FRiDaY MuD GiVeaWaY: CaTS!

It has been a busy, busy week, chickens! I'd like to just curl up beside a heater like this. That's Lenny. I obviously took him home because he matched the floor. If you match your cat to your linoleum, you'll never have to sweep again: shedding becomes a form of free-floating carpet.

In honor of those of you who are FeLiNe THe CaT LeRVe, today's giveaway features some of OUR NAME IS MUD's best-selling gifts for cat lovers.

* Three winners will be chosen at random on Monday. Your chances of winning are tripled, right?
* One entry per person
* We named Lenny after a character in the book OF MICE AND MEN who was one sandwich short of a picnic: because Lenny is one of the dumbest most mentally challenged cats ever to pad across the planet. In the comments section below, tell me about the name you chose for your cat. (And by cat I mean four legged feline, so please spare me the euphamisms, Thystle please.)

Here's what you can win:

Our CATfeinnated mug is purrrrrrrfect for coffee or tea. You can also win this:

Because everyone knows cats are like potatoe chips. And finally-how about this one:

Which leads me back to my original topic--which was sleep. LOTS OF IT. Happy Friday everyone!

ONe SeNteNCe BooK ReVieWS

WeLCoMe To BooK CLuB.
Help yourself to a few Ritz crackers, a paper cup full of Chardonnay, and get comfortable on the couch (you may need to move several of the cats.) Here are some recent reads....

THE SHACK By William P. Young
If my child were kidnapped and had been missing for years, you can bet the first question out of my mouth if I met God would not be of a theological nature.

Verdict: I want that two hours of my life I spent reading this on an airplane, back.

THE ROAD By Cormac McCarthy
Forget Soylent Green...apparently, newborn baby tastes just like chicken.

Verdict: Perfect, tight prose, thrilling can't-put-it-down read. True test of a very readable book? Sexyhusbandomine read it too.

WORLD WITHOUT END By Ken Follett
Plucky feminist in medieval times enjoys romance and avoids getting the plague in Kingsbridge.

Verdict: Even though it was almost as thick as a phone book, I didn't want it to end.

THE FRIDAY NIGHT KNITTING CLUB By Kate Jacobs
Bunch of chicks with issues hanging out at a yarn shop.

Verdict: Boring-predictible...I wanted to jam the needles into my eyeballs.

HER LAST DEATH By Susanna Sonnenberg
Being raised by a coke head, sexually disfunctional mother sucks..but in the end, she's still your mother.

Verdict: First half of the book was excellent, but when the author grows up she continues to whine like a spoiled seven year old. Pass this one up and read THE GLASS CASTLE by Jeanette Walls instead.

How about you friends? What have you been reading?

J TaLKiNG

One of my very favorite bloggers, Jane, from Emptying The Nest turned me on to the Alphabet Super Game. You have to list Ten Favorite Things that start with certain letter-assigned to you by the blog owner. Because Jane is narcissistic nice, she gave me the letter J. Her blog is better than dooce incredibly well written and hysterical, and therefore Jane! is my first Favorite Thing That Starts With a J--here are the other nine in no particular order.

1. JANITORS.
I have deep appreciation for these unsung heros of everyday life. Wouldn't it be great if someone changed the light bulbs when they burned out, emptied the trash regularly, and showed up with a bucket of sawdust every time a child vomited? Thank Goodness for the poor substitute the next best thing: HUSBANDS.

2. JELLY
Without it: millions of people would have to eat their peanut butter plain, and children would have no alternative when their Moms got creative with dinner. Also: diaphrams would not work so well. My Personal Fave: Raspberry with a side of Vasectomy.

3. JESUS and JUDAICA
Most people assume I am Jewish because I make menorahs, and use words like Mensch and Chutzpah in everyday conversations. (For a long time it was also assumed I was Canadian because I used 'eh?' so much-but that was just ear wax.) I love to make Judaica pottery because there is no greater honor than to be a part of someone else's family and spiritual traditions. Plus, I like matzah.

