Anything Goes

Facing the job market and my options inside that market has been a daunting task in the past few weeks. I’m being pulled in several different directions and options and how I can combine options to support myself and Nate. Realistically, I’m stuck between what I want to do versus what I have to do to survive. Even doing what I have to do to survive is putting me in a dangerous predicament for the coming year.

Luckily, I have a college education which may assist me in upping the ante, but even that will probably have little impact on the pay scale. That’s the reality of living here. Most jobs in my field pay $10,000 less than what I make now. I’m applying for a position with the State Medical Examiner’s Office and I have a lead on a contract position for another attorney while his assistant is out with breast cancer.

That’s exactly what its going to boil down to. Two jobs. My bosses and I are exploring several options as well regarding unemployment supplementation, I’ve thought of buying a transcribing machine so I can do tapes at home and pick up work that way as well. Then there’s my writing, which could break through at any moment and further supplement my income.

The internal conflict at moving away from being a paralegal truly sucks. I’m pretty certain I could wiggle in to a big firm with closer pay to what I’m making now. The problem with that is, I would rather work for the Medical Examiner’s office. I’m in constant pain from my jaw. I’m tired of greedy, grouchy, idiot clients, which far outweigh the intelligent, fair-minded ones. I’m tired of sitting in my office doing the same thing, day after day. I’m sure at some point I may become equally tired of investigating deaths for the ME’s office and I’m realistic about what I’m going to see there.

Just to give myself a jolt of reality there, I did something I swore I would never do. I looked at the autopsy photographs released of Jon Benet Ramsey. Folks, I could tell from the photographs that whoever did that to her, hated her with an intense passion. It made me sad and angry and it turned my stomach, which means, I’m still human in here somewhere.

I may not end up at the ME’s office. Right now, I don’t know where I’m going to end up. Wherever it is, I don’t foresee getting a lot of sleep in the new year.

Facing the job market and my options inside that market has been a daunting task in the past few weeks. I’m being pulled in several different directions and options and how I can combine options to support myself and Nate. Realistically, I’m stuck between what I want to do versus what I have to do to survive. Even doing what I have to do to survive is putting me in a dangerous predicament for the coming year.

Luckily, I have a college education which may assist me in upping the ante, but even that will probably have little impact on the pay scale. That’s the reality of living here. Most jobs in my field pay $10,000 less than what I make now. I’m applying for a position with the State Medical Examiner’s Office and I have a lead on a contract position for another attorney while his assistant is out with breast cancer.

That’s exactly what its going to boil down to. Two jobs. My bosses and I are exploring several options as well regarding unemployment supplementation, I’ve thought of buying a transcribing machine so I can do tapes at home and pick up work that way as well. Then there’s my writing, which could break through at any moment and further supplement my income.

The internal conflict at moving away from being a paralegal truly sucks. I’m pretty certain I could wiggle in to a big firm with closer pay to what I’m making now. The problem with that is, I would rather work for the Medical Examiner’s office. I’m in constant pain from my jaw. I’m tired of greedy, grouchy, idiot clients, which far outweigh the intelligent, fair-minded ones. I’m tired of sitting in my office doing the same thing, day after day. I’m sure at some point I may become equally tired of investigating deaths for the ME’s office and I’m realistic about what I’m going to see there.

Just to give myself a jolt of reality there, I did something I swore I would never do. I looked at the autopsy photographs released of Jon Benet Ramsey. Folks, I could tell from the photographs that whoever did that to her, hated her with an intense passion. It made me sad and angry and it turned my stomach, which means, I’m still human in here somewhere.

I may not end up at the ME’s office. Right now, I don’t know where I’m going to end up. Wherever it is, I don’t foresee getting a lot of sleep in the new year.

Hey ya’ll! Its Inanna. First, I want to thank Kristin for taking the helm and steering us through the murky waters of the next to last familial holiday of the year. Hope you all enjoyed your turkey or tofurkey or whatever it was you had, your family didn’t reenact their favorite scene from Jerry Springer, and your great uncle Milt didn’t fart at the table.

Deer hunting wasn’t that great this year due to the fact I couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with an elephant gun. Maybe my heart just wasn’t in it this year for a few reasons.

Anyway, last night I was awaken about 12:45 by my jaw. I have TMJ disorder, where the little joint in my jaw decides its going to get out of whack, probably from grinding my teeth, and gets all the muscles in my cheek irritated which then bunches up the nerves inside the muscle which causes considerable pain. Since the nerves are involved, it can be bad enough that I wake up with my legs jerking and flinching.

My father, kind as he is, gave me some medication (on Saturday) that he takes for his TMJ, swearing it would not make me drowsy. Forty minutes later I’m face down on the dinner table with a hot rice pack on my jaw, drooling. Non-drowsy my ass. I could still feel some pain, I just didn’t care. After four hours of dozing and another hot rice pack, I was able to drive my carcass home and collapse into my own bed.

