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Happy holidays...

December 25, 2005

From all of the Doxie clan. May your days overflow with love and laughter, and your homes be filled with the interesting sound of dachshunds singing.

Fa la la la la, to you!

Happy holidays, everyone!

Posted by doxie in General Whining | permalink | Comments (22)

Screw You Guys, I'm Going Home

December 19, 2005

On December 1, I wrote these words:

In other news, I found out this morning that, because I am the newest associate at my firm, it is my responsibility to dress up as the elf for our annual holiday luncheon.

I would like for you to read that sentence again. I will even type it, once more, just for you: because I am the newest associate at the firm, it is my responsibility to dress up AS THE ELF for our annual holiday luncheon.

I don't know if anything about that sentence...jumped out at you. I do not include it here to inform you that I am the newest associate. Nor did I include said sentence so that you would be jealous of our surely-fabulous upcoming lunch spectacular. No. No, what I am really trying to convey, is that APPARENTLY, in the VERY NEAR FUTURE, I will be dressed up as an elf. At work. The costume includes tights, I was informed.

This should do much for my legal reputation. Surely, no one will ever have problems taking advice from me EVER AGAIN.

"Hmm, she sure SOUNDS like she knows what she's talking about, Bob!" "Only when she's not dressed up as an elf, Larry!" This is what I am imagining.

I am sure there will be pictures of this insanity, which I may get drunk enough to share with y'all. Until then, know that every time I see an elf on television or in the paper, every time I even think of Will Ferrell, I am filled with a slowly mounting fear. In two weeks, I will be paralyzed with terror, lying under my desk in a pair of enormous shoes with upturned toes, jingling sadly and hiding from the world.


That was then. This is now.


Yes. That is pretty much how that worked out.

Doesn't it look like I am sobbing uncontrollably? Heh. ALMOST.

But I am not [yet]. Instead, I am laughing and cringing at the same time. Laughter + Cringe = That Look. Painful, I know. It hurt my face and everything. I look like I am passing a stone.

But, in reviewing this photograph, let us not fail to notice the following:

(1) My hat;
(2) My spiky collar;
(3) My mod-elf getup; and

Noticed? Appreciated? Fantasic!

And, oh. Let us not forget: The Tights.


Yeah. That is kind of how THAT worked out. I am wearing not one, but two pairs of hygenic, clean, brand-new-from-the-convenience-store-downstairs-let's-not-think-too-long-on-that-actually tights under those things. I am relatively sure I did not catch the Creeping Crotch Funk, or however the clever Gretchen described this phenomenon. But I know it was there, just...funking, in the crotch region. Waiting. Plotting. Funkily.

So. There you go. I am forever shamed. I am forever tainted. And, I just shared photographic evidence of all of this with the whole entire world.

Someone should probably buy me a drink. I am looking at you. And if you refuse, I have a pair of tights that are just dying to come live at your house, funk and all.

Posted by doxie in General Whining | permalink | Comments (56)

Uh Oh.

December 16, 2005

It is Elf Day, and I just unwrapped my costume. Which included...these:


Y'all, those...those are tights. Those are rental tights. Please take a second to think about that.


Posted by doxie in | permalink | Comments (47)

Yeah, You Better Watch Out.

December 15, 2005

Well, Christmas is upon us. And it landed slap across my face.

It has been an interesting few days, marked by highs (in the form of good times with friends) and by lows (in the form of running into YET ANOTHER COLUMN in the goddamn PARKING garage OH MY GOD). And as you can probably tell, quite a bit has happened.

I'm trying to decide where to start, and how to distill these events into a cohesive narrat...oh! I KNOW. The TREE. Oh, let's talk about the fucking Christmas tree. Because the Christmas Tree Evening -- that's pretty much all you need to know to understand how this week has been. It is a metaphor.

So, get comfortable, people. This particular event only occurred last night, and I am already proving very adept at turning it into an epic tale lasting a minimum of twenty minutes, and involving fighting robots. (I recently decided that all good stories must include, at some juncture, fighting robots.) I have turned what should have been a short story into a whole damn miniseries.

What I am trying to say is: We may all be here a whiiiiiiiiiiiiiile. But this is what happened with the Christmas Tree.

It started a week and a half ago, when Dukay purchased our Christmas tree. We brought it home, stood it in the corner, and cut open its little plastic, orange straitjacket. Dukay walked in serious circles around it and, after a few minutes of serious! contemplation!, ultimately concluded that the limbs hadn't fallen yet. So he declared: we would wait to decorate it. We would do it the next day.

Well. Naturally, this was stupid. And so, for the past week and a half, Dukay and I have been trying to find an opportunity to decorate the damn Christmas tree. And, for the past week and a half, the tree has stood, naked and embarrassed, in the corner. Where it stares at us, sheds, and taunts 25% of the dogs. The 25% that is Gimmme.