I am actually Christian: a Congregationalist/ Methodist/Protestant of the Church Of Lazy. I have been dunked in the water, I have gone to second base on a Retreat, I have sat in a circle and sung "Jesus is Just Alright With Me." I spent summers at a religious campground that had Christian Rock Bands come perform, and at the end when they asked us to come up to the stage and Be Saved, I went Every Single Time--mostly because I was full of the Holy Spirit, but maybe a little because the lead singer was always So Cute. Big shout out to my peep Hay-zeus.


4. JAMES TAYLOR, JIM CROCE, JACKSON BROWNE
Maybe one of the problems with my exercise regime is that I'm working out to "Fire and Rain."

5. JEWELS
I'm not a big bling bling girl. I was recently given a stamped silver ring that says CREATE. It's gotten filled with clay and other stuff, and now it just says EAT. Combine this with number 4 and we come to an apropos J word: JIGGLE. I will be performing The Dance of The Cellulite nightly at Ceasar's Salad.

6. JACK O LANTERNS
But why are there no Jill O Lanterns? Oh wait: empty head with the contents scooped out. Never Mind.

7. JELLO
I used to love the special pudding glasses my mother had-and how the chocolate pudding would harden in the fridge and how good the skin on top would taste when you first attacked it with a spoon. Now I just hand my child a snack pack. Still Good Stuff.

8. JOISEY SHORE
Even though it's a schlep to get there (see number three regarding my use of Yiddish) we are very blessed to have a place to go to be with family and spend time by the ocean. Please Note: Although it is also a J word, JAWS will not be appearing on this list.

9. JUGGLE
Husband-Kids-Work-Family-Volunteering-Creating-Doing-Dreaming......and an occasional bowling ball. Life would be boring any other way.

If you would like to play: leave a comment that links to you in the section below and I will assign you a letter. I will be accepting checks compliments from those of you who wish to avoid X and Q.

HoMe

OK: who chipped the glass egg on the mantlepiece?

I am back, my lovelies. And while I wish I had grand tales to regale you with, I have but three little words. I. Am. Tired.

I just wanted to tell you that in an effort to counteract the whole "cut your own bangs" debaucle, I went for an eyebrow wax the night before leaving. Which was a great plan, and would have worked if I had answered "no" to the question the lady at the salon asked me, which was... "Do you want a lip wax to go with that eyebrow wax?"

You see: I have Never Had a Lip Wax. While there are other areas where the carpet and drapes don't match, I am thankfully blessed with blonde hair on my upper lip.

But lately my blonde locks have become a bit--what's the word---oh yes, BUSHY and I feared I was starting to look a bit like this guy:


So I said: YES! to the lip wax. YES! YES! YES! Confident that the red moustache would fade before my appearance in Hotlanta, and I would be able to show off my new lipstick: Palin Pink Piggie.

What I was unprepared for was a reaction a day later that involved numerous oozing postules across my upper lip. Seriously: I broke out worse than a fifteen year old who ate a bag of hershey kisses before prom night. At least six of those suckers--red, irritated, and swollen. Using concealer was like throwing a paper cup of water on the Towering Inferno.

It was so bad that at the Sales Meeting yesterday morning, I had to tell the assembled sales force that I DID NOT HAVE HERPES. They looked sympathetic-one kindly offered to get me some Neosporin--but still refused to kiss me.

Thus ended forever my experiment with waxing places never before waxed...

Sorry, Sexyhusbandomine.

CoMe See Me In HoTLaNTa!

Well Chickens, I am off to Atlanta in the morning! I hope you will stop by The Gift Mart and have a cocktail with me on Thursday, January 8th from 4:30-8pm in Building Number Two, Enesco Showroom: Suite 819. OuR NaMe Is MuD will be launching tons of brand new and exciting items...velvet throw pillows, light up Halloween decor, and a unique and contemporary spin on a well loved classic- Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer! Come have a snort, and allow me to pressure you in to spending more money than you intended to. After that I'll talk you into dating my brother, and we can go get matching tattoos.

I realize that I should have lined up some type of blog care, but didn't. I hope it's ok if I leave you here alone for a couple of days: there's beer in the fridge, and we've got both Camp Rock and HS Musical 2 on the DVR. Try not to burn the place down while I'm gone, and no nooky in my bed.

