MERRY CHRISTMAS! WHERE'S THE SALMON.
Well, Christmas has switched into high gear over here at the Doxie residences, and by "residences," I mean not just MY house, but also my parents' house, where we will all be spending Christmas, and y'all, we are ALL FREAKING OUT.
The majority of our pre-Christmas experience can be summed up by an actual, true conversation that occurred between my mother and myself, and...unfortunately, we've lost our minds. No, seriously. It's sad. Send help.
Yesterday, I walked into my parents' house, and immediately heard a strange and frightening shrieking coming from somewhere in the kitchen area. So, suspicious and concerned, I went to go check it out. And there, standing in the middle of the kitchen, was my poor mother, her hands on her hips and her eyes all wild. And as soon as she saw me, she pointed at me, and in this crazed, banshee-like voice, shrilled: "WHERE THE FUCK IS THE SALMON?"
TURNS OUT, my mother had gotten home from the grocery store, let the dogs out, and started putting away the groceries. About halfway through, she went to let the dogs back in. And she counted. And there was one dog missing. And that dog was Bo.
Now, y'all may remember that Bo is Wilful. And, also, Bad. And when mom couldn't find him, she called, but he did not come. Which surprised nobody. Because Bo feels that he should not be shackled by the antiquated requirements of "coming when called." He is sort of like a cat that way.
And my parents have a fenced yard, but as mom went to look for him, she saw that one of the gates was ever-so-slightly open. Which meant that Bo could have gotten out. And "out", to my dogs, means "made an immediate beeline for the street, in order to hitchhike their small, brown way out of my home and off to a compound in Guam, where they will forever be free from the yoke of DIET DOG FOOD, because I am SO EVIL TO THEM."
So she panicked, and immediately began sprinting all over the yard, and the neighbor's yard, and up to the street, and all over Buckhead, pretty much, screaming, "BOOOOO" as loudly as a Southern lady can scream (and that is actually pretty loud, y'all). But still: no Bo. So she COMPLETELY freaks out, runs back to the house to call me on my phone to tell me that DOG IS FREE, REPEAT, DOG IS FREE, and she runs into the kitchen, and immediately trips over Bo, who had been chilling out in his dog bed THE ENTIRE TIME.
And it was about then that she realized that she'd lost the salmon. She had HAD the salmon when she started looking. Now, no salmon. Where did salmon go? This was the big question. And then I had walked in. NICE TIMING, SELF!
And so there we were, my poor, winded mother, staring crazy and BLAMING ME with every ounce of blame in her body (and again, Southern woman, so lots of that, too), and thinking WHY did she have to have a FIRST child, when she EASILY could have just skipped onto the SECOND, and the SECOND child has NEVER ONCE descended upon the household with FOUR FUCKING DOGS, and maybe she should just REWRITE THE WILL, NOW THAT SHE IS THINKING ABOUT IT.
But I didn't know any of this yet. All I knew was that I had walked in and found my mother screaming about salmon. And I was afraid. But she pointed at me, and the following occurred:
Mom: WHERE IS THE SALMON.
Self: I don't...know? Salmon?
Mom: FIND. THE FUCKING. SALMON.
Self: Right. Where, um...where might it be?
Mom: IT COULD BE ANYWHERE. THE STREET. OR THE YARD.
Self: The salmon may be in the...yard.
Mom: OR IT COULD BE IN THE CLOSET.
Self: Why in the HELL would the salmon be in the closet?
Mom: THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT.
Self: But I just GOT here!
Mom: FIND! THE! FUCKING! SALMON!
Self: OKAY! FINE.
Mom: LOOK IN THE GARDEN.
We eventually found the salmon. It was sitting on the front steps. NATURALLY.
But since then, things have been going pretty well. Tonight we'll have a big dinner, and then I'm going over to Dukay's house for his family's annual Christmas party. And the tomorrow is Christmas! It's practically here!
I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday, and I wish you all the best. May your homes be filled with love and laughter, and your garden...with salmon.
