Dead on

Did everyone see that James Brown's coffin was 24 karat gold? How hard does that rock? Twenty-four karat gold!

I'm changing my will right now. Of course, that implies that I have a will. Which I don't. I should get one, lest there is great fighting over my Elvis memorabilia, my collection of 80s albums, or my DVDs. Wow. I have absolutely nothing that anyone would ever want. I'm guessing I don't need to make a will.

But I still want my coffin to be lined with diamonds.

You can ring her bell

My dad has a new cat. Well, not new new, since they've had her for a few months. She's pretty young, though. Somewhere around four or five months. She's pretty cute--dark grey, feisty, and hyper.

When I got here a week or so ago, she was just a little kitten. She would play with with her little mouse toys, balls with annoying bells in them, and random pieces of yarn. She purred non-stop if you even looked at her, and my father and step-mother called her their baby (which is pretty annoying, but they do love her).

This darling little baby kitten, in the course of the last week, though, has changed into a whore. A dirty, dirty whore. Little Maggie is all growed up. And in heat. She's a sex-kitten, if you will (and I will, because I loves the puns).

Since yesterday, she has been walking around the house being all naughty and whore-y. Doing the typical things a bitch in heat will do, including but not limited to yowling non-stop, humping the air, pawing incessantly at the carpet, and just being all-around annoying/disturbing.

She's getting fixed next week. Until then, we have to put up with her whoreishness and be careful not to let her outside, lest the little tramp put out an irresistible vibe to all cats in a twenty-mile radius.

Although my sister just pointed out that she's not a whore, since she (a) is still a virgin (Does that word apply to animals? How about "untapped"? Deflowered? I'm not up on the hip, dirty, zoology slang.) and (b) would give it up for free. So I guess she's just a wanna-be slut. There is a distinction, as my best friend in high school proved. Jen says Maggie should be pitied, because she's just a confused little girl.

Little Maggie, though, is annoying the hell out of me. I can't think of anything more obnoxious than a cat in heat.

Except for maybe the knowledge that I'm going home next week, leaving behind my dad's big screen TV and cable. And clearly Pocatello is growing a bit boring, since I'm writing about Maggie's transition into womanhood. Where's that liquor store again?

Bam!

A) Raise your hand if you kicked a little ass yesterday in the making of Christmas dinner. That's right, my first turkey ever was succulent, juicy, and all around delicious. Who knew I could cook? A quick shout-out to the Rhetts for teaching me at Thanksgiving, even though I was distracted by People's Sexiest Man of the Year issue. And again a few weeks ago, even though I was distracted by the glory of their cable. Why, again, do people put up with me? In my defense, I really wanted to do my Julia Child impression all day yesterday, but I refrained.

B) Raise your hand if your Elvis shrine was added to yesterday.

C) Raise your hand if you have to return a puppy dog cookie jar today. If only I was eight.

D) Raise your hand if you, in your very first year ever participating, took first place in your Fantasy Football league. First. First place. Beat everyone. By getting first. You don't mess with the Memphis Mafia. Unfortunately, only four of us chipped in on the victory pool, so I didn't really win any money. If this strikes you as sad, and very un-Christmasy, feel free to donate money to me. And my winning team.

Hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas. I'm going to go call Heather and see what's what with the leftovers. Yum. Enjoy the last few days of 2006.

Merry Christmas!

I hope everyone is enjoying Christmas. The smell of turkey should be filling your house, with the tantalizing allure of pumpkin pie (or cheesecake) wafting about in the background.

I am enjoying my third cup of gingerbread coffee while watching holiday movies. Christmas dinner isn't until late today, so I have the morning free to do what I love most: absolutely nothing.

I haven't ripped into my presents yet, but there is a package upstairs that I have decided looks suspiciously like a long-haired chihuahua. Of course, it has been there for the last week, so maybe it isn't. Let's hope, for Dee-Licious' sake, that there are air-holes.