I could still feel the effects of it all day yesterday, so I had a pretty good day. I felt more relaxed and generally just felt a few twinges before I went to bed. That went to hell in a handbag at 12:45. I know no other way to describe the pain other than a constant contraction in my face. That’s right, a labor contraction, never ending. It makes me want to rip my jaw off of my face. If the nerves weren’t going crazy in that area I would cry, but I’m too busy being angry about the pain and flinching and running my hands through my hair and generally being miserable.

I have devised a system which, as far as home remedies goes, cures just about anything, except the common cold. Hell, it might cure that too. Haven’t had the opportunity to try it out. Of course, it has to vary based on the ailment but here is my proven home remedy for TMJ pain.

Take four ibuprofen.

Take a hot shower and allow water to pound on face until all the hot water is gone. Massage offending area while in hot water.

Once out of the shower, massage face with extra strength pain relief cream. Do not get in eye. Eye will water anyway from fumes. It will stop.

Orgasm.

Do not use the same hand you used to apply the extra strength pain relief cream or this will not work. If someone else is helping you, wash your hands.

I am of the opinion that orgasm can cure ½ of all everyday aches, pains, and ailments. It is a natural antihistamine, natural anti-depressant, natural pain reliever, natural muscle relaxer. Used in conjunction with other therapies, it heightens their effect, at least in my experience.

Headache? Drink a glass or two of water, take a few OTC pain pills of your choice, chase with coffee, orgasm. Ta da! No, headache.

Granted we all can’t stop that meeting we’re in to go rub one out but I did say it was a home remedy. Happy Monday!

Hey ya’ll! Its Inanna. First, I want to thank Kristin for taking the helm and steering us through the murky waters of the next to last familial holiday of the year. Hope you all enjoyed your turkey or tofurkey or whatever it was you had, your family didn’t reenact their favorite scene from Jerry Springer, and your great uncle Milt didn’t fart at the table.

Deer hunting wasn’t that great this year due to the fact I couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with an elephant gun. Maybe my heart just wasn’t in it this year for a few reasons.

Anyway, last night I was awaken about 12:45 by my jaw. I have TMJ disorder, where the little joint in my jaw decides its going to get out of whack, probably from grinding my teeth, and gets all the muscles in my cheek irritated which then bunches up the nerves inside the muscle which causes considerable pain. Since the nerves are involved, it can be bad enough that I wake up with my legs jerking and flinching.

My father, kind as he is, gave me some medication (on Saturday) that he takes for his TMJ, swearing it would not make me drowsy. Forty minutes later I’m face down on the dinner table with a hot rice pack on my jaw, drooling. Non-drowsy my ass. I could still feel some pain, I just didn’t care. After four hours of dozing and another hot rice pack, I was able to drive my carcass home and collapse into my own bed.

I could still feel the effects of it all day yesterday, so I had a pretty good day. I felt more relaxed and generally just felt a few twinges before I went to bed. That went to hell in a handbag at 12:45. I know no other way to describe the pain other than a constant contraction in my face. That’s right, a labor contraction, never ending. It makes me want to rip my jaw off of my face. If the nerves weren’t going crazy in that area I would cry, but I’m too busy being angry about the pain and flinching and running my hands through my hair and generally being miserable.

I have devised a system which, as far as home remedies goes, cures just about anything, except the common cold. Hell, it might cure that too. Haven’t had the opportunity to try it out. Of course, it has to vary based on the ailment but here is my proven home remedy for TMJ pain.

Take four ibuprofen.

Take a hot shower and allow water to pound on face until all the hot water is gone. Massage offending area while in hot water.

Once out of the shower, massage face with extra strength pain relief cream. Do not get in eye. Eye will water anyway from fumes. It will stop.

Orgasm.

Do not use the same hand you used to apply the extra strength pain relief cream or this will not work. If someone else is helping you, wash your hands.

I am of the opinion that orgasm can cure ½ of all everyday aches, pains, and ailments. It is a natural antihistamine, natural anti-depressant, natural pain reliever, natural muscle relaxer. Used in conjunction with other therapies, it heightens their effect, at least in my experience.

Headache? Drink a glass or two of water, take a few OTC pain pills of your choice, chase with coffee, orgasm. Ta da! No, headache.

Granted we all can’t stop that meeting we’re in to go rub one out but I did say it was a home remedy. Happy Monday!

Sorry about going MIA on ya’ll. That certainly wasn’t my intention. I kinda Martha Stewart-ed myself, again. That’s my version of screwing myself. Ya know, every Thanksgiving it’s something. Every. Damn. Year. This year it was 3 somethings. I’ve created a phrase to only be used on Thanksgiving, “Oh well, that’s just how we roll.” I guess that’s our version of shit happens.