BiG BaNG THeoRY

I am a serial hair salon client.

In the past year I have bounced from chair to chair--shamelessly donned a variety of smocks and robes--and allowed several strangers to shampoo me. Along the way, there have been a couple of men that Truly Satisfied me (sometimes multiple times)... they ran their fingers through my hair and warmed me up to the cut; manhandling my roots and split ends, putting me in the mood for some highlights and a trim.

But here's the thing: I just can't stand it when they talk.

I have been with the most masterful colorists and cutters who have been sheer genius-but I have left them when they spoiled the whole thing by "making conversation." Like Alan, who felt compelled to punctuate each tin foil wrap with an anecdote about: quitting heroin, quitting smoking, quitting drinking, or quitting compulsive sex with strangers. Or Sven, who used the hour it took to make my roots match my ends to share every detail of his childhood in Bulgaria.

I so very rarely take any time for myself (it's either work work work or kids kids kids) so when I do--is it too much to ask to be left alone and in peace with my friends Angie and Brad?

So I tip hugely, and then dump them: running from salon to salon looking for the silent hairdresser who will just do my hair and leave me to find out how my friend Britney has been doing since her dad moved in. I'm just looking for a cut, not a relationship.

I live in Chelsea and have pretty much burned every salon within a fifteen block radius. So a few weeks ago I went to the one that is Always Empty. Instead of tumbleweeds, big hairballs blew across the desolate tiles. The few posters in the window showed Dorothy Hammill wedge cuts. There, I allowed Marge Simpson to highlight and cut my hair while she shared Every Single Detail of Her Holiday with me despite the fact that i was trying to seriously study the Nine Things You Should Never Say In Bed according to Cosmopolitan.

I always leave before the blow dry. Sneak them the money in an envelope, and pull on a wool cap before disappearing into the city.

When I returned home and my hair dried, I discovered it was orange. Morris the Cat Orange. Sexyhusbandomine described it as: Not THAT bad, although he agreed that if there were a way to find two and half hours in the weeks ahead that I should think about some corrective work. I have two and a half hours free February 3rd.

Marge grew tired round about the time she got to the front of my head, and consequently decided not to touch my bangs. However, I am a fan of seeing. When I realized they were getting tangled in my lower eyelashes I decided to take matters in my own hands. After all; how hard can cutting bangs really be?

Two tips if you decide to try this at home:
1) Don't use scotch tape as a guide.
2) Remember that if you cut them wet, they will shrink when dry.

Number two explains how it all went terribly wrong for me. I was no better at predicting what the end length would be with dry bangs, than I was at guessing how Sexyhusbandomine would fare the first time he jumped into ice water: both events being equally shocking.

So here I am with my orange and blonde bangs about an inch and a half above my unruly eyebrows. For some reason, they come to a kind of Count Chocula point midway--but I dare not try to make them straighter.

Hair today, goon tomorrow indeed.

HaPPY NeW YeaR!!

Life is short, and we do not have too much time
to gladden the hearts of those who travel the way with us.
So be swift to love, and make haste to be kind.

My SoN: THe PeRV

Dear ComplicatedBoy,

I don't know how it happened. One minute you were wearing a different Wiggles's shirt Every Single Day for an entire year, the next you were asking me what s-c-a-n-t-i-l-y-c-l-a-d spelled. One day we were cuddling together reading Clifford The Big Red Dog, the next you were in the bathroom for half an hour with the Victoria Secret catalog. You used to draw superheros. Last month we found that you had filled an entire notebook with boobs.

You are Seven. Which is like three, in Mommy years.

I complained to my friends who told me the problem was--as it usually is--Me and the Parenting Decisions I Have Made. Apparently, all the other boys in your class have known about the Birds and the Bees for at least a year now, while I was leading you to believe that babies came from hospitals.