(Gimmme TIRED OF HATE TREE. Gimmme NAP.)

The other 75% of the dogs could care less about a Christmas tree in the corner, but poor Gimmme, who honestly does not have the sense that God gave ranch dressing, hates it. He hates it SO MUCH. Granted, he cannot actually see the tree (because Gimmme = blind dog), but he senses it, and whenever he gets to that side of the room, he just wanders around randomly, barking in its general direction. Bark? he says. Ba? Rk?

I understand him completely. This means:


The tree has not responded. We are in a stalemate!

As a result of all of this excitement, if you come over, you will see Gimmme waddling through the den, gazing in...sort of a tree-ish direction, and barking at random intervals at this woodsy interloper. While the other dogs look at him sympathetically, all, "Oh. Isn't it sad that he is an idiot?"

So anyway. The tree has not had a good year so far.

And Dukay and I have been trying to find an opportunity to decorate the tree, even going so far as to retrieve the ornaments from the attic, but then there was just all this other shit that had to be done. We had a holiday dinner thing, and then we had another holiday dinner thing, and then to mix it up, we had ANOTHER holiday dinner thing, and then Dukay had to work late one night, and then I had to work late one night, and finally I just threw up my hands and declared to the world at large THAT WE ARE DECORATING THE GODDAMN CHRISTMAS TREE ON TUESDAY, IF YOU'RE COMING FINE, IF NOT I AM GOING TO THROW SOME GLITTER ON THIS THING AND CALL IT A DAY.

Fortunately, Dukay came. Unfortunately, it was not...uneventful.

And actually, now that I think about it, the whole thing actually started before Dukay ever showed up. And furthermore, y'all, it seemed to start so well.

Tuesday, 6:00: I walked in the door from an unusually dramatic day of work (including depositions! Oooo! Legal!), to find that my house was dramatically cleaner than it had been when I left that morning. And the fact that the house was dramatically cleaner had nothing to do with my own efforts, or even with gnomes; it was because Tuesday is the day that my awesome, very hot housecleaners come, and they clean and shine and mop, and do other things that I really, REALLY hate to do, and they leave my house looking like a commercial for Mr. Clean.

This makes me a spoiled brat. It also makes me the only person who totally loves Tuesdays. Love you, Tuesday!

But it is not all rainbows and sprinkles. Because I am Crazy. See, I am just...not really comfortable with people cleaning up after me, and I am totally territorial about things like dirty clothes. I'm embarrassed if I think the house is too messy, and I'm embarrassed if I get home and discover that the husband part of the couple (who is, incidentally, totally gorgeous, which helps matters not at all) has spent a fun day scraping year-old dust off of my ceiling fans, because...you're supposed to do that? Really? WHY WASN'T I INFORMED?

It drives me crazy. I realize I should get over myself, but I can't help it. It all makes me feel like a failure. I feel like I am failing Homeownership! And soon they will TAKE THE HOUSE AWAY. BECAUSE I DO NOT DUST MY CEILING FANS.

And so, to ADD to the general sense of Crazy that is already occupying my house and mind, I insist on...cleaning. Before the cleaners get there. And I justify this by thinking that no gorgeous man will EVER see a dirty toilet at my house, no matter WHAT I am paying him. I would die of shame. My mother would die of shame. WE WOULD ALL DIE OF SHAME, AND Y'ALL DON'T WANT THAT AT CHRISTMAS, AND SO I HAVE TO CLEAN.

On Monday nights, I always spend at least an hour wandering around, scrubbing toilets and hanging up clothes and putting crap away. However, while I freely admit that the first two tasks are because of the Crazy, the last actually makes some degree of sense.

See, "putting crap away" is a separate thing altogether. Because, if you leave things out, the very hot housecleaners will put them up for you, but there is not a lot of...method, I suppose, in where those things will be placed. The guiding principle behind "putting things away" is "putting them in whatever cabinet/drawer/container is closest, or possibly farthest away, or possibly we toss a coin." I am actually not kidding.

There is no method to this madness. In the past two years, I have accidentally discovered the following items in the following places:

(1) Three pairs of shoes stacked neatly behind the bookshelf;
(2) A portable phone inside a cereal box in the pantry;
(3) The garage door opener in the silverware drawer; and
(4) All of my soup bowls in a bathroom cabinet.

Now. This is like performance art to me. I think the very hot housecleaners are troubled geniuses, and I find it thoroughly fascinating, and it is fun to have a scavenger hunt in your own home. But if you have something you don't want hidden in the crawl space, then it is something to BEAR IN MIND the night before they come.

And so, I bore that in mind on Monday, and that is why I gathered up all of my suits. They'd been tossed onto a bed, waiting to go to the dry cleaners; I didn't want them to end up (a) in the freezer, or (b) buried in the yard, so I threw them into a (c) hamper, tossed the hamper into my closet, and figured all was well.