I volunteered to cook the majority of Thanksgiving dinner this year. With only 5 to cook for, what could go wrong? No Stove Top and cranberry sauce out of a can, no siree, I was going to cook up a feast! Here’s where the screwing myself part comes in.

I spent a week online looking up the yummiest recipes. Everything homemade, from scratch, down to the cornbread for the dressing. I make the grocery list from hell, checked it twice, fought the crowds at the grocery store, plotted and planned what a wonderful dinner I’d create. It was really great in theory or in my delusional brain, take your pick.

Everyone hates baked turkey in the family so my mother in law suggested we get a smoked one. Yipee! A 7lb bird should feed 5 with plenty of leftovers. Ummm, smoked turkey samiches the rest of the weekend! Turkey, check. She also volunteered the dessert grub. Pumpkin and pecan pies, check. Alright, that leaves me with the cornbread stuffing, cranberry relish, gravy, twice baked sweet potatoes, yeast rolls and fancy green beans. Noooooooo problemo. Check, check, check and check. I cooked for 3 days. 3! Small South American countries have been taken over in less time!

The sister in law et. al. wouldn’t be joining us they were going to spend time with her husband’s family. At the last minute she called to say their plans had changed and they were indeed going to be joining us! Joy! Add 4 additional people, 2 of which are perpetually hungry and growing teenage boys! Did I mention she called on THURSDAY MORNING to tell us she would be coming?

With 4 additional people we ended up serving some Stove Top, along with plain mashed potatoes, corn out of a CAN and jellied canberry sauce, again, with that nasty stuff out of the can. Curses! Left over turkey? Bah! The bones were picked clean. Thank God the Sister in law brought some green bean bake! I really planned on 5 people. I learned my lesson. Next year, don’t believe they’re not coming.

I was so tired Wednesday night I fell straight into bed and fell asleep with my brand new glasses on. Did I mention they were brand new and less than a week old? Yeah, they were. They no longer have ear pieces. Both sides, broken. Have you ever been to an optometrist the day after Thanksgiving? That’s where the people aren’t!

Now if ya’ll have never been to south Texas let me explain the weather. Some Thanksgivings it’s 80 degrees, some it’s 18, it’s a crap shoot really. This year we drew the 80 degree card. We actually had dinner at my brother in laws house. He lives an hour south of here. After finishing up the final preparations, we packed the car up and headed south, dogs in tow, of course. About half way there the car A/C wasn’t feeling cold, then it wasn’t even feeling cool. Actually, it wasn’t cool at all, it was warm as hell. Honestly, it was cooler with the windows down. That’s right the A/C in my car went out! Have you ever been to a dealership the day after Thanksgiving? The people aren’t there either.

When we got to the brother in laws house he was wondering what took us so long and could we please hurry up so he can eat and leave for the hunting lease. I about shoved a yeast roll up his ass, no butter included. I looked at the Husband and he said, “That’s just how we roll.” He only understands.

It wasn’t a good day. I did get some peace and quiet in the deer blind. I think I fell asleep before dusk. I hate Thanksgiving, it’s a pain in the ass. Every year I work too hard and it’s gobbled up in 3.5 seconds and forgotten. Everyone has something else they want or need to be doing that day. Why do I bother? I can’t remember the last time I actually ate Thanksgiving with my folks. Not that I want to, but I’m just saying….Next year, I’m boycotting Thanksgiving. Someone send me an email reminder next year, ok?

Sorry about going MIA on ya’ll. That certainly wasn’t my intention. I kinda Martha Stewart-ed myself, again. That’s my version of screwing myself. Ya know, every Thanksgiving it’s something. Every. Damn. Year. This year it was 3 somethings. I’ve created a phrase to only be used on Thanksgiving, “Oh well, that’s just how we roll.” I guess that’s our version of shit happens.

I volunteered to cook the majority of Thanksgiving dinner this year. With only 5 to cook for, what could go wrong? No Stove Top and cranberry sauce out of a can, no siree, I was going to cook up a feast! Here’s where the screwing myself part comes in.

I spent a week online looking up the yummiest recipes. Everything homemade, from scratch, down to the cornbread for the dressing. I make the grocery list from hell, checked it twice, fought the crowds at the grocery store, plotted and planned what a wonderful dinner I’d create. It was really great in theory or in my delusional brain, take your pick.

Everyone hates baked turkey in the family so my mother in law suggested we get a smoked one. Yipee! A 7lb bird should feed 5 with plenty of leftovers. Ummm, smoked turkey samiches the rest of the weekend! Turkey, check. She also volunteered the dessert grub. Pumpkin and pecan pies, check. Alright, that leaves me with the cornbread stuffing, cranberry relish, gravy, twice baked sweet potatoes, yeast rolls and fancy green beans. Noooooooo problemo. Check, check, check and check. I cooked for 3 days. 3! Small South American countries have been taken over in less time!