I said maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me
Thank you, lovely people on the innernet, who have been so kind to me in the last few days, which have been NOT FUN, and I really cannot emphasize the real "lack of fun" that has been had by anyone in the last few days, but needless to say, there was NO FUN INVOLVED.
And I have been met with nothing but such love from Al, Hannah, and AB, who sent me a dozen roses, and Robyn, and Amy, and everyone else who has just been SO NICE. Why are y'all so nice? (And also, how come I can't make links work on a Mac? Someone needs to explain this shit to me.)
Y'all, I love you all more than breath. I really do.
So, all this is to say that things have not been very funny around the Doxie house lately, and I'm sorry I haven't posted, but y'all know. Shit's been going down. Hopefully, things are improving, and very soon, I'll have some fantastic post about how my sister and I got drunk and fell down. (People! Ziz just got into town! EVERYONE SAY HELLO TO ZIZ AND THE HILARITY THAT WILL MOST CERTAINLY ENSUE. Such "hilarity" may involve my obsession with the Amish, but I make no promises.)
But back to my...point. I am sure I had one, but frankly, I'm on Glass of Wine Number Threeeeee with Ziz already, and I am not kidding when I admit that it is REALLY KIND OF FUCKING TAKING A LONG TIME TO TYPE. In case you were wondering. And also, we are listening to my iPod, and the convergence of different styles of music when we choose the Shuffle At Your Own Risk option is kind of BLOWING OUR MINDS, and we listened to threeeee Smiths's songs, and then Peter, Paul, and Mary sang Puff the Magic Dragon, and it was getting verrrrrry Kumbayah! in here, and then SOMEHOW Mr. iPod decided to follow this up...with Marilyn MANSON. At which point my head blew up. Pop! As in,
Shiny iPod: PLAYS MARILYN MANSON.
Ziz: Haaaaaaa. Now pick up the pieces of your head and get me more wine.
(Also, on yet ANOTHER totally different note, can you tell that Oasis was playing when I started writing this entry? You could? Y'all, what gave me away?)
But I have veered so far away from my Major Actual Point, which was to say the following: I had no idea how kind, understanding, and thoughtful my friends could be, and I feel like the luckiest girl alive. Thank you all so much, and I love every one of you. More than breath.
Merry Christmas, y'all.
In which I use the "F" word more times than is probably legal in many states.
Last night Dukay took me out for a romantic evening, which was very nice of him, and which he planned all by himself. And the plan was to take me to the symphony, where we would listen to pretty instruments playing Christmas songs, and hold hands and be generally overtaken by the magic of Christmas as presented through "triangle" and "tuba". That was the plan.
But the plan did not work out so much, in the sense that we didn't actually do that, in the sense that we never quite made it inside, in the sense that PEOPLE, WE GOT KICKED OUT OF THE SYMPHONY.
Yes. I don't want to talk about it.
But I will say that the people at the symphony are REALLY NOT KIDDING about shutting those doors at EXACTLY THE RIGHT TIME, even if that means allowing the people in line DIRECTLY in front of you inside and then abruptly pushing you OUT OF THE DOOR and INTO THE HALLWAY and then LOCKING THE DOOR IN YOUR FACE, while you stand there, amazed, because, HI. YOU JUST PUSHED ME OUT THE DOOR.
I don't think I have mentioned that the woman who pushed me out the door? HAD A RAT TAIL. She was like, sixty years old, and she had a rat tail. Because nothing says "high culture" like a rat tail! Nothing says "I have every right to be a snobby bitch to you, by the powers vested in me by my RAT TAIL," like a rat tail! Y'all, I could not make this shit up if I tried.
And I will also say that Dukay was not HAPPY about this turn of events. No. You can maybe imagine. What followed next could be described as a "conniption fit," if you were trying to describe it. We got into the car to head over to a bar we frequent, and this is pretty much how that went:
Dukay: FUCK THE SYMPHONY.
Self: Yes. Well. Apparently, we were la...
Dukay: FUCK THE SYMPHONY.