And then I got home last night.

The house looked awesome, and the very hot housecleaners had left me a thank you note for their Christmas present. And I could tell that they had clearly gone to some extra trouble; they'd even swept the back porch, and I could hear laundry going in the laundry room. THAT IS SO NICE, I was thinking. I love those very hot people!

And I was even more pleased when I went upstairs, and discovered that they had ALSO been so kind as to go through my closet, arranging clothes and hanging things, taking all of the laundry downstairs, and lining up my shoes with a military precision. Damn! I thought. They are so awesome! I am going to call them right now to give them an extra thank you. And then I thought: I wonder where my suits are?

And so I went back downstairs and into the laundry room, where I found the following:

(1) Six wine glasses stacked on the washing machine;
(2) My cell phone charger hung neatly on a coat hanger; and
(3) All of my suits. In the dryer. Drying. Hello.

They had washed my suits. They washed all of my suits. In the washing machine. And then they dried them.


And, you know, I'm not even mad, because I know they were just trying to do something nice for me, and it's my own damn fault for leaving all of the suits in the damn hamper. (They do wash the clothes in the hamper sometimes, and I should have remembered that, so really, it's on me.) So I called them and thanked them, and the female half of the very hot couple was like, "Merry Christmas! We're very hot, and also, we're so glad you're pleased!" And I just looked at all of my suits, all of which would now fit your average toddler, and assured her that, yes. I'm pleased. I'm going to be naked at work for the next week, but I am, indeed, strangely pleased. And I can't WAIT to see what they've put in the freezer.

And that was the beginning of the evening.

So, I got off the phone, and stood there, realizing that all of my suits were ruined, but that the house was very clean, and these facts collided in my brain in such a way that the only conscious thought I could manage was: well, I am not cooking dinner toNIGHT. We are ordering OUT.

7:00: Dukay showed up, and we each poured a glass of wine, and called the cheap Chinese restaurant around the corner to order some dinner. While we waited for the delivery, Dukay put on some holiday music and started a fire in the fireplace, and all of us were feeling pretty warm, and cozy, and accepting of the fact that one of us has no more work clothes, by the time the food arrived.

The doorbell rang and the four dogs responded by experiencing a total of seven aneurysms while I took some plates from the cabinet, and we sat down in front of the tree, studying it intensely ("we need to plan our attack," explained Dukay, who views decorating a Christmas tree as a military operation, happy birthday, Jesus!). Dukay opened the little boxes of food, and I had my forkfull of rice about halfway to my mouth when suddenly, he let out an anguished cry.

"AHHHHHHHHH," said Dukay.

"AHHHHHHHHH," said myself, dropping my fork immediately onto the ground and looking hysterically for the roach I AM SO SURE he just found in his lo mein, but instead, Dukay was pointing at a piece of chicken, glistening in delicious brown sauce, and sporting something both foreign and...shiny.

It was a staple. There was a staple in his chicken.

(See? So shiny, and yet, SO WRONG.)

"There is a staple in my chicken," said Dukay. This phrase would be repeated many more times over the course of the evening.

An emergency staple-ectomy was promptly performed.


But this did not make Dukay feel any better.

So, he called the restaurant and told them: "There is a staple in my chicken."

The restaurant did not believe him.

He tried again. "No, really," he said. "There is a staple. In my chicken."

To which, the restaurant then presented Dukay with its own theory of the case, namely that Dukay had planted the staple in the chicken himself. (As you do.) The restaurant also refused to issue a refund, and informed Dukay that he would have to prove the existence of said staple by bringing the full meal, staple and all, back to the restaurant, and showing it to the manager.

Dukay was perplexed. "But!" he tried. "STAPLE! CHICKEN! IN! MINE!"

And that is when they hung up on him.

Coziness and cheer and warm feelings about the season pretty much...well, they died a violent death at this point, as a raging and cursing Dukay snatched his coat and shoes, tossed the chicken and offending staple into the bag, and stormed out of the house.

8:00: I drank another glass of wine. And, being bored, began taking pictures of stationary objects.

(Like, for example. The table. There's a whole series!)

Fortunately, Dukay returned twenty minutes later, clutching his refund in one hand, and a bag of Chik-Fil-A in the other.

"I AM READY TO BE FESTIVE NOW," he hollered.

"I am going to get you some more wine now," I told him.

Fortunately, after Dukay finished Dinner, Version 2.0 ("now without staples!"), and downed a glass and a half of chardonnay, his mood improved dramatically, and he declared himself ready to start stringing the Christmas lights on the tree.