The sister in law et. al. wouldn’t be joining us they were going to spend time with her husband’s family. At the last minute she called to say their plans had changed and they were indeed going to be joining us! Joy! Add 4 additional people, 2 of which are perpetually hungry and growing teenage boys! Did I mention she called on THURSDAY MORNING to tell us she would be coming?

With 4 additional people we ended up serving some Stove Top, along with plain mashed potatoes, corn out of a CAN and jellied canberry sauce, again, with that nasty stuff out of the can. Curses! Left over turkey? Bah! The bones were picked clean. Thank God the Sister in law brought some green bean bake! I really planned on 5 people. I learned my lesson. Next year, don’t believe they’re not coming.

I was so tired Wednesday night I fell straight into bed and fell asleep with my brand new glasses on. Did I mention they were brand new and less than a week old? Yeah, they were. They no longer have ear pieces. Both sides, broken. Have you ever been to an optometrist the day after Thanksgiving? That’s where the people aren’t!

Now if ya’ll have never been to south Texas let me explain the weather. Some Thanksgivings it’s 80 degrees, some it’s 18, it’s a crap shoot really. This year we drew the 80 degree card. We actually had dinner at my brother in laws house. He lives an hour south of here. After finishing up the final preparations, we packed the car up and headed south, dogs in tow, of course. About half way there the car A/C wasn’t feeling cold, then it wasn’t even feeling cool. Actually, it wasn’t cool at all, it was warm as hell. Honestly, it was cooler with the windows down. That’s right the A/C in my car went out! Have you ever been to a dealership the day after Thanksgiving? The people aren’t there either.

When we got to the brother in laws house he was wondering what took us so long and could we please hurry up so he can eat and leave for the hunting lease. I about shoved a yeast roll up his ass, no butter included. I looked at the Husband and he said, “That’s just how we roll.” He only understands.

It wasn’t a good day. I did get some peace and quiet in the deer blind. I think I fell asleep before dusk. I hate Thanksgiving, it’s a pain in the ass. Every year I work too hard and it’s gobbled up in 3.5 seconds and forgotten. Everyone has something else they want or need to be doing that day. Why do I bother? I can’t remember the last time I actually ate Thanksgiving with my folks. Not that I want to, but I’m just saying….Next year, I’m boycotting Thanksgiving. Someone send me an email reminder next year, ok?

If you’re a man stick your fingers in your ears and sing, “La, la, la, I’m not listening.” (Thanks Brighton, I stole your line!) This is a post for the readers of the female species.

People Magazine, after years of passing up my one true Hollywood crush, has finally seen the error of it’s ways and chosen Matthew McConaughey as their sexiest man alive! Sweet Jesus, my prayers have been answered!! When it was announced, yes I did a little happy dance, shut up, I’m in love with the man, ok?

I could care less that he’s never been a huge Hollywood A-list star or that he has a penchant for nudity, bongos and mary jane or he actually owns an Airstream travel trailer. Just LOOK at the man! Does he not exude sex appeal? The answer is yes, so don’t try and convince me otherwise. Add that he’s a UT grad, what’s not to love, right?

One day I was watching a run down of the college football scores and he came on to discuss UT football. I promptly quit folding the laundry and went over and kissed the tv. Yes, I used tongue. Shut up. I sat there transfixed and just listed to him talk about football with his west Texas accent. The world stopped for a moment that day.

The world stopped again when I actually had the pleasure of meeting the man in person. I was with a girlfriend in Austin at Hoover’s. Hoover’s is an Austin eatery icon. It’s good down home cookin’ ya’ll and shouldn’t be missed if you’re ever in the area. We’d gone in for a bite to eat and got more than we bargained for.

I’m halfway into my plate of ribs, and in walks the divine Mr. M. I about choke on my sauce. I instantly feel myself get all nervous and I feel my face flush. He sits there casual and chats with a male friend. I can’t quit staring! Ok, and drooling. Shut up.

He gets his food and we watch him eat and talk and eat. We’re done and need to leave but we can’t decide if we should go over and say hi. Screw it! It’s a once in a life time chance. We walk over casually and say hi and tell him we’re big fans. Duh, like he’s never heard that before.

He wipes his hands on a napkin, smiles, shakes our hand and says thank you. God, those million dollar dimples made me melt! Not wanting to push out luck we don’t stick around for small talk or ask for an autograph. I kick myself now. We excuse ourselves and practically run out the door. Once outside we SCREAM with delight. I’m sure everyone inside heard us.

That’s my one and only brush with Hollywood greatness. Congratulations Matthew, People finally picked a winner!

If you’re a man stick your fingers in your ears and sing, “La, la, la, I’m not listening.” (Thanks Brighton, I stole your line!) This is a post for the readers of the female species.