Self: ...te. Right. They're pretty hard core, with the rules.
Dukay: FUCK THE SYMPHONY.
Dukay: I WILL WRITE A SCATHING LETTER.
Self: To whom, exactly? The guy who plays the triangle?
Dukay: WITH BAD WORDS.
Self: I don't think you should send a letter. I think you should just write a letter in your heart.
Dukay: I HEREBY VOW NEVER TO GO BACK TO THE SYMPHONY FOR THE REMAINDER OF MY LIFE, SO SAYETH ME, IN MY LIFETIME, AMEN.
Self: Right. Got it. No more symphony. You are very serious.
Dukay: MY ANGER IS BEGINNING TO EXTEND TO THE MUSICIANS. I AM BEGINNING TO HATE THE GUY WITH THE STICK. WHO IS THE GUY WITH THE STICK.
Dukay: YES. I WILL TAKE THE CONDUCTOR, AND I WILL SHOVE HIS LITTLE STICK SO FAR UP HIS A...
Self: How about you just don't send them any money any more?
Dukay: MY ANGER MUST BE KNOWN.
Self: Dude, I think your anger is pretty much "known" at this point.
So we got to the bar, and the valet opened Dukay's door, and Dukay greets him with, "FUCK THE SYMPHONY. Here are the keys."
And then we got inside, and the host came over to hug and welcome us, and Dukay, once again: "FUCK THE SYMPHONY. Hi, Bob."
So word quickly spread that we had been booted from our evening of high culture, and before long, we were sitting at the bar, and a phenomenon occurred, namely that whenever we were addressed, by anyone, this is how that worked:
"FUCK THE SYMPHONY. Y'all want some water?"
"FUCK THE SYMPHONY. How are you two doing on wine?"
"FUCK THE SYMPHONY. The chef sent you some calamari! With a message, that message being, FUCK THE SYMPHONY."
Every toast? We toasted to fucking the symphony. Every goodnight? Given with a healthy dash of the fucking of the symphony. At this point, the symphony is surely well and truly fucked.
And, not surprisingly, it caught on. Other people at other tables began greeting their waiters and waitresses with, "FUCK THE SYMPHONY. I will have the brie." Or, "FUCK THE SYMPHONY. Could we please get a little more bread? Thanks ever so much."
Things, sadly, went downhill, when a woman at a table near us succumbed to the power of the Bottomless Wine Glass, and slumped over in her seat and began VOMITING ALL OVER THE FLOOR, as her friends did absolutely NOTHING to stop this truly terrifying turn of events, except for laugh and pat her back, and people, we are NOT AT A KEGGER, this is a nice restaurant with a nice bar and formerly nice flooring. Immediately, the bartenders and wait staff flocked to Dukay and me and formed a protective shield from The Spewer, apologizing profusely, all, "FUCK THE SYMPHONY. I can't believe that woman is puking all over the world." "FUCK THE SYMPHONY. Oh, good Lord. Where's the mop?" "FUCK THE SYMPHONY. Do you think her friends could, I don't know, maybe make some attempt to get her to a bathroom? I'm just wondering, and also, FUCK THE SYMPHONY."
And meanwhile, I'm just sitting there, thoroughly scandalized, and all I can think of to say is, "FUCK THE SYMPHONY! THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE MY ROMANTIC NIGHT! AND INSTEAD WE HAVE BEEN ABUSED BY A WOMAN WITH A RAT TAIL AND SOMEONE IS NOW VOMITING IN MY VICINITY."
But like I said. I don't want to talk about it. Besides, I think everything that needs to be said, has been said. And that being, for the ninety seven millionth time, with no question whatsoever, and from the bottom of my heart, y'all, FUCK THE SYMPHONY.