Once my friends clued me in to the fact that everyone else in your class knew the Facts of Life, I became worried that you would learn an incorrect version of them from one of your buddies on the playground--I could just picture Dominic telling you that girls got pregnant from eating meatballs-- so I took the next opportunity-which happened to be a 45 minute car ride-to tell you EVERYTHING. I just blurted it all out in a matter-of-fact way from the front seat, and let you know it was ok to ask any questions, anytime. And you asked: CAN WE WATCH THE SCOOBY DOO DVD, ALREADY?

Maybe I told you TOO much, because the other day you announced that you were the "Go To S-E-X Guy." A Seven Year Old Dr. Ruth. Classmates were lining up for playdates with you.

"That's enough," I said firmly: " It's ok to ask questions, but you need to stop being the Sex Guru with your friends. It's not appropriate. You need to stop. WE NEED TO NIP THIS IN THE BUD."

You turned to me, eyes wide and said
"Mom... did you just say NIPPLE?"

I'm still hopeful that you'll turn out ok.

XO
Love,
mommy

THe ReTuRNS

Hello Chickens: I hope you all had a Very Merry!! We had a wonderful Christmas and returned yesterday (along with some socks and a shirt that was too big.)

Driving home, The Spawn were oddly quiet. A half hour into the trip, Bananna commented that the pears she had been eating were delicious. Five minutes later it dawned on me that I had not packed pears. Bananna had managed to locate some sliced apples that had been languishing in a ziploc baggie in the backseat for Lord Knows How Many Days. Brown, fuzzy, mold covered apple slices that apparently tasted somewhat like pears. The only thing that offset the horror at what she had ingested just a wee bit was the thought that she might not need another tetnus shot for five or six years.

I will spare you the details of the vomiting that took place later that night, but it was not the only regurgitation going on at Chez Veasey. While we were away, the cats had decided to express their displeasure in being left alone for the holidays by practicing some tag team vomiting. They targeted our bed, paying special attention to our pillows. Because nothing says "Welcome Home, Boy-I'll bet you're tired!" like a mattress and bedding covered in cat puke.

I dreamed of tuna fish sandwiches when I finally went to sleep--coincidence?

MeRRy MeRRy HaPPY

So sorry I have not blogged this week: I have been single handedly trying to save this economy by making purchase after purchase. I think the market went up two points thanks to what I spent on stocking stuffers. You're welcome, Mr. Obama. My job here is done.

Complicated Boy left this note for our House Elf to take to Santa last night:

Dear Santa,
I hope I was not so greety and please don't give me only 1 presint.

Evin thow I was cinda bad and I powdid afyou times I am fathful to selabrat this holladay.

You and Jesis make cathlik pepole happy. The ones that beleve in you are real.
marry christmas.

Which led to some interesting discussions-starting with: we are not Catholic.

Complicated Boy was up late last night, worried he was on Santa's "Naughty" list. And while I secretly believe that he might be in the top 500, I told him he was on Santa's little known list: The Basically Nice but Sometimes Naughty List For People Who Try Hard To Do The Right Thing.

I hope all of you have the most wonderful & joyous Holiday.

A CHRiSTMaS SuRVeY

My friend Scrappin Jenny posted a longer version of this survey on her website. Feel free to play along on your own blog or in the comments section.

WRAPPING PAPER OR GIFT BAGS?
Sometimes both. Sometimes a lucky recipient gets a present wrapped in Christmas paper shoved into a Birthday gift bag. We like to call it reducing our carbon footprint. Our friends like to call it cheap and lazy.

REAL TREE OR ARTIFICIAL? ANGEL OR STAR ON TOP?
We don't hate on the artificial, but us city folk do not have these things you people call attics or basements, so we have to go with the real. Up until last year, we topped our tree with a paper cutout of The Wiggles in their Big Red Car. It's quite possible the Jonas Brothers may be placed there before the holiday has passed. Because how can you dream about a White Chrismas without picturing Joe in those skinny jeans in Camp Rock? Not that...ermmm..I ever think about that, Chris Hanson...next question, please.

EGGNOG-YES OR NO?
Let's see: Artery clogging? Check. Full of Junky Calories, sure to make your thighs bigger? Check. Involves alcohol? Check. Tastes like cookie batter? Check. Guess that would be a yes. Do I also need to tell you people that The Pope is Catholic?