Which would have been fine, except for the fact that...well. Y'all know! They're Christmas lights! And Christmas lights exist on this earth to serve two purposes, and two purposes only, those being:

(1) to illuminate your tree; and
(2) to spend the rest of the year participating in a sweaty, secret light bulb orgy that causes each strand to become so irrevocably intertwined that upon being opened, they resemble not so much individual cords, but rather one enormous, box-shaped brick of wire, bulb, and bits of last year's tree, MERRY CHRISTMAS, FUCK YOU.

"Hmm," I said, opening the box. "It is a little tangled."

Dukay peeked over my shoulder.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHH" he said, for the second time that evening.

I settled myself down on the ground, pulling the child-sized mass of lights and cords into my lap, and began the untangling process. Sighing resignedly, Dukay sat down next to me.

8:05 - 11:00: We untangled. And we untangled. AND WE UNTANGLED. Dukay was thrilled.

When the final knot was unkinked, and the final cord untied, Dukay stood and gazed at the strands of lights strewn across the den.

"Do we get breaks?" he asked.


And that is when I got my brilliant idea.

"Dukay!" I said. "Know what we should do?"

He looked at me hopefully. "Take a break?" he asked.

"NO. We should choose an ornament. And it will be the first one we put on the tree, and it will be the LAST one we take off the tree, and we'll do it every year."

"Okay," he said.

"And it shall be this ornament," I continued, picking up a plastic box. "This ornament, that is shaped like the Bumble from the furry-claymation television version of Rudolph, where the girl reindeer has the long eyelashes and I think a little bow and Rudolph's dad is a TOTAL ASSHOLE."

(Don't you know about Bumbles? Bumbles bounce!)

"Okay," he said.

"And we shall always hang the Bumble first, and we shall always put away the Bumble last, and even if I die and you have to go find a new woman to fulfill your manly needs, you shall take this ornament with you and you shall, for the rest of your life, observe the rules I have created here tonight, Amen."

Dukay looked at me like I had lost my mind.


And, you know. Maybe he was right. But that doesn't make me wrong. Because, people? THIS IS HOW TRADITIONS BEGIN. Yes. I have figured it out.

It starts with someone who finds a staple in his chicken, and then leaves his girlfriend, who has no work clothes, at home with unrestricted access to the wine, and then she comes up with what can best be described as a random, illogical, and totally inconvenient system for performing a holiday task. This task is repeated, out of a misplaced sense of irony and "humor" for several years, until all of a sudden it has become this Whole Thing, and the Bumble ornament takes on heirloom quality significance, and my grandchildren will BATTLE over this ornament, people, like there will be name-calling and hair-pulling, but then the whole thing will prove to be for naught when some poor great-great-grandchild drops The Esteemed Mister Bumble and it shatters into forty thousand heirloom pieces, and his mother will sob and the child will have to seek THERAPY, because WAY TO RUIN CHRISTMAS, JUNIOR, and YES. THAT IS HOW TRADITION IS BORN.

Seriously. Why not start one today? Generations of guilt can be yours for just $4.99! From Target!

AND SO! I hung my Bumble with pride. And then we decorated the rest of the poor, poor Christmas tree.

Do you like our red 'n green Christmas boxes? Do you like that we coordinate our storage with the season? Do you know why I am dressed like it is July? Do you know why I am wearing a headband? Do you have any wine? Will you give me some?

Okay, seriously now, we have to return to the matter of the headband. It is cracking me up. I love the thing, which I purchased at that craft fair ('member that?), but could I look like more of an idiot? No. I really could not. I look like I'm about to lead a group of overprivileged girl scouts into the wilds of a Holiday Inn somewhere. I look like I'm a fake little hippie chick trying to impress my new boyfriend who TOTALLY LOVES Widespread Panic. I look like I'm California dreamin'! On such a winter's day! IN SHORT, I LOOK LIKE AN IDIOT.

(Not that I am not wearing it...right now. And not that I intend to take it off. Shh.)

And so, after many full minutes of decorating, and wandering around the den APPARENTLY LOOKING LIKE AN IDIOT, and someone saying, "What? I'm HELPing by taking PICtures," we finally stood back, and admired the finished product.

(Tree is all dressed now! Yay, no-longer-naked-tree! We are happy things worked out for you in the end.)

And after all that excitement and drama, it looked pretty damn good. And Dukay and I smiled, and wished each other a merry Christmas, and toasted to our accomplishment. Then we sat back on the sofa, forgetting about ruined suits and staples in chicken, barking Gimmmes and heirloom Bumbles, and for just a little while, we enjoyed the season in silence.

Until the fighting robots showed up.

And really, FOUR HUNDRED PAGES LATER: that's how we've been. Running around, worried about little things, trying to make everything perfect, and freaking out in the process. But it all keeps on working out in the end. It's so...Christmas!

Happy holidays, everyone; two days until I am an elf. So I imagine I'll speak with you again very soon. And I promise to leave out the fighting robots.

Posted by doxie in General Whining | permalink | Comments (59)

new! Entry! Coming! Afternoon!