But have a great Christmas everyone. Eat the food, unwrap the presents (and remember that it is better to give than to receive, unless you are me), watch the snow fall, crank up the Elvis Christmas album, spend time with the fam', and celebrate the day however you so choose.

And God bless us, everyone. Especially the King.

My shitty Christmas

Ok, misleading title, considering that it is Christmas Eve's Eve, but the title stands. And you'll enjoy the story.

My sister got into town tonight, joining me in my baby-sitting activities. Heather had to run to the story for some Christmas shopping, sans her two sons (my fourteen-month old nephews). She, very wisely, changed their diapers before heading out, knowing that good old Auntie Ace does not do that.

Ten minutes after she left, the fragrant aroma of a full diaper filled the air. I hollered up the stairs that someone needed to change Drew. My father replied that that was all me. Which I disagreed with. Loudly and repeatedly. Until my sister came down to take care of baby business.

Jen commented that she didn't really know how to change a diaper, because it had been many a'year. My reply was that you never forget how. It's like riding a bike. A smelly, smelly bike.

Turns out, you do forget. Or Jen forgets. It was, hands-down, the worst diaper-changing in the history of yucky diapers. Let's hope Jen doesn't have kids.

We'll skip over some of the less-than-spectacular details. Suffice it to say that poor Drew had *stuff* all over his back, all over his clothes, and went through two diapers. My father's carpet needs to be cleaned, too. And my sister's jeans. And her socks.

I, being the helpful person that I am, took the other twin and we left the room. In my defense, I had announced that I don't do diapers, the room smelled, and there was a crying baby. I don't actually like babies too much, and this diaper incident might be why.

The up-shot to this story is that it just saved me $20 next month on birth control.

I like numbers

First, happy birthday to Maryanne! Whoo! Even though she is currently in one of the Carolinas (I think the non-Stephen Colbert one), I'm sure she is livin' it up. Maybe when she gets back to the part of the nation that does not still commemorate Jefferson Davis' birthday, we can celebrate. And by celebrate, I mean eat pumpkin cheesecake and drink.

Speaking of drinking . . .

Second, I'll be consuming a lot of this over the next few days:

Maybe some stories on that will be coming later.

Third, is it wrong if I want to go see Rocky VI again? Because I do. I really, really do. Why? Because I can't sing or dance.

Fourth, I bet I'm the only one laughing at that last joke.

Fifth, still looking for a gift for me? I would like to be an Elvis insider. I get discounts and "insider" information. Ok, so I really do want this so I guess I shouldn't mock it, but what kind of "insider" information do you think they mean? He's been dead* for almost 30 years. Has he really been up to something, to the point where I could get the down low before anyone else? I don't know, but I'd kind of like to find out. And the discounts. I'm going to Graceland this summer, and think of all the money I'll save. Before I get banned for life for being inappropriate.**

Sixth, how many times do you think I can watch A Very Brady Christmas with my family before they ban me for life?

Seventh, I got all excited today when I saw an ad for the Christmas Story marathon on TBS. Which I plan on watching. Even though I own the movie. Because it is tradition to watch the TBS marathon. And holidays are nothing without tradition. How would we know it's Christmas without TBS? That's like celebrating my birthday without my six-month countdown.

Eighth, do you think my cat misses me? Do you think she misses how I like to make numbered lists to recap everything?

Ninth, my dinner is ready. And Pocatello is very exciting, yes?

*Allegedly.
**Inappropriate actions include, but are not limited to, stealing some memorabilia, going behind the velvet ropes to sit on the monkey chair in the Jungle Room (thank you, pop-up Graceland book), and, of course, humping the music note gates. At least those are some of the actions you can bet on me trying. I know what you're thinking, but I crossed that line so long ago that it really just doesn't matter anymore. I embrace the crazy.

The Italian Stallion delivered

Oh.

My.

God.

I loved Rocky Balboa so much. So, so much. Everyone needs to go see Rocky VI. I probably won't be seeing it again, considering the theatre management banned me forever. What can I say? I might have gotten a little over-excited when I heard the theme music. And I might have started running up the stairs in the theatre in my sweats, whilst pumping my fist over my head, and slurring my words like a drunken whore on New Year's Eve. And I might have yelled out that Mr. T and Ivan Drago can suck it.