Christmas is in the air, and on my Mastercard
I have spent an unreasonable amount of time Christmas shopping in the last week, which almost certainly guarantees that the following will happen:
1. I will be finished by this weekend.
2. I will begin hating every Christmas gift purchased sometime around Wednesday of next week.
3. I will panic.
4. I will RESUME shopping, and buy NEW gifts for the same people for whom I have already purchased gifts.
5. I will then live in glowing holiday peace for about twenty minutes, until:
6. I decide I hate the new gifts even more than the first gifts.
7. I will panic.
8. I will throw myself desperately into debt, purchasing THIRD gifts for the same people for which I have already purchased TWO gifts.
9. I will panic.
10. I will have to sell the dogs on eBay.
This happens every year. Every year, I start Christmas shopping early, and every year, what seemed like a brilliant idea on December 1st seems awful and cliche and TOTALLY INAPPROPRIATE by December 10th. But I never actually return any of these awful and inappropriate gifts. Oh, no. I keep them, and then my poor family members end up with a selection of presents ranging from awful to desperate, with no discernable purpose or theme, grouped together only by the guiding principle of "All Smooshed Into The Same Box," because:
11. I will forget to buy boxes.
12. I will lose at least three gifts within the next eighteen days.
This always happens, too. Because I am an excellent hider. Thus, in April, 2005:
13. I will find all of El Dukay's stocking stuffers. From 2002. When I lived in a DIFFERENT CITY.
Despite my debilitating Christmas stupidity, I love Christmas. I've downloaded (illegally! O, spirit of Christmas!) an extensive catalog of Christmas Classics onto my computer, and I listen to them all day long. Except for that awful song about the Christmas Shoes. Christmas Shoes song, I hate you SO MUCH.
I have also bought and decorated a Christmas tree, and hung stockings for myself, Dukay, and the four dogs (OF COURSE I did. Shut up RIGHT NOW). And Dukay brought me a pretty poinsettia, and I put those candle things in the windows, and it is all extremely cozy and festive and wonderful.
(And, you know how poinsettias are supposedly deadly poisonous? Apparently they are not, because apparently, my Christmas stupidity developed early in my childhood, and at age two I ate an entire poinsettia plant. As of this writing, I have not yet died.)
(Although, y'all don't just run out and start eating poinsettias.)
Also guaranteed to happen in the next few weeks:
14. I will purchase a shitload of Christmas cards. I will send exactly zero Christmas cards.
This also happens every year. Every year, I spend actual green money on new, sparkly Christmas cards, and every year, the package sits unopened on my desk. Leering at me. Because it knows, it KNOWS, that I have never in my life sent a Christmas card. I am missing the Christmas card gene. It is the same gene that makes your thank-you notes leave your mailbox in a timely fashion.
15. I will buy some Christmas-themed item of clothing for the dogs.
Yeah, I know. But I'll take pictures, and then you can forward them to the ASPCA, and it will be holiday fun for everyone.
Last year it was Christmas tree bandanas, which seemed like a good idea until the entire experience climaxed with Bo ripping Tasha's bandana off her neck, dragging it into the yard, and peeing on it in abject disgust.
Also guaranteed to happen:
16. I will attempt to bake something. This will not end well for anyone. But maybe the fire department will come.
17. I will take nine thousand pictures, four of which will come out well, but Dukay will accidentally erase them all when Tasha starts humping Pugsley, her own SON, and Dukay will be immediately overcome by the need to photograph this scandalous event from every angle, as if he were planning on selling the images to a glossy magazine. And when I go to download my own photographs, the memory card will be FILLED with images of Tasha straddling poor Pug, who will be looking up at the camera with an expression of pure Oedipal misery. The reason I know this will happen is because IT HAS HAPPENED BEFORE, because that is apparently where the vacation pictures went.
18. I will forget at least two people on my list, they will show up at my house with a gift for me, and I will give them something that I find in the kitchen. Or a closet. Or they can have a dog.
Clearly, I have a busy few weeks ahead of me, keeping up with my numerous Christmas traditions! But meanwhile, I'd better get going. I have more soon-to-be-horrendous gifts to buy! And frankly, those capelets are starting to look VERY APPEALING.
It slices! It dices!