December 14, 2005

Go away, blankness!

New entry this afternoon, when I get a minute to edit and post; it is nine thousand pages long. I was feeling wordy!

And how are y'all?

P.S.: Oh, look: I'm LYING. I am a liar liar with pants on fire. I meant, new entry this evening! Evening is what I meant! I can't imagine why I typed all those extra "afternoon" words. I bet I was drunk then!

Posted by doxie in The Innernet | permalink | Comments (20)

A Series Of Vignettes That Will Tell You Way More Than You Want To Know About My Brain

December 06, 2005

I find all of these to be outrageously funny. I am probably the only one. I apologize now.

Monday, 12 a.m.: On sofa, watching Discovery Channel special intriguingly titled "Killer Jellyfish"

Announcer: And now we see the elusive KILLER JELLYFISH, which is actually only [some small number of] centimeters long!

Self: Ew.

Announcer: But despite his small size, he is the DEADLIEST THING EVER to cross your television screen, watch out for your EYES.

Dukay: Do you think those live in my bathtub?

Self: Look, squishy.

Announcer: BUT. Despite this small creature's GREAT POTENT DEATH POISON OF DEATH, it has ONE WEAKNESS:

In perfect unison:

Self: Chocolate?

Announcer: ...LLLLLLLLIGHT.


Self:... jolly ranchers?

Dukay: The apple ones!


Monday, 5 p.m., Target, Where Someone Always Tries To Pick Me Up Because The Smell Of Commerce And Plastic Drives Men Wild, Apparently

Self: La de da. Shopping.

Strange Man: Excuse me?

Self: ...?

Strange Man: I just...couldn't...help noticing...your...eyes...

Strange Man: (speaks like Christopher Walken)

Strange Man: (is getting very, VERY close to me)

Strange Man: (is freaking me out)

Self: What about my eyes? That I have...two of them? Currently?

Strange Man: They're so...blue, and what are you, like...seventeen?

Strange Man: (is like fifty)

Strange Man: (is a pervert)

Self: (looks NOTHING like she is seventeen)

Self: (does not like Strange Man)

Self: No, I'm almost thirty.

Strange Man: (horrified) You're...what?

Self: Almost thirty. Also I'm a lawyer specializing in sexual harassment law.

Strange Man: (is noticeably backing away)

Strange Man: Really, that's --


Strange Man: I've...oh...

Strange Man: (Immediately turns and QUICKLY walks away)

Self: Yay, unexpected career perk!


Monday, 6:45 p.m.: Local CVS Drug Store, Which Is Actually Not That Big For Me To Be Having This Conversation

Self: (on phone)

Self: (which she hates to do in stores because of rudeness, so is trying to be really quiet, however:)

Self: (is having trouble hearing other party, who is Party In Crisis, and:)

Self: (is trying to dispense sage advice, as self is prone to do)

Self: You know what? No, you know what? This is just like...it's like...that song?

What Other People In Store Hear: (Nothing, as I am on the phone)

So, What Other People In Store Hear: (pause)

Self: No, nothing by Jessica Simpson.


Self: Not ABBA, no. No! What was...Send in the Clowns! That song.

(Okay, so there is some confusion as to what the fuck I am talking about here. This actually Made Sense. I explained it in the comments to this entry, but basically: Party A had not wanted a commitment when Party B DID, and then Party A decided to commit at exactly the same time that Party B decided NOT to. So this is actually kind of logical. Vaguely.)


Self: Barbra Streisand? I don't fucking know, but yeah, JUST like that, because...okay, think of it like poetry.


Self: NO. Stop laughing. I mean it! "Isn't it...rich?"


Self: POETRY. "Aren't we a pair? Me here at last on the ground? You...something? IN AIR."


Self: Um, "isn't it...farps?"


Self: "...farks?" I don't know what that word is.


Self: You can't listen to poetry if you are laughing.


Self: Shut up, it's not farts.


Self: Oh, fine then. Look, I really have to go, but I'll call you later.

Self: (Hangs up)

Self: (realizes everyone in small store is staring at her)

Self: Um. Hee?

Everyone In Store: (wanders away, giggling)

Woman Behind Me: (Loudly hums "Send in the Clowns")

Helpful Man In Store: It's farce.


Tuesday, 1 a.m.: Sitting On Couch, Updating When Should Be Sleeping:

Self: Hi!


The End Of The Shopping Things:

There shall be no more shopping updates, but here are the last few to get in under the wire:

As per several reader suggestions, this site has several (very funny) products for under $10;

Melissa from Crafters For Critters emailed to let us know that y'all can get free shipping with the code FREE_SHIP; remember that they updated on Monday, so there's great new stuff there, and all proceeds go to doggies;

Kythryne, she of the previously-titled "secret pal" entry, has a pretty shop of which I was not previously aware;

And (updated) Shano has set up a whole entire $10 site for y'all with all her awesome prints. Seriously, go look at those. She's crazy talented.