No. I was on good behavior, although I did do a little seat dancing. I like to go the distance.

Seriously, this movie kicks ass by the truckload. I plan on seeing it again soon. And I'm assuming that you are all marking this down, because for my birthday (which is just a little over five months off) I would like all the Rocky movies. Except five. Just buy me two copies of four instead.

I like Rocky because he's all heart. He's a winner in life. When Rocky wins, America wins, according to one of my friends. And punching carcasses is how I also like to get in shape.

Ok, Pocatello recap. I clearly saw Rocky. I have painted some ornaments with Heather. I have decorated some cookies with Heather. I have eaten some cookies by myself (I ate the ones I did, because they were less-than-impressive. Unless I am actually four. And retarded. And on crack. Then they were awesome!). I have done some research. I have bought the turkey for Christmas dinner. I have read two fiction books. I have wrapped some presents. I have watched more Christmas movies. I have TIVO'd about 18 hours of Scrubs. I have visited with the nephews. I have spent bonding time with my dad. I have watched three gay pornos. Just checking to see who is still reading my exciting recap. The last one wasn't true. Or was it?

So that's it. I'm loving vacation. And Rocky. I love doing nothing and watching films about aging boxers who refuse to say no to life. When is the next Rambo due? Because, my friends:

I

Am

Pumped.

Zoinks and jinkies and sadness all around

Man. Nothing kills a vacation high faster than famous people dying. Except maybe seeing old people naked. Remind me not to be visiting the grandparents for a while.

Anyways, Joe Barbera died. The co-creator of Tom and Jerry, Yogi Bear, the Jetsons, the Flintstones, Huckleberry Hound, Scooby Doo, and Space Ghost. How sad is that?

Of course, he was 95. Man, if he was naked he would be the worst of both worlds. I mean, uh, rest in peace.

I think the world will be a little bit sadder with good old Joe. We all need a little spirit-raising and good times. Speaking of good times, did anyone else think that Wilma was a silent sufferer of domestic abuse? Their relationship was odd. Of course, so was Fred and Barney's. Not odd, like my fascination with Elvis, but odd like Batman and Robin. Just a thought. And why was a Great Dane lighting up with Shaggy, and getting the munchies? That was a weird image for kids. But still, we all enjoyed Barbera's work, and the world will mourn him.

So hide the pic-i-nic baskets and hop in the Mystery Machine. Pay tribute, my friends. Pay tribute.

All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go . . .

I'm all packed. The car is filled up. A note has been written to my cat-sitters. Christmas presents are ready to go.

I don't leave for another day and a half. This is what happens when you have OCD and plenty of free time on a Sunday. I did all my laundry today, cleaned my whole house, and took care of all of my pre-trip tasks. Now I'm bored (which explains the Peter, Paul, and Mary reference) and wishing that I could take off now. Well, not now now, since I'm not to be trusted driving in the dark. But soon now.

As much as I love, love, love Pullman, I am so ready to get out of here. Stupid finals tomorrow. I'm going to rush down to Lewiston, give some exams, grade like it's going out of style for the rest of the day, and then I'm gone, gone, gone.

Vacation. In Pocatello, but it's still a vacation. Sleeping in. Eating other people's food. Watching the 5 ka-billion channels my father gets. And just livin' large, Pocatello style.

And while I'll miss Pullman (and the spare ribs and tequilla, and good company of last night), there's nothing better than leaving here. If only for a bit. Oh, and the drive home is long so sometimes I call people to pass the time. And I'm leaving pretty early, so for all of you on speed dial, just pray that I don't get bored until after Wallace. Or at least Worley.

Safe driving to me, and merry one-week-until-Christmas-Eve!

The leisurely life of Ace

One finals week down, one to go. I officially have nothing to do until my last two classes take their finals Monday. Except finish up that article. Or do some research. Or do course prep for next semester.