HARDEST PERSON TO BUY FOR?
This will be the fifth year in a row we get Dee-Dad a sweater vest. Need I say more?

DO YOU HAVE A NATIVITY SCENE?
I have several: an old fashioned one from my mother, a beautiful ceramic one from my MIL, a plastic Playschool one, a Playmobile one that half the pieces have gone missing from (Joseph is now a knight, Mary is a zoo keeper) , and a new Nativity that I just made for OUR NAME IS MUD (shameless plug ahead) called "Bobble to Bethlehem" which is a bobble head nativity that will be available for purchase in your local stores next year. Unless stores find it offensive and do not order it-which I guess is a possibility. This was the fate met by my Salt and Pepper Nativity set (Jesus is The Reason for the Seasoning), which like a Jessica Simpson movie, was never released.

FAVORITE CHRISTMAS MOVIE?
The one in the dvd player, babysitting The Spawn.

WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR CHRISTMAS?
World Peace, Economic Recovery, and Universal Compassion and Tolerance. But if that's too much; well, a girl really can never have too many Christmas sweaters.

MR. PiNK,BLaSTeR OLLie, aNTS & TRoPHieS

I'd like to take a moment to vent about my recent Holiday Guests.

First: Mr. Pink. Mr. Pink is a powder pink stuffed kitten that Banana has had since she was born. (Because Cat People are like that. We convert them at birth.)



Mr. Pink has been living the past year quite happily in the shoe bags I have nailed to the wall to hold Banana's menagerie-and by menagerie, I mean piles and piles of stuffed animals--each with its own name and catalogued in that steal trap of a five year old brain she has. This means that if I try to sneak the straw-stuffed lobster she won at a carnival last summer into the Goodwill bag, she will all of a sudden start screaming: WHERE OH WHERE IS LARRY LOBSTER MY GAWD MAMA MY LOBSTER HAS GONE MISSING as if the thing was a child she'd lost on a mall excursion.

I don't know what brought about Mr. Pink's sudden popularity, but as of the past two days he has been everywhere. If you're making brownies, Mr. Pink has to stir the batter. If you're taking a bath, Mr. Pink insists on bubbles. This morning Mr. Pink decided to be the voice of Banana as in : "Mr. Pink says Banana would like Leggomyeggos this morning for breakfast" and "Mr. Pink says Banana would prefer to wear the pink tshirt as this green one is scratchy." I would be fine with this-except it reminds me of a Tales From the Crypt episode and I keep thinking any minute I'll be chased into the bathroom where a paw weilding a steak knife will slash at my bare feet under the door...but maybe that's just me. And I am sure I am imagining his little eyes following me around the room.

And speaking of eyes....



Our second guest, Blaster Ollie, is our house elf. Banana had christened him "Ollie" but ComplicatedBoy insisted on adding the "Blaster," which makes him sound like a midget ex-pornstar. Every night he flies back to the North pole to report on the behaviors of The Spawn, and each morning he's found hiding in a new place. Except the nights Mommy and Daddy have cocktails--then he tends to stay right where he is. Lately, he's been exceptionally lazy.



This is our third guest--or guests. We got this ant farm from the Discovery Store-and it is awesome-I totally recommend it to anyone with kids for a Holiday present. We were skeptical; having had to flush the last batch of Grow -Your- Own -Animals down the toilet when the tadpoles refused to turn into frogs and even after six months remained mutant slimy green things that smelled. But the ants are great and very industrious. Only down side I see is that watching them work and communicate with each other will put you off things like frying them under a magnifying glass or crushing them underfoot: it's obvious they are intelligent, sensitive creatures and as long as they are not in my sugar bowl, I say Live and let Live. I guess I am lucky they haven't come out with Casa Cockroach.

And finally: you all wrote wonderful, heart wrenching, gut churning, and side splitting posts on your worst gifts.