People Magazine, after years of passing up my one true Hollywood crush, has finally seen the error of it’s ways and chosen Matthew McConaughey as their sexiest man alive! Sweet Jesus, my prayers have been answered!! When it was announced, yes I did a little happy dance, shut up, I’m in love with the man, ok?

I could care less that he’s never been a huge Hollywood A-list star or that he has a penchant for nudity, bongos and mary jane or he actually owns an Airstream travel trailer. Just LOOK at the man! Does he not exude sex appeal? The answer is yes, so don’t try and convince me otherwise. Add that he’s a UT grad, what’s not to love, right?

One day I was watching a run down of the college football scores and he came on to discuss UT football. I promptly quit folding the laundry and went over and kissed the tv. Yes, I used tongue. Shut up. I sat there transfixed and just listed to him talk about football with his west Texas accent. The world stopped for a moment that day.

The world stopped again when I actually had the pleasure of meeting the man in person. I was with a girlfriend in Austin at Hoover’s. Hoover’s is an Austin eatery icon. It’s good down home cookin’ ya’ll and shouldn’t be missed if you’re ever in the area. We’d gone in for a bite to eat and got more than we bargained for.

I’m halfway into my plate of ribs, and in walks the divine Mr. M. I about choke on my sauce. I instantly feel myself get all nervous and I feel my face flush. He sits there casual and chats with a male friend. I can’t quit staring! Ok, and drooling. Shut up.

He gets his food and we watch him eat and talk and eat. We’re done and need to leave but we can’t decide if we should go over and say hi. Screw it! It’s a once in a life time chance. We walk over casually and say hi and tell him we’re big fans. Duh, like he’s never heard that before.

He wipes his hands on a napkin, smiles, shakes our hand and says thank you. God, those million dollar dimples made me melt! Not wanting to push out luck we don’t stick around for small talk or ask for an autograph. I kick myself now. We excuse ourselves and practically run out the door. Once outside we SCREAM with delight. I’m sure everyone inside heard us.

That’s my one and only brush with Hollywood greatness. Congratulations Matthew, People finally picked a winner!

Hola folks! This is my first gig over at the Nanner’s joint. For those that don’t know me, let me introduce myself. I’m Kristin, the sit in blogger for hire. I hang out over at Brighton’s and blog for her when she’s busy and Inanna asked me if I would sit in for her, I accepted without hesitation! Maybe I’ll post more about myself as the week goes on. Normally, when I guest blog I have a plan in place, this time, not so much. It’s going to be a fly by the seat of my pants kinda week.

This guest blogging thing is a mutually beneficial relationship. I get blogging out of my system a few times a year and I keep the blog warm and readers entertained and the blog owner gets to take a break now and again. It works out nice. If you need a hiatus, consider a guest coming in and taking over. Now, on with the show……..

Well my friends the time has come to do some shopping for your wife, girlfriend, fiance, significant other, women of your off spring, shack up or fuck buddy. Ahhhhh, tis the season. So, since I’m feeling holly and jolly and full of Christmas spirit, I thought I would post a little PSA to help Inanna’s male readers out with their holiday shopping.

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me, one Craftsman shop vac and no partridge in a pear tree. Oh yes, I’ve been the victim of the Craftsman Christmas gift. We were married 2 weeks and I received a shop vac as my first Christmas gift. Now don’t get me wrong it’s useful but it says, “Bitch, I’m tired of vacuuming out your car, do it yourself.” So men, if it says Craftsman, Makita, Dremel, Stihl or Stanley anywhere on the item or packaging, pass it up. You’ll thank me later. I still remind the Husband of his Craftsman faux pas and it’s 11 years later. We don’t forget things like this.

Next rule, don’t buy her something from Howie’s House Of Whoopie. Well, unless she went with you and uttered the words, “Honey, I really, really, want a new dildo in my stocking for Christmas.” No exceptions people. We don’t want or need that harness above the bed. Leather does not say I love you, thank you for putting up with my shit this last year. More points are deducted if you pick up a DVD for yourself. Shame on you, you are buying for HER! Kinky is tricky, know your limits.

Now unless your chick is a high tech kinda gal pass up the techo crap. No TVs, no digital cameras, no IPod, computers, software or gadgets there of, no complicated whosey whatsits. Keep on moving, unless you intend on spending all Christmas day sitting on the couch, owner’s manual in hand, trying to explain the details of why this gadget is so cool, thus missing any and all football games. Don’t do that to yourself. Football is far more important.

Stuffed anything is wrong. We’re not 9. Do not shower us with stuffed animals or cute stuffed house slippers in the shape of Sponge Bob. The only exception to this rule is if the stuffed bear is holding a HUGE, honkin’ diamond no less than 2 carets in weight. Thus, we totally forget about the dumb bear and focus totally on the head light.