So, see? Nothing.

My solution to killing time today was to clean out my closets, which I enjoy doing. Typically I wait until I get back from visiting the family before I do this. My stepmother's house is a fitting ode to all that is tacky and cheap, and, as an added bonus, is filled to the ceiling with this stuff. And I'm not exaggerating. Maybe I'll post pictures. And there are a few of you who have seen the House of Scary, so feel free to back me up here. Anyways, for some odd reason, staying for an extended period at this house inspires me to throw shit out.

Speaking of throwing shit out, let me just throw out there that I'm really tired of this wind in Pullman. It's cold, and loud, and scares the cat, who then jumps on me in the middle of the night with her claws out, and it sometimes makes my power go out (four times last night. Really.), and I don't like it.

Anyways, I'm bored in Pullman right now because most people have already taken off for vacation. Leaving me alone for three more days. Selfish bastards. Some of you are travelling through the South, though. And, correct me if I'm wrong, but Elvis is pretty big down there. I'm assuming you will want to buy some things to make up for the fact that I'm still stuck here and the rest of my holiday plans involve Idaho.

Oh, and everyone should go watch this video, courtesy of Patrick (in that he sent me the link, not that he made it. Or maybe he did make it, I don't read emails too carefully, unless the subject line has multiple xxx's. Uh, kidding. For the record. And Patrick did not make this video. See what happens when cats jump on you in the middle of the night?). Uh, so video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=20Of_mna-Rs

The Jungle Room, 3-D

I am so close to being on winter vacation, I can taste it! Or maybe that's the 25 pounds of fudge and gingerbread cookies I've eaten. Hmmm, Christmas is delicious.

Speaking of things I love, my friends and I held our annual Christmas ornament exchange party the other night. This tradition, lo stretching back these five years now, is one of my favorite parts of the year. We each purchase an ornament, wrap it up, and then go out to dinner. This year, Maryanne and Sarah cooked for us. I was to be helping, but then I discovered that they get Comedy Central.

And I lost all interest in being Helpful Ace.

Anyways, we all put our ornaments in the middle of the table and then take someone else's bag. It's a nice way to exchange gifts, without having to buy for everyone.

But some of us still exchanged gifts, and this is the point of this post. I GOT THE MOST AWESOME PRESENT EVER!!!

Maryanne and Sarah gave me an Elvis book. I'm sorry, that's an Elvis book which focuses on Graceland. I'm sorry, does that not grab your interest? Did I neglect to mention that it is a . . .

Pop-Up Book!

I love it so much it hurts.

Next point to this post: no one else needs to buy this book for me. Let's not have a repeat of last year, how about?

And one last thing before I dash off (yes, dash, it's Christmas, get it?) to give my last two lectures of the semester. We all love holiday decorations. Or we should. Heathens. Let's make a quick list of appropriate ones: lights, trees, wreaths, stockings, etc. Inappropriate ones: lights up all year, trees that aren't green, and those GODDAMN inflatable Santas and snowmen out in your yard.

Why would someone like this?

"Hi, I like to tackily decorate my yard because I'm an ass. Speaking of asses, would you like to kick mine?"

Yes, I would. We all would. For the love of all that is holy this holiday season, do us all a favor. Open your eyes, pull your head out, and take these things down.

That is the gift that keeps on giving.

Maybe you're a cotton-headed ninny-muggins

I know you'll all be relieved to find out that I fixed some problems on my gift list. Thanks to some alert people, I discovered that some links weren't working. Problem solved now, though. Whoo. Close one.

I'm feeling very holiday-y today. I went to the coffee shop this morning to grade papers and do some other work, but I had to stop after 3 1/2 hours due to a headache the size of Texas. So I came home and have been watching Christmas movies since 11:30.

Thus far I have seen the clay-mation Rudolph (it will never cease to be awesome to me), Mickey's Christmas Carol, A Muppet Family Christmas, assorted Disney holiday cartoons, A Christmas Story, and Elf is on right now. I still have Babes in Toyland. The Annette Funicello movie, not the *adult* film.