Also, I met these ladies at the craft show on Sunday, and they were all very talented, and I strongly believe that we should purchase all of their inventory. Also, hello to everyone else I met, including several good-looking Doxie readers who saw me wearing (1) a Neighborhoodies tee-shirt with a 24 slogan on ("Palmer for President!"); (2) a sweater resembling a strangled muppet; and (3) That Belt Buckle Approximately The Same Size As Alaska, Featuring An ENORMOUS Gold Eagle, People, I Am Sorry I Am Such Trash. Anyway, hi, y'all!

And finally, don't forget to check all of the updates from the last entry if you're still in a shopping frame of mind; a bunch of discounts came in after I'd posted, so they're all there now. Free shipping! Percentages off! It is like a happy dream.

Y'all, that was fun. I like the shoppy thing! Maybe we'll make it an annual event. Didn't you like it? Wasn't it rich? Wasn't it...farce?

That's what I thought.

Posted by doxie in General Whining | permalink | Comments (41)

Apparently this is now a shopping blog, plus bonus complaining about Dukay's pants: Updated Pretty Much 900 Times, So Check For New Shit

December 01, 2005

All right, I have updated my last entry about five times, and things are getting silly. So we are moving on. Only we are not really moving on, because look at me, still talking about shopping. Because I have even more news for y'all. Are you just dying with glee? Yes, you are, too.

Okay. First off: Yay, y'all! You all had the best ideas for gifts, and many, maaaaany people on my list will be getting things that you recommended. Thank you very much, and feel free (actually, please do) comment with additional ideas if you think of anything else. Think! THINK HARD. THINK OF MORE. IT IS FUN. YES IT IS TOO.

Okay, secondly and unrelatedly, please note that I am now a member of the Damn Millionaires Web Team, which means that I get extra kisses or something, but really it just means that there is now an extra-pretty link on my sidebar (see?) that will take you to the place you need to go in order to purchase the DM's spanking new CD. I have bought mine, and as a member of the web team, it is my official duty to officially get All Up In Your Shit now and demand that you do the same. Buy, I tell you! or AB might beat you the heck up, and do not think that she won't. She will.

And, now, an unrealted thirdly: I've gotten about 500 emails in the past two days. (Hi!) A lot came from various online retailers, letting me know about their shops and their specials and deals, so I'm going to stick those all up here in a little Holiday Shopping Guide Take Two Electric Boogaloo in a minute. I have also continued to receive emails encouraging Dukay to OH MY GOD, WRITE THE FUCKING STORY ALREADY, WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU. And I assure you that I am working on that.

And, finally, I have received emails about what is really the question of the hour, that being: OH MY GOD, WHAT IN THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, WITH THE EMBROIDERED PANTS. This makes me hang my head in shame. Because: it is true. Dukay loves his embroidered pants. And Dukay wears embroidered pants all the time. And I am powerless to stop it.

If you didn't see it, in one of my multiple updates to the last entry, I complained about a certain pair of pants that Dukay insists on wearing with horrifying regularity. They are corduroy. And embroidered. With...birds. I have no words.

I am trying to find current pictures of Dukay wearing the pants, but unfortunately, this is not happening. I don't seem to have any. I cannot imagine why I wouldn't want to memorialize that for the ages.

Indeed, the only picture I HAVE found from that particular night (in which Dukay was wearing said pants with a plaid shirt AND an unmatching plaid jacket) is one of the most horrible pictures ever taken, of anyone, ever, and it is of me, and I look equally horrified and disgusted, and I can only conclude that at that very moment I was thinking about EMBROIDERED PANTS, OH THE HUMANITY.

Frankly, I really cannot even explain these pants without having to go lie down, so instead I will link you to the closet thing I can find, which is the women's version, seeing as even Brooks Brothers, official makers of hideous and frightening asswear, is too embarrassed to admit online that they do, in fact, sell these things for men. Apparently you have to go into the store and buy them in a plain brown wrapper. Apparently this is what Dukay does.

See, Dukay's taste in clothing ranges from "homeless" to "senior citizen", taking a strange but noticeable detour towards "Margaritaville" from the months of February through November, at which point he wears flip flops with, oh, everything. Including suits. He wore flip flops and a suit at a charity dinner last month. At one point one of the other women came up to me and gave me a hug, looked down at Dukay's exposed toes, and asked me, "Have you...just given up?"

Yes. Yes, I have. I am sorry, world.

But, you know. He has his good qualities. He is very cuddly, for example. Also, he can reach things on high shelves. So I keep him.


(Little stars mean I am about to change what I am talking about completely.)

In other news, I found out this morning that, because I am the newest associate at my firm, it is my responsibility to dress up as the elf for our annual holiday luncheon.