Slinky stuff. Ohhhhhhh, where do I begin? Listen we know you love Victoria’s Secret we watch you sleep with the catalog and we’ve witnessed you lick and hump their store window in the mall but honestly, slinky doesn’t do it for us. First, we buy it for YOU. We don’t buy it because it’s actually comfy or functional. There’s a reason we hang onto that hole laden t-shirt or flannel night gown that no long has arm pits. Two words, it’s comfortable. If you buy us slinky, we’ll feel obligated to wear it. We’ll slip our hail dented ass into your shimmery, slinky little number, feel totally humiliated and watch as you ogle us. We know you’ve mentally cut and pasted Heidi Klum’s face over ours so let’s just save us both the humiliation, ok? If you want to impress her buy her something from Karen Neuberger. She will love you and you just might get lucky.

My friend Denise routinely gets appliance for Christmas. She’s the rare exception. She like functional gifts. Most women, not so much. Last Christmas she got a microwave, the year before, a hot water heater, the year before that, a new dishwasher. This year she’s getting new brake shoes for her car. Let me reiterate, she is RARE. If you give your woman a hand mixer, be prepared to bend over so she can shove it up your ass and turn it on high. So please, for the love of GOD, proceed to plan B if you have an appliance, small, large, hand held or otherwise on your list of goodies. The only exception would be if your washing machine died and you are now having to go out to the creek out back and beat your underoos on a rock, OR she’s asked for one, showed you where to buy it and has written the model and price down on a piece of paper and stuck it in your wallet.

I asked for a Kitchen Aid stand mixer this year. Yes, he’s got the make, model, price and where to buy it tucked into his wallet. He asked me the other day, “So, if I get you this you won’t tell your girlfriends that you got an appliance and make fun of me for the next 11 years, right?” 10-4 good buddy, scouts honor. Mama needs a stand mixer.

Love is not expressed by anything upholstered, unless it’s from Pottery Barn and the make, model and price are again, tucked into your wallet. Yes, I’m eyeing a new sofa.

Here’s why clothes are a baaaaaad idea. Different designers have different sizes. She may be a size 6 in Liz Claiborne but a 16 in Ann Taylor. It’s a tricky situation and unless you want her to scream “You think I’m this size?!?!” on Christmas morning, thus shattering the holiday mood, I say keep on truckin’. You’re better off snooping in her closet and checking out her favorite labels then going to the appropriate store for a gift certificate. Trust me on this one, it’s a slippery road you don’t want to venture down. Unless you prefer sleeping on the couch, for the next six months OR answering that age old question, “Does this make me look fat?” for the next year.

Ok, unless she works at the local animal shelter and has a fondness for any and all pets, fluffy, slithery, scaly or otherwise, you might think twice about a pet gift. (By the way this applies to the kiddos too) First, she’s going to be the one that feeds, waters, walks and house trains the new critter. We hate gifts that are THAT much work. You want to avoid coming home from work a few days after Christmas to her standing over said pet screaming, “Where is your father? I’m not picking up any more dog poop!” Not that I speak from experience. *cough*

Screw giving the gift of health. A gym membership or a trip to the fat farm are a HUGE no no. “Here, honey, I got you a gym membership, now waddle your lard ass down there and get your money’s worth”. Careful, they have very hot, buff, ripped male trainers. She might just thank you with divorce papers one day after Steroid Steve whips her into shape.

You’ve read the no nos lets talk about what she would like. I mentioned Karen Neuberger. Her pjs are the best. Don’t question it, they just are.

Anything with the words, 100% cashmere, pashmina or silk are welcomed gifts too. You can’t go wrong with a nice scarf or gloves, well, unless you live in Hawaii. Fur is always good, if you’re a fur kinda family. If not there are so phenomenal knocks offs out there.

If she has a hobby, I highly suggest getting her something pertaining to that. She probably doesn’t have a lot of time to enjoy it so a hobby gift says, “Take some time for yourself and enjoy something you like for a change. I can feed myself at least one night without you.”

Likewise, a gift certificate to pamper herself at the local spa will win you huge bonus points. Just put out of your mind that some hunky Norwegian named Sven might be running his oily hands over your love’s naked body.

Let me also suggest season passes to your local play house or theatre. I love live theatre. Ok, quit groaning. C’mon it’s just like a movie but live and with a lot of singing. I’ve hinted for years that I would love to go see the Nutcracker. The Husband has yet to get the hint. I think he’s afraid he might like ballet and be forced to keep his secret from his tobacco chewing, deer hunting, beer guzzling buddies. I intend to be less subtle this year.

You might take a trip down to your travel agent and look at the specials on out of the way, exotic locals. Winter is a great time for cheap air and hotel deals. She needs to get away too sometimes, and when I say away, I don’t mean to the grocery store to pick you up another six pack and some Cheetos.