There were so many good posts that I CAN'T DECIDE! So Mr. Pink will say it for me: EVERYONE WINS. Literally. If you posted, email me your address at L V Mud at aol dot com and everyone who played gets a little sumpin sumpin. Cuz you are all wonderful people and I heart you, and it's the least I can do if you were given a burlap sack, an Applebees tray or two weeks without pay--I'm just sayin.

No GReaTer GiFT THaN THe PReSeNT

When I taught Kindergarten at a very Snooty Patooty Upper East Side Private school, the line was often crossed between "Thoughtful Holiday Gift" and "Bribe to Get My Child into a Competitive Ongoing School." The year before I arrived, a sampling of gifts other teachers received included: a trip to Paris on the President of a Major Network's private jet, a pair of two carat diamond earrings, and a fur coat. I would tell you more, but there is that Private Nursery School Teacher Code of Honor, and I might end up in the East River in a pair of cement Keds, after having been forced to eat paste.

The year I started as a teacher, our HoityToity school got a new Headmistress, and one of her first acts of business was to Ban All Christmas Gifts. Except Handmade ones.

That year, many a seasoned veteran was slipped a Tiffany's box, or found an Amex gift card tucked into a child's drawing. But I was The New Kid on The Block, and the parents in my class were also new (Except for the Saudian Arabian Prince who had a sibling in an upper grade), and as a result were very enthusiastic about Getting With The Program.

I received tin after tin of homemade cookies-obviously slaved over by my student with maybe just a little help from the Private Chef, jars of pickled and preserved gourmet fruits and jellies and several fabulous drawings in which the children had portrayed me as 20-25 lbs. thinner than I was in real life. I loved all of these things.

One of my very favorite students (who went on to recently date Paris Hilton, btw) appeared before me at our Christmas Party bearing a present, which obviously did not hold cookies or muffins or some culinary treat containing truffles.

It was a large orb, shining the way only something wrapped in Reynolds Wrap can, about the size of a basketball. I could not wait for the last child to leave and the miniature tables to be wiped down, miniature chairs pushed in, so I could unwrap it.

I peeled away the first layer of tin foil to reveal.....another layer of tin foil.
I peeled away the second layer of tin foil to reveal.....another layer of tin foil.

Aha- I thought- my very clever student has created a "surprise ball" for me; which is a very clever way of concealing a present at the center of a sphere.

And so I spent the next half hour, peeling layer after layer of tin foil away from the core--to finally reveal..........

Nothing.

The tin foil ball WAS the present.

It took me another three quarters of an hour to reassemble the creation, and when the students came back from vacation and asked me if I had enjoyed their pomegranate preserves and white truffle chocolate chip cookies, I said Yes! I had enjoyed them all, while I admired the silver ball on my tree.


The deadline for writing your own post about gifts has been extended through today-please post in the comments section of the post below if you want to play for the trophy.

BLoG ToPiC WiNNeR

Good morning chickens. It's 9:08 and Monday has officially already kicked our butt. Let me just quickly post what the winning Blog Topic is before we run Banana to the doctors with what looks like strep and figure out how we're gonna drag CBoy into school an hour late with a minimum of kicking and screaming.

The winner of the HOLIDAY SURVIVAL GOBLET is....... KAS! Email me with your address at l v mud at a o l dot c o m. Yay for you!

That means that the blog topic for today is: absolute worst gifts you have ever been given or gave to someone else. Please post your blog url in the comments section below so I know to visit and read your entry about this topic. You have until 10:00 pm est tonight to write your post. Best post gets that trophy!!

Best of Luck to all!

A CHaLLeNGe (ok, a giveaway)

Shhhhhhhhhhh......don't tell anonymous: it's another one of those pesky Friday Giveaways. And can I just say you guys are Totally Awesome for sticking so far up for me, and next time the dry cleaner loses one of our shirts we are SO CALLING YOU.

Here's how we're gonna mix up today's Giveaway:
You enter the giveaway by suggesting a BLOG TOPIC of your choice in the comments section below.
Hooray: you can enter as many times as you wish--but one topic per entry.
Winner chosen at random on Monday morning at 9 am at which point I will post the winning blog topic.
Blog about the chosen topic, and best blog wins an honest to goodness Bad Ass Blog Trophy.