So, yesterday I did a lot of Christmas shopping. And I was highly entertained by the fact that almost every store I entered had a clearance section, and every clearance section was FILLED with capelets. Ah, the capelet! We had such high hopes for you as a fashion item! But now we have all learned An Important Lesson, namely, "We should not base our Winter line on anything recommended by the contestants on the Apprentice," and also, "Why would anyone actually need a capelet, anyway? This item of clothing makes no sense. It is like a slap bracelet for grown-ups."
The Capelet: What You Wear When You Just Can't Commit To A Coat! What You Wear When your Shoulders Are Kind Of Chilly, But Not So Much Your Arms!
Anyway. I'm getting a little carried away with the capelets. But my shopping day culminated with the purchase of several items, most of which were for myself. Which is not necessarily the way Christmas shopping is supposed to go, but you know. A girl has to have something to wear. And a girl needs shoes.
And evidently, a girl ALSO needs to watch television at three a.m. and make the wise executive decision to call the Christian Children's Fund and buy herself a child. Because that is what I did, last night, while the horrified people in my den looked on, all, "Um, are you...are you sure this is a good idea? With the giving of the credit card information and the signing away of your life and etc.?" And I said "OF COURSE this is an excellent idea. Were you not LISTENING to Sally Struthers? Do you think she would LIE? Did you see those FLIES? It costs less than a cup of coffee every day!"
Thankfully for all involved, though, I was NOT convinced to purchase the amazing Ronco knife set, which came on right after the Children's Fund program. EVEN THOUGH it was twelve, no, THIRTEEN, no, FIFTEEN, NO, TWENTY ONE HIGH QUALITY RONCO KNIVES all for just THREE EASY PAYMENTS of $13.33!!! That's like a twelve million dollar value, and that nice Ron Popeil just wants you to HAVE it. He's a giver, really. Just like Santa. And me.
However, I was intensely entertained by something called the Ron Popeil Seven Inch Cleaver, because...hee. It was almost worth buying the whole set just so I could ask people if they wanted to see/touch/use my Ron Popeil Seven Inch Cleaver.
And now I can't stop saying it. Ron Popeil Seven Inch Cleaver! It never gets old! Yet!
Anyway, to sum up:
Christmas gifts purchased: 2
Items of clothing purchased for self: 6
Children funded: 1
Ronco Knives NOT purchased: 21, plus a FREE KNIFE SHARPENER
Office Christmas parties tonight: 1
Pointless entries written, but, y'all, it's just so EASY with the movable type and the typing and the thing and then, WHAM, it's there, and I wanted to post something despite the fact that I don't have anything to say, really, and also, the phone keeps ringing and I lose my train of thought so I'm all, uh, people, GIVE ME A SECOND, but there it goes again, and I've forgotten where I was going with this, exactly: 1
Everyone have a good Sunday! Maybe tomorrow I'll have something interesting to say. In the meanwhile, I'd better go do some more Christmas shopping, or else everyone on my list is getting a Ron Popeil Seven Inch Cleaver and a really FANTASTIC capelet.
Even bad words look pretty on Movable Type!
I would like to direct your attention to the "Categories" AB has set up for me, because they are awesome. Times I Fell Down! The Stupid Thing El Dukay Did! I Got Drunk and Bought Shoes Online! This pretty much sums up my life. Which is interesting.
Already this morning, I have had an experience which actually involved several of these categories, and now MT is telling me I have to choose a "Primary Category," and this is sort of problematic, because -- as I alluded to previously -- this morning's experience involved a dog, some animal crackers, me falling down, and the breaking of some cute black boots. Oh yes. And the day has only just begun!
So, I'm driving to work, and I'm not bothering a soul or doing anything wrong at ALL, I'm not even singing or ANYTHING, and I decide to take the back way because apparently I'm an idiot. So I'm going down this looooong, windy road when all of a sudden I stop, because the other cars are stopped, because there is a woman standing in the middle of the road, staring daggers at this Lassie-type dog that is also, unfortunately, standing in the middle of the road. Which, apparently, is not where he is supposed to be.
