An open letter

Dear Polly Pocket,

I hate you.

Why must you be so small? Why must your shoes be the size of half an adult's pinky nail? Why must you have so goddamned MANY?

Thanks a lot for landing your plane in my living room! What kind of plane has a fashion model runway on it anyway? I noticed quite a few drink cups in this set. Agent not calling back as much as he used to? How many "lounges" does this plane need? And a blender? Who are you trying to kid? Where ya' hiding the good stuff?

Maybe it's inside of one of the 4,000 impossible to open suitcases that also came with the set. What am I, your fucking baggage handler now?

The instructions were of no help whatsoever. There are these things called WORDS that people sometimes put next to complicated pictures to explain how the hell the sides of the plane are supposed to stay level when this monstrosity of a vehicle is open.

Next time some relative of mine is shopping in your aisle, you just tell them to move along if you know what's good for you. You are no longer welcome in my house, especially after you moved in not one but TWO fashion glitter design sets a couple of weeks ago. I found glitter in my eye this morning. My eye, Polly. I am too old to go to raves so this is not something I enjoy.

Your clothes are kind of ugly anyway. And pretty skanky if I do say so myself. Fire your stylist.

In conclusion, please cease to exist at your earliest convenience.

Yours in Christ,

Bacon Lady

I'm Done

Christmas shopping that is.

I got the last of the booty today and even got some of it wrapped.

This Saturday I am headed up north for holiday festivities with my maternal extended family. It's just me and the kids this year. Jim could not get the shop covered so he'll have to while away the weekend watching soccer and eating a bunch of disgusting food I can't even look at without wanting to barf (potted meat product for example).

I went to Target this morning instead of working out. Given the choice between exercise class and going to my most favorite store ever BY MYSELF even...well, it wasn't even a contest.

My parents don't need anything, so they are really hard to shop for. They won't tell me what they want ("Oh honey. Don't you spend any money on us!"). So they are getting one of those digital photo frame things.

I was half-way through wrapping it before I remembered that I was going to upload a bunch of pictures of the girls on it. I guess my laptop will be joining us on our journey to the wilds of Suburban Chicago.

It's mostly for my Mom to take to work with her so I got my Dad a few things that seemed perfect for him.

Speakers for the iPod he still doesn't know how to use, tiny tap lights because he's old and old people love that shit, and these weird shoe attachments to prevent slipping on the ice. Again, perfect old person gift.

I already got my Mother-in-law a set of vintagey-looking ornaments and Jim will fill in the blanks on the rest of his parents' gifts.

I got most of the girls' gifts on BLACK FRIDAY. I always feel like I have to say that real menacing-like. MUWAHAHAHAHAHA BLLLAAAACCKKK FRIIIIDDAAAYYY.

Yes, I went out for the first time ever on a crazy day after Thanksgiving adventure. It was SO much fun. Yes, I said fun.

My friend Meghan and I got going at 5am and we were done and home before 10. Everything went really smoothly save for the assface in front of Target.

We got there at 5, thinking they opened at 5. When we got in line, we were told they didn't open until 6. As much as I loves me some Target, I wasn't about to wait for an hour in the 20 degree weather.

As Meghan and I walked back to our car, some fucktard yelled at us that we weren't going to find a shorter line somewhere else. Dick.

We promptly ran up to him, poured our hot lattes down his Dockers and punched him in his smart mouth. Or we didn't. You weren't there, so that's the story I'm sticking with.

So, I'm all done with what usually takes me into the day before the day before Jesus' birthday.

And very best, most delicious part?

I didn't put one red cent on a credit card.