I would like for you to read that sentence again. I will even type it, once more, just for you: because I am the newest associate at the firm, it is my responsibility to dress up AS THE ELF for our annual holiday luncheon.

I don't know if anything about that sentence...jumped out at you. I do not include it here to inform you that I am the newest associate. Nor did I include said sentence so that you would be jealous of our surely-fabulous upcoming lunch spectacular. No. No, what I am really trying to convey, is that APPARENTLY, in the VERY NEAR FUTURE, I will be dressed up as an elf. At work. The costume includes tights, I was informed.

This should do much for my legal reputation. Surely, no one will ever have problems taking advice from me EVER AGAIN.

"Hmm, she sure SOUNDS like she knows what she's talking about, Bob!" "Only when she's not dressed up as an elf, Larry!" This is what I am imagining.

I am sure there will be pictures of this insanity, which I may get drunk enough to share with y'all. Until then, know that every time I see an elf on television or in the paper, every time I even think of Will Ferrell, I am filled with a slowly mounting fear. In two weeks, I will be paralyzed with terror, lying under my desk in a pair of enormous shoes with upturned toes, jingling sadly and hiding from the world.

But at least I won't be wearing embroidered pants.


(There I go again with the little stars. Twinkle twinkle!)

Back to shopping. Now, before I jump into this, let me first say a little something to the shopkeepers out there on the world wide whatever: Hello! I have heard from many, many of you in the past few days. And that is excellent, and I will happily include you on my little list, provided that you have some items that are less than ten dollars. That is the whole idea here; these are inexpensive yet awesome Christmas gifts. This is actually not a shopping website, and I can't "represent" you, and I can't post your seven thousand dollar items, and just...no. No. However, if you have a shopping site, and you do offer items under $10, and particularly if you have a coupon code or something you'd like to share with the class, please do email. I will add you with glee.

Now, back to everyone again: I'm going to repost some of the shops from the last update, but for the most part, these are going to be new people. if you're looking for good ideas, though, definitely check out the comments to the last entry, where all kinds of new products and stores were suggested. I'm not going to list them all here, because there are a ton of them, but do check those out.


Miss Doxie's Under Ten Bucks Yeah I Said It Ten Bucks Holiday Shopping Guide Take Two: Electric Boogaloo!

Since the last entry, I was emailed by this store; she was so taken with the idea of the ten-dollar thing that she actually set up a site just for Miss Doxie readers, where she lists all her items under $10. And, if you look at her home page, she even welcomes y'all! Isn't that nice? I think it's so nice! Also, she is offering 25% off to anyone who signs up for her newsletter, so there you go. Ten dollars just became seven fifty, through the magic of subtraction.

Speaking of discounts, Jen is still offering readers 10% off of all purchases if you use the code CRAFTY at checkout. And she still has some of those cute aprons left, which means that someone is still getting cooking crap all over their nice clothes. Tsk, says my mother.

In totally different news, I have fallen completely in love with these little pocket mirrors, for six fifty a pop. I also love these, and pretty much everything from that whole designers series thing. Very nice for mom. Or, you know. Me.

I just got my first order of these, and they were so adorable that I instantly ordered some of her stationery, as well. Seriously, they come in this cute little frosted envelope and everything. I am brimming over with being impressed. Also, free shipping all the way up until January! So there's that.

Let's see, what else...oh! I got an email from this site, offering a 20% discount on anything to any of y'all who sign up for their newsletters. These pins for five bucks are very cute, indeed.

And, remember those candles I told y'all about? These ones? Look. Sale! Big sale! For ever so briefly! Making each eight dollar candle something more like...sixish! Six...fityisghhyrtswer. Something involving math.

And, updated: I got an email from this retailer, who had been linked in the comments to the previous entry; not only does she offer quite a few things (that last one cracks my shit up) for under ten bucks, but she also has provided us with a 10% off coupon code. Which is, brilliantly enough, "Monkeys." Hee! Plus, there is free shipping until the 15th, so very good deals to be had.

And I shall now list:

This site offers framed photographs for eight dollars each (updated to say, plus we got an email from her, offering 10% off your order if you type 'HOLIDAY' in as a voucher; it's case sensitive, so type it justlikethat. Thanks, Emily!). Here are some seriously pretty butterfly soaps for five bucks, or the more grown-up but also good-smelly looking greenish soap for five fifty; here are bath scrub bag things (I really don't know much about these, other than I want one). I've also found these awesome ribbon belts for eight dollars. Guess What, I Shall Now Update, I Know You Are Surprised: Miss Lindsay, over at Lindsay Designs, makers of aforementioned ribbon belts and soon-to-be-mentioned cat collars (that's foreshadowing!), is giving a 10% discount to all Doxie readers who use voucher code 051220106; she also alerted me to this very adorable dog treat section, and...wait, I think Bo just fainted from excitement. And the walls shook with the impact.

