole is done. And I’m going to pray that I don’t have nightmares about a fat man in a red suit following me everywhere I go.