For those of you half in the box, Let's review shall we?

To win this lovely handpainted goblet from www.ournameismud.com leave a blog topic suggestion in the comments field below.

Eneter as many times as you wish-different blog topic suggestion each time.

At 9:00 on Monday EST, I will announce the winner and THE TOPIC OF THE DAY. You'll leave a comment if you choose to blog about it. Best blog post (in my humblest of opinions) will win this fabulous trophy:

Except, of course, it will be inscribed with your blog url and your name. You'll have ALL DAY MONDAY to be brilliant, cuz i won't pick a winner until next Tuesday morning.

And there you have it; something to look forward to at the end of this wonderful weekend. Who needs MoJo when you have stuff?

WHaT'S oN YouR RaCK? In Defense of Christmas Sweaters

Those of you who are fans of www.missthystle.com know that one of her very favorite things to blog about is her baby feeders, her boulders, her cantaloupes...Her Rack. Amongst other Questionable Images, Thystle has posted pictures of her rib bumpers straining to be freed from a $5 translucent Old Navy Tshirt, shown a close up of her devil's dumplings splattered with hot sauce from sloppy taco eating, and shared her jahoobies crammed into a violet lace bra. Not to be outdone by Miss Thystle, and in the interest of keeping all three of my male readers: I felt it was time to share a shot of my Berthas:



Why, Yes Virginia...THAT IS A CHRISTMAS SWEATER I AM WEARING. With Snowmen.

It is time for me to shatter the myths and rail against the prejudice surrounding these fine garments. It's time we stop making these knitted testaments to the Holiday Spirit the brunt of bad jokes and the focus of satirical office parties. It's time we tell Stacy and Clinton they are full of Reindeer Poop.

If you are still hiding in the closet along with a knitted garment that features Nutcrackers or Xmas Trees, I say: Come Out. There is no shame in your knitware adorned with beads, glitter, sequins or bells. No longer should you have to fear the taunts of insensitive people who say you look like a dorky 2nd grade substitute teacher.

We all know that wardrobe effects attitude. Just ask the people who work at Dressed For Success, who would not return my phone calls regarding this matter.

Decking the chesticles with a little cheer is all about The Awesome Spirit of Christmas. Slip into a little number with silver snowflakes and before you know it, you are spreading Good Tidings and Peace and Joy and making christmas cookies, and loving your neighbor. So I say unto my fellow man: don't hate on the Christmas Sweater. I have a Dream that One Day, wearing a Christmas Sweater will be considered a hip, ironic thing to do for people of all ages, races, and economic backgrounds. I say World Peace is just a Pointsetta Sweater Vest away.


Giveaway coming tonight-stay tuned

5 Reasons I LoST My BLoG MoJo

So-in case you missed it on the post below, this comment was left for me by my very dear friend, Anonymous:

I miss the good old days when there were things to read on this blog. Not just one contest after another. :(

And you know what really gets me? THE FROWNY FACE. I'd rather a pile of passionate hate mail than that Powerful Indicator of Total Sadness. It means Anonymous is no longer Feeling The <3 (that's a heart, you know, for L O V E).

As always, Anonymous is correct. I can't say I have been doing my best blogging as of late--so I will do what I usually do when confronted with a hard truth such as this: PLACE BLAME ELSEWHERE. Here now, dear readers, are the top 5 reasons why my blog has lost its Mojo of late.

1. MY CHILDREN REFUSE TO DO ANYTHING INTERESTING.
Lately, everything they have had to say has been totally high-larious, but I recently discovered it is because they have been memorizing Hannah Montanna scripts verbatim. (Which may also explain why the other day in the middle of a meeting with a very important client, I personally exclaimed: "Sweet Nibblets." )

2. WORK IS...
Well, actually I can't really blog about work. But I can tell you that sitting down to design something like a magnet program can take DAYS and DAYS and ALL my brain power has to go to avoiding using sayings like "Put your big girl panties on and deal with it" or "PMS is the only time I get to be myself." I hope this gives you new appreciation for the keychains sold at your local gift store next time you visit--someone else's blog suffered so that you could enjoy saying like "I chose the road less traveled and now I don't know where the hell I am."