I must also recommend these notecard sets with deer (deer? ...deers?) on for six dollars; body butter cup sets for only four dollars, which are the gift that just keep giving, because they are perfect for massage (cough HEY DUKAY cough); these very adorable typewriter key chokers for ten bucks (those are really nice, actually); and sweet little pouches for those little annoying items at the bottom of your purse that drive you INSANE, INSANE I SAY.

Updated again, naturally: I just received an email from Sharma Designs, and they have a whole entire page of earrings for either $7 or $9, with free shipping. Also, she says that those Hella Good bath scrubbies (which I mention...somewhere in this entry) are very awesome. So now you know. Furthermore, I have gotten several emails (and a comment, as well; thank you, smart readers!) about this site, which offers a bucket of soap for eight bucks (scroll down)(wait, sorry, it is a bucket o' soap, making it totally "F"-free), and I am totally fascinated. Plus, it is tied up in a pretty bow, all ready to be given to someone who is maybe a little dirty.

Neighborhoodies is offering a special on customized stockings for ten bucks; this polo for boys is only ten dollars in white; and these little thank-you notes from Just Jenn Designs make a smart little holiday gift for six dollars. More updating: Also, if you didn't notice, Miss Jen left us a comment below (which, for some reason, movable type decided to ban; good move, movable type. Way to ban commenters who are giving us free stuff. Thanks for "protecting" me!), which says (and I shall quote for those too lazy to scroll): "Starting today, December 1st, if any of your readers mention "Miss Doxie", they will receive a set of holiday gift tags free, with their first purchase from www.justjenndesigns.com!"

Isn't that nice? And, y'all, I ordered some of those gift tags last week. They are super cute. And now they are FREE to you. Bam!

Updating Upshmating But This Is A Good One, I Swear: This site does not have anything for under ten dollars (yes, I am breaking my own rule), but she's going to give 25% off to Miss Doxie readers who use the discount code "missdoxie", PLUS she will give you free shipping, free gift wrapping AND a free gift with every order. And her stuff is gorgeous, so you should check that out. (Also she has a very cute new puppy.) Additionally, this site has very cute button and magnet sets for less than ten dollars (that's Canadian dollars, too, so even less for U.S. buyers), AND she's offering 15% off when you use the code MISSDOXIE15. And they're cute, and very good for stocking stuffers, and really, people. What more are you looking for?

Changing subjects entirely, I would like to note that if I had a cat, I would buy her this collar for nine dollars, and then she would be beautiful, and then Bo would eat her and we would all be sad. So it is probably best that I do not have a cat.

Speaking of dogs, Crafters for Critters is having a big update on Monday, so don't forget to check in with them.

Also, I can't help it, y'all, but someone is going to be getting one of these. In his stocking. Cuddly!

And finally, as of Sunday, expect me to be completely broke and my credit cards to all be wheezing on the ground in exhaustion, but guess what is happening in Atlanta? Indie Craft Fair Thing. YES.

I got an email from one of these lovely ladies some time ago, but accidentally deleted it, so I am very happy that she wrote back with the specs; it's in Decatur on Sunday, and there will be many craft things to buy, and many items under ten dollars, PLUS mimosas, PLUS champagne punch, and THEREFORE, that is where I will be on Sunday. As will Dukay. So if you see us, please say hello.

And you know, we won't be hard to find; he'll be the one in the embroidered pants and flip flops, and I'll be the one downing my sixth mimosa and cowering in shame.

(Psst. Y'all, do feel free to add more ideas, or to make fun of Dukay's pants or what have you, but do not be surprised when I am back in seven minutes with yet another update. Sure, you can act surprised, but I know you aren't really.)

Happy shopping! Good thing they don't have debtors prisons anymore!


I am updating a whole entire SECTION now, watch out, world: This has nothing to do with shopping, or with CDs, or even with being an elf, but long-time reader and all-around wonderful person NoodleJen is in the horns of a dilemma, as my mother would say. Her rescue organization, 1 At A Time Rescue, is based in Calgary, Alberta, but they recently went to Louisiana to rescue a whole bunch of Katrina-displaced pets. Long story short, the cats have all been adopted and happy, but seven dogs remain, and tomorrow, they're being evicted from the craptastic, asshole-run kennel that had promised to board them, but LIED, LIAR LIARS. If any of y'all are in the Calgary area, and know of a kennel that is not, I don't know, filled with ASSHOLES who steal donations (seriously), or know of someone who would be willing to foster or adopt, or whatEVER, please contact me, and I'll pass along the information to Jen, and maybe something can be done about these poor doggies.

Ugh. Spirit of the season, my ass. WHO STEALS FROM DOGS? Now I'm all het up.

Posted by doxie in I Got Drunk And Bought Shoes Online | permalink | Comments (55)