So, being the Good Citizen and Dog Lover that I am, I immediately pull over onto the side of this long windy road, and hop out of the car without actually turning the car OFF, and I proceed to try to assist this lady in rounding up Rogue Dog Who Looks Like Lassie And Has No Intention Of Coming With Either One Of Us, Oh HELL No.
Well. FORTY FIVE MINUTES LATER, this poor woman and I had chased this poor thing all the way from one end of the long windy road to the other (two miles), through someone's yard and a POND I may have fallen into (R.I.P., boots!), and then back again, and there are approximately ninety five thousand cars just waiting now, and everyone is honking, and my hair is EVERYWHERE and my shoes are ruined and soaked, and then another woman throws a bag of animal crackers out the window at me and screams, "GOOD LUCK!" and then, when I can't get close enough to the dog to tempt him with the bribe of delicious, camel-shaped cookies (because, mmm!), I just start throwing the crackers at him in frustration.
And then the cops came. Technically because my CAR was still sitting on the side of the road. Running. And I hadn't seen it in an hour, so we are all a little amazed that it was still there. Meanwhile, I had accepted rides from about sixty million strangers, including a bunch of housepainters who let me sit in the back of the pickup truck. If any of you were ever interested in kidnapping or murdering or chopped me into bits, this was your golden opportunity, because I was just hopping from car to car like hitchhiking is just TOTALLY NORMAL FOR ME. And also, this includes one car where the guy wasn't technically expecting me to, you know, open the door and ENTER. In that case it was less "hitchhiking" and more "commandeering the vehicle." Whatever.
Anyway, once the cops became involved and we had a little chat about the pros and cons of leaving one's car unmanned and running on the side of a busy road, and also they made fun of my hair, the owner of the dog showed up, and we all learned that the dog is named NOAH, and that Noah is, according to his owner, "a bit naughty" with the running away and playing in traffic.
So now, we have four women, two cops, the owner, and three trillion cars all trying to round up Noah.
"NOAH!" we all screamed, running zig zaggity all over the street.
"HELL, NO!" Noah responded, zig zagging in exactly the other direction.
The last I saw of Noah, two very burly and tough cops were chasing after him as he bolted into a neighborhood. And his owner was following right behind, all, "Oh, that NOAH! Ha ha!"
We hate her. Frankly, we are not too fond of Noah, either, at this point.
Anyway, that's pretty much all there is to the story, and it has really no exciting ending at all (I mean, I left and went to work, figuring that between the LAW and the OWNER, the situation was about as "under control" as it was going to get, and I was helping approximately nobody with my animal crackers and ruined shoes).
But if there's anyone else out there who has, by ten a.m., managed to:
(1) illegally block traffic;
(2) abandon a perfectly good, RUNNING car on the side of the road;
(3) receive a stern talking-to from two cops, who then make fun of your hair;
(4) throw animal crackers at a canine named after a Biblical personage; AND
(5) fall into a FUCKING POND, then PEOPLE, I WOULD LIKE TO HEAR ABOUT IT.
New and Improved!
Y'all! Check it out! It's my first ever entry ever ever on my new pretty site. With the doggie at the top! And it is all thanks to Miss AB Chao, so everyone please take a minute out of your morning to think very happy pink thoughts about her.
Now, I will tell you something interesting, namely that I have never made a post in MT before, so this is a VERY BIG DAY for Miss Doxie. I am typing it right now, wondering what will happen. Will it post? Will it go to heaven to live with Jesus? Frankly, things could go either way.
As soon as we've seen whether or not this will post (please cross fingers, etc.), then I will actually write a real, live entry, that involves:
1. Dog, Rogue
2. Falling Down, Self
3. Animal Crackers, Scattered
4. Shoes, Broken
Can't you just hardly wait?
Welcome to the new site! The prettiest girl in the world installed Movable Type and designed it. Can you guess who that could be? (Hint: She is very beautiful and smart and talented.)
Old entries are to the right, under "Old Doxie."
Enjoy! Voila! Je ne sais quoi!