3. PEPPERMINT BARK
Seriously. Oprah is not the only one who is guilty of back sliding into weight gain. And while they deflated on the jenny Craig diet , my boobs have now begun to swell like a Macys Day Parade balloon and they are ALWAYS IN THE WAY. Especially the right one. And that's all I have to say about that, except if you see me--please--don't ask for a hug. There is no place to put these things.

4. I AM WRITING A BOOK.
Not doing that too well write now either (intentional puns should be worth something, no?) Our book will include s-e-x, which means that I have to think back and try to remember exactly who gets tied up. My point being, again, super brain powers diverted elsewhere.

5. SOBRIETY
I have been trying to lay off the sauce and as a result the literary wheels have become a bit squeaky: let's just say they turn best when lubricated with a good Pinot Grigio. ( Anonymous would probably show up to my intervention with a nice boxed Chard. She's like that.) So anyhooo, stone cold sober blog topics that have come to mind but I have not posted include "In Defense of Christmas Sweaters" and "Elf on the Shelf: Great New Tradition or Major Pain in the Ass". So you can see how when given the choice, I might go for the giveaway.

But I promise, dear readers, to try to do better going forward.......

WeiNeRS....I MeaN WiNNeRS

Hot diggity dog- I get to announce the winner's of Friday's contest.

The winner of the "Don't Bust My Balls" Holiday votive inspired by the luscious Miss Thystle is......
"Hi, I'm Amy!"

The winner of the "O What Fun" Holiday votive inspired by the loquacious BJ at Don'toverthinkit is.....
"Evil Twin's Wife"

The winner of the "Reindeer Poop" ornament inspired by the very proper Racie Lover at waitwaittheresmore is.......
"Spatula"

Winners please email me at L V mud at a o l dot com with your addresses! Thanks for playing everybody!

ANOTHER GIVEAWAY o when will it end?!?

Isn't this a beautiful painting? You can win it if you pop on over to www.lifespatula.blogspot.com and let her know what you would paint or draw if someone hadn't crushed and destroyed your natural and innate creativity and God-given artistic talent by telling you that trees can't be purple and that you shouldn't use the black crayon so much.

Not that I'm bitter.

Her giveaway ends December 15th, and I'll be giving a super special secret surprise to one of the people who enters it: so you have two chances to win two fabulous prizes: and since Spatula usually only gets 1-3 comments I just want to assure you THE ODDS ARE IN YOUR FAVOR BABY. Go. Go Now.

MEGA MUD Christmas Giveaway

This month, I'd like to share some of my many Bloggy Blessings with others. This week we have multiple giveaways...and multiple chances to win! But here's the catch: you'll be playing elsewhere! That's right; in order to win, you'll be posting comments on several other blogs. I'll be featuring many different blogs throughout the month...who knows if yours will be next?

First up, is www.missthystle.com She is offering two prizes on her current post, which is titled LIKE SCHNITZEL WITH NOODLES ONLY BETTER, and if you leave a comment on that post you will ALSO get a chance to win this hand painted Christmas votive candleholder inspired by her trademark snark & sass:


Next is www.don't overthinkit.blogspot.com Post a comment on BJs current post, entitled LOOKING FOR A NEW HOBBY? I CAN HOOK YOU UP and you will be automatically entered to win this fabulous hand painted votive inspired by this verbose ( I mean that in the nicest way) Texan.


Then let your fingers do the walking over to Racie Lover's blog www.waitwaitthersmore.blogspot.com and leave a comment on her current post WE GO TO THE MATTRESSES for a chance to win this hand painted ornament, inspired by Racie's very reserved and proper approach to all things scatological


I am currently working on a book with these very talented gals (plus the fabulous but blogless Sheila) , and I think if you read through some of their posts you will be as impressed with their wit and talent as I was when I first sent them the email that began "I have this crazy idea...." Look for our book to be published.......well.........ok, right now i haven't finished my chapter two, but trust me on this--it's gonna be great.

So go visit, leave a comment, winners will be chosen at random on Monday at some point.