A nice watch or 14K gold ear rings are good choices. No guessing on the size and they are generic enough that you can’t screw it up. Think Tiffanys. No that’s not a strip club, it’s a beautiful jewelry store, if you don’t believe me, Google it. I would wet my pants if I had one of those beautiful blue boxes in my stocking.

Now before you say, “Geeze Kristin, you’re a picky bitch!” I say yes, yes I am. Here’s why. I spend a lot of time on my gift choices. I don’t buy the first thing that catches my eye, slap a bow on it and call it done. I like my gifts to say something about me, you and our relationship. I would like the same in return, I don’t think it’s too much to ask. Remember, your woman is buying for tons of people. You have one maybe two to shop for, don’t be a selfish bastard.

Remember this rule of thumb guys. If you pick it up and think this looks like something honey would like ask yourself, “Is this something that says thank you for washing, folding and putting way 364 days worth of underwear?” Stick with me men, I’ll never steer you wrong.

There ya have it folks, my PSA for my male readers. Go forth and shop without worry.

Hola folks! This is my first gig over at the Nanner’s joint. For those that don’t know me, let me introduce myself. I’m Kristin, the sit in blogger for hire. I hang out over at Brighton’s and blog for her when she’s busy and Inanna asked me if I would sit in for her, I accepted without hesitation! Maybe I’ll post more about myself as the week goes on. Normally, when I guest blog I have a plan in place, this time, not so much. It’s going to be a fly by the seat of my pants kinda week.

This guest blogging thing is a mutually beneficial relationship. I get blogging out of my system a few times a year and I keep the blog warm and readers entertained and the blog owner gets to take a break now and again. It works out nice. If you need a hiatus, consider a guest coming in and taking over. Now, on with the show……..

Well my friends the time has come to do some shopping for your wife, girlfriend, fiance, significant other, women of your off spring, shack up or fuck buddy. Ahhhhh, tis the season. So, since I’m feeling holly and jolly and full of Christmas spirit, I thought I would post a little PSA to help Inanna’s male readers out with their holiday shopping.

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me, one Craftsman shop vac and no partridge in a pear tree. Oh yes, I’ve been the victim of the Craftsman Christmas gift. We were married 2 weeks and I received a shop vac as my first Christmas gift. Now don’t get me wrong it’s useful but it says, “Bitch, I’m tired of vacuuming out your car, do it yourself.” So men, if it says Craftsman, Makita, Dremel, Stihl or Stanley anywhere on the item or packaging, pass it up. You’ll thank me later. I still remind the Husband of his Craftsman faux pas and it’s 11 years later. We don’t forget things like this.

Next rule, don’t buy her something from Howie’s House Of Whoopie. Well, unless she went with you and uttered the words, “Honey, I really, really, want a new dildo in my stocking for Christmas.” No exceptions people. We don’t want or need that harness above the bed. Leather does not say I love you, thank you for putting up with my shit this last year. More points are deducted if you pick up a DVD for yourself. Shame on you, you are buying for HER! Kinky is tricky, know your limits.

Now unless your chick is a high tech kinda gal pass up the techo crap. No TVs, no digital cameras, no IPod, computers, software or gadgets there of, no complicated whosey whatsits. Keep on moving, unless you intend on spending all Christmas day sitting on the couch, owner’s manual in hand, trying to explain the details of why this gadget is so cool, thus missing any and all football games. Don’t do that to yourself. Football is far more important.

Stuffed anything is wrong. We’re not 9. Do not shower us with stuffed animals or cute stuffed house slippers in the shape of Sponge Bob. The only exception to this rule is if the stuffed bear is holding a HUGE, honkin’ diamond no less than 2 carets in weight. Thus, we totally forget about the dumb bear and focus totally on the head light.

Slinky stuff. Ohhhhhhh, where do I begin? Listen we know you love Victoria’s Secret we watch you sleep with the catalog and we’ve witnessed you lick and hump their store window in the mall but honestly, slinky doesn’t do it for us. First, we buy it for YOU. We don’t buy it because it’s actually comfy or functional. There’s a reason we hang onto that hole laden t-shirt or flannel night gown that no long has arm pits. Two words, it’s comfortable. If you buy us slinky, we’ll feel obligated to wear it. We’ll slip our hail dented ass into your shimmery, slinky little number, feel totally humiliated and watch as you ogle us. We know you’ve mentally cut and pasted Heidi Klum’s face over ours so let’s just save us both the humiliation, ok? If you want to impress her buy her something from Karen Neuberger. She will love you and you just might get lucky.