My headache has been gone for about an hour, but I've decided to already call my working for the weekend over, so the holiday marathon continues. I'm so jolly right now, I could vomit. Do we all do that when we are happy, or was that just my little pukey dog, St. Belle-vis?

To add to my holiday mood, I still have leftover gingerbread men to eat. I made them for a little gathering yesterday, and there's some leftovers. I've also decided that I'm going to stick with the whole history thing, since clearly professional cookie-decorating is not my area of expertise. While the cookies were mouth-wateringly delicious (I'm so humble), they were hideous. Absolutely hideous.

The cookie version of the naked scene in Borat, if you will.

So now I shall eat some cookies and continue to enjoy Elf. I wish I could look very purple-y today. Which reminds me, happy holidays Castaspella! You have such a pretty face, you should be on a Christmas card!

Don't exams make us all sick, though?

I'm grading finals, which is just about as much fun as it sounds. My smarter students, though, are spicing up their essays with references to Elvis. I'm not above giving higher grades to my ass-kissers.

Anyways, I just spilled some coffee on one exam. I felt kind of badly, but then I remembered that it is the final and few students bother picking up these exams next semester. And I remembered the time when my little dog (rest in peace, little Saint Belle-vis) threw up on a student's exam. Which the student did pick up.

That was fun to explain.

Pukey Belle often earned her nickname.

I did give the student some bonus points for the vomit incident, though. Because I'm nice. And it was, I guess, my fault.

Holiday statistics

So I was talking to someone last night about the seemingly overwhelming number of homely people in the world. This conversation segued easily into comparing Seinfeld statistics to what we see when we look around.

On an episode of Seinfeld, Jerry and Elaine discuss the percentage of ugly people in the world. Elaine thinks that 20 to 25% of the population is good looking, while Jerry maintains that it is 4 to 5%. The rest, as Jerry says, is undateable. And the only reason this 95% ugly population gets together with anyone is alcohol. And we've all been there.

Clearly we all define beauty different ways. I think Don Geronimo and James Gandolfini are hot, but I think I have different standards than everyone else. Personality really plays into it for me. Oh, and men who are pussies are instantaneously ugly for me. I like men to be men, like Stephen Colbert. So, see, I'm not just all superficial about looks.

I would say that, just looking around, the percentage of less than attractive people (taking into consideration looks and personality, with personality getting most of my attention) hovers somewhere around 80%. That's right: I see 80% of the population as undateable, in Jerry's terms.

Or unbangable, in other people's terms.

So if you are planning on having a great holiday season, you might plan on packing vodka wherever you go. Just spreading some more Christmas cheer.

You WILL get a sentimental feeling

Sigh. My department is having their holiday luncheon today. Something I haven't missed since my first year here in 2002. And I'm missing it today. Right now, as a matter of fact. Maybe people will feel badly enough for me to save some food. But I've seen the people I work with attack free food like starving refugees, so I'm guessing there will be no leftovers.

Speaking of holidays, am I the only person who loves Christmas music? I've been playing it non-stop since Thanksgiving, and I received a complaint today. My neighbor called me to verify that she was, in fact, hearing Christmas music emanating from my apartment.

The way she broached the topic, you would have thought I was either: (a) killing puppies or (b) playing Christmas music in July. Is it that shocking that I am listening to Christmas music in December? Being the self-less person that I am, I gave her a choice of Christmas music. I could play Elvis Christmas (which is what was on), my Brady Bunch Christmas album, or my Neil Diamond Christmas CD.

Shockingly, none of those seemed like good options to her. By the way, our walls are about thisthin, so it's not like I was cranking the music up. I can hear when she sneezes.

I told this story to Paul as we were driving into work. He shifted a bit guiltily in his seat, and then admitted that he too hates Christmas music. Which we were currently listening to (hey, it's my car. He should just be happy that I didn't have Air Supply on). He then pointed out that I was in the minority on this.

I honestly had no idea. But I've now taken it up as my own personal mission to convert all of you pagans. I will play the Tiny Gimpy Tim to all you bastardly Scrooges.

It's Christmas, people. Enjoy this special time of year. Drink your eggnog. Decorate your tree. Innocently run into people underneath your mistletoe.

And enjoy the goddamn Christmas music. Learn it, live it, love it.

Godless heathens.

Maybe I'll go online next year . . .

And my Christmas shopping is done-ish for the year. I still have a couple of things left, but I know exactly where to go for those.

Doesn’t that sound nice?

The story behind the shopping is not quite as nice. Yesterday’s shopping trip pushed me fairly close to the edge, and I’m sure that sailors everywhere were blushing at my verbal outbursts. It was a mother-fucker of a day to get these presents. And if I bought you presents, and you don’t like them, tough shit. I spent 10 hours shopping and I’m still a bit grumpy over it.

Stupid parking lot. Stupid too many shoppers. Stupid parents with their SUV strollers, who refuse to recognize that walking in the middle of the aisle at a snail’s pace is bound to result in my fury.

On the bright side, I came home and wrapped the presents while drinking wine and watching A Very Brady Christmas. I was in a much better mood by the end of that. I do enjoy wrapping gifts, and they look fantastic, may I just say. And there’s nothing like a merlot and Mike Brady’s Christmas toast to put everything into perspective.

So here it is, with three weeks to go before the day, and I am essentially set. I’m so proud of myself. Now I can focus on grading finals and packing. I hit the road in a few weeks, so watch out Pocatello. Ace is coming to town, spreading Christmas cheer wherever she goes. Just ask my fellow shoppers in Spokane.

T-minus 24 days

I'm currently killing time waiting for someone to get out of a meeting and I thought to myself, "Self, what better way to effectively utilize your time than by posting gift ideas?" While I briefly toyed with the idea of proofreading some students' papers, I ended up agreeing with myself on the gift idea.

Besides, I'm doing my Christmas shopping tomorrow and others may want to likewise get a jump on the holiday season, so really I'm helping everyone by being so on top of things. I like to be helpful.

List:

Dee-Licious the Dog
Blue Christmas Light from Graceland (seriously)
Seasons 2-4 of Scrubs
Seasons 2-5 of The Brady Bunch
Gift cards to Amazon
"All Shook Up" Elvis Champagne (yup)
David Wilkins' book American Indian Politics
Strangers With Candy, the movie
Seasons 1-5 of Queer as Folk
Amy Sedaris' book I Like You: Hospitality Under the Influence
Seasons 2 and 3 of Arrested Development
Elvis coins
Things from my two favorite antique stores (in Lewiston and Palouse, and you know who I'm talking to)
Stephen King's Darktower series in hardcover
Season 1 of Weeds
All seasons of Curb Your Enthusiasm
Elvis windchimes
Bookends
A small pearl ring
Cover of Rolling Stone framed
All seasons of Entourage

Ok, that's more than enough to get everyone started. And remember, it is better to give than to receive. So really I'm helping everyone. It's nice to be nice.

The Iceman Cameth

December is here. I know, because I had to flip my Elvis calendar today. I also know because there's about 18 feet of snow outside.

I'm okay with snow in December, though, because there are a few highlights to this month. First, Christmas. I'll be heading off to see the family in a few weeks. Decorations, food, shopping, all the good times of winter break. More importantly for December, however, is that tomorrow is my half-birthday.

Which counts, present-wise. I've yet to receive anything, but here's hoping. I could sure use a new laptop. And a long-haired Chihuahua, whose name I have switched to Dee-Licious, just in case I have a daughter someday that I'd like to name 'Cilla. And I'm pretty sure based on that comment, I should never have kids.

Speaking of having kids, did everyone watch Scrubs last night? My favorite part was The Todd's distortion of Carrie Underwood's name. Good times.

Okay, since I'm at work and ostensibly here to work and not go get tea every 30 minutes, maybe I should work. And maybe you should all be out shopping for the half-birthday present.