My friend Denise routinely gets appliance for Christmas. She’s the rare exception. She like functional gifts. Most women, not so much. Last Christmas she got a microwave, the year before, a hot water heater, the year before that, a new dishwasher. This year she’s getting new brake shoes for her car. Let me reiterate, she is RARE. If you give your woman a hand mixer, be prepared to bend over so she can shove it up your ass and turn it on high. So please, for the love of GOD, proceed to plan B if you have an appliance, small, large, hand held or otherwise on your list of goodies. The only exception would be if your washing machine died and you are now having to go out to the creek out back and beat your underoos on a rock, OR she’s asked for one, showed you where to buy it and has written the model and price down on a piece of paper and stuck it in your wallet.

I asked for a Kitchen Aid stand mixer this year. Yes, he’s got the make, model, price and where to buy it tucked into his wallet. He asked me the other day, “So, if I get you this you won’t tell your girlfriends that you got an appliance and make fun of me for the next 11 years, right?” 10-4 good buddy, scouts honor. Mama needs a stand mixer.

Love is not expressed by anything upholstered, unless it’s from Pottery Barn and the make, model and price are again, tucked into your wallet. Yes, I’m eyeing a new sofa.

Here’s why clothes are a baaaaaad idea. Different designers have different sizes. She may be a size 6 in Liz Claiborne but a 16 in Ann Taylor. It’s a tricky situation and unless you want her to scream “You think I’m this size?!?!” on Christmas morning, thus shattering the holiday mood, I say keep on truckin’. You’re better off snooping in her closet and checking out her favorite labels then going to the appropriate store for a gift certificate. Trust me on this one, it’s a slippery road you don’t want to venture down. Unless you prefer sleeping on the couch, for the next six months OR answering that age old question, “Does this make me look fat?” for the next year.

Ok, unless she works at the local animal shelter and has a fondness for any and all pets, fluffy, slithery, scaly or otherwise, you might think twice about a pet gift. (By the way this applies to the kiddos too) First, she’s going to be the one that feeds, waters, walks and house trains the new critter. We hate gifts that are THAT much work. You want to avoid coming home from work a few days after Christmas to her standing over said pet screaming, “Where is your father? I’m not picking up any more dog poop!” Not that I speak from experience. *cough*

Screw giving the gift of health. A gym membership or a trip to the fat farm are a HUGE no no. “Here, honey, I got you a gym membership, now waddle your lard ass down there and get your money’s worth”. Careful, they have very hot, buff, ripped male trainers. She might just thank you with divorce papers one day after Steroid Steve whips her into shape.

You’ve read the no nos lets talk about what she would like. I mentioned Karen Neuberger. Her pjs are the best. Don’t question it, they just are.

Anything with the words, 100% cashmere, pashmina or silk are welcomed gifts too. You can’t go wrong with a nice scarf or gloves, well, unless you live in Hawaii. Fur is always good, if you’re a fur kinda family. If not there are so phenomenal knocks offs out there.

If she has a hobby, I highly suggest getting her something pertaining to that. She probably doesn’t have a lot of time to enjoy it so a hobby gift says, “Take some time for yourself and enjoy something you like for a change. I can feed myself at least one night without you.”

Likewise, a gift certificate to pamper herself at the local spa will win you huge bonus points. Just put out of your mind that some hunky Norwegian named Sven might be running his oily hands over your love’s naked body.

Let me also suggest season passes to your local play house or theatre. I love live theatre. Ok, quit groaning. C’mon it’s just like a movie but live and with a lot of singing. I’ve hinted for years that I would love to go see the Nutcracker. The Husband has yet to get the hint. I think he’s afraid he might like ballet and be forced to keep his secret from his tobacco chewing, deer hunting, beer guzzling buddies. I intend to be less subtle this year.

You might take a trip down to your travel agent and look at the specials on out of the way, exotic locals. Winter is a great time for cheap air and hotel deals. She needs to get away too sometimes, and when I say away, I don’t mean to the grocery store to pick you up another six pack and some Cheetos.

A nice watch or 14K gold ear rings are good choices. No guessing on the size and they are generic enough that you can’t screw it up. Think Tiffanys. No that’s not a strip club, it’s a beautiful jewelry store, if you don’t believe me, Google it. I would wet my pants if I had one of those beautiful blue boxes in my stocking.

Now before you say, “Geeze Kristin, you’re a picky bitch!” I say yes, yes I am. Here’s why. I spend a lot of time on my gift choices. I don’t buy the first thing that catches my eye, slap a bow on it and call it done. I like my gifts to say something about me, you and our relationship. I would like the same in return, I don’t think it’s too much to ask. Remember, your woman is buying for tons of people. You have one maybe two to shop for, don’t be a selfish bastard.

Remember this rule of thumb guys. If you pick it up and think this looks like something honey would like ask yourself, “Is this something that says thank you for washing, folding and putting way 364 days worth of underwear?” Stick with me men, I’ll never steer you wrong.

There ya have it folks, my PSA for my male readers. Go forth and shop without worry.