Short Christmas Stories 3: Retro, Songs

RETRO

My parents were digging through their Christmas supplies when they found this little gem. It seems that earlier in the decade, they bought this present for me. It got overlooked, and has sat in the back of a closet ever since.

So yes, literally, I got a Walkman for Christmas this year.

SONGS

My niece (7 years old) was teaching me how to sing "We wish you a Merry Christmas". Of course, Uncle Jeff rarely takes things seriously, so the song lyrics quickly mutated.

"We wish you a Merry Christmas, we WISH you a Merry Halloween, we WISH!!! you a Merry Thanksgiving, and a HAPPY ST PATRICK'S DAY!!!"

My grandmother laughed. "No Valentine's Day?", she asked.

"I was going to throw in a Kwanzaa joke, but I don't think she'd get it."

Grandma nodded. "Give her a few years."

Short Christmas Stories 2: Shampoo, Kid Vids

SHAMPOO

So... uh... I got some shampoo n' stuff for Christmas.



"Anti-Monkey Butt". It includes Anti-Monkey Butt Powder, Anti-Monkey Butt Shampoo, Anti-Monkey Butt Body Wash, Anti-Monkey Butt Lotion, and Anti-Monkey Butt Wipes.

I didn't make any of that up. I'm morbidly curious about the wipes, but I dare not open the package to look.

KID VIDS

My sister showed us a video of my youngest nephew's Christmas program at school (he's three years old). He was up on a little stage with all the other pre-schoolers. He was wearing a Santa hat and facing backwards.

He climbed into my lap to watch the video. "Do yeh see 'dat man in 'da polka dots?", he asked me, pointing at the screen. "'Dat's me!", he proudly claimed.

In the video, he was wearing plaid.

Short Christmas Stories 1: Beads, Damages

BEADS

My Father-In-Law loves to hot-glue beads to Christmas presents. Last year he beaded up a flat plastic ornament and put it on one of our presents. We kept it, and used it this year on one of his.

Despite the fact that he's the only one to ever hot-glue beads to anything, he didn't realize he was looking at his own creation. He leaned over to my Mother-In-Law and told her, "Oh, isn't that one pretty... we should save that one, it's so pretty..."

DAMAGES

After Christmas at my parent's house, my grandfather backed out of the driveway, slid across the street and backed over a neighbor's mailbox.

Instantly, Dad's phone started to ring. Grandpa didn't even notice what he'd done, but the rest of the neighborhood did. "Were you aware that your guest backed over that mailbox?" "Did you see that truck back over [name]'s mailbox?" "I think that guy ran over a mailbox!"

Frankly, I'm shocked it hasn't shown up on youtube yet.

Phantom M&M Brownies

One day last week, I brought in brownies for the folks in the office. Then I sent everyone the following email:

========================
Before, during, or after lunch... you *need* a Phantom M&M brownie.

I should explain the name.

My wife and I mixed up the brownie mix as per the instructions. Then, as per our habit, we covered the top of the brownie mix with M&M's.

When we took the pan out of the oven, the M&M's were gone. This has not happened on any of our past experiences. We're at a bit of a loss.

Naturally, I tested one of the brownies. Turns out, the M&M's sunk down into the mix instead of forming a festive colorful layer on top.

So, if you find a slightly greenish lump inside your brownie, rest assured that I am NOT trying to kill you. It's just that some of the M&M's were green. The other colors blended into the brownies nicely, but green wanted to be noticed.

Enjoy!

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas and God Bless!

It's Glass

My wife and I were at Target. We only needed a few items, but even so we went late in the day so the last-minute Christmas shoppers wouldn't trample us.

We got into the checkout line behind two foul-tempered evil little Christmas witches. Their faces looked like Cinderella's wicked step-mother... permanently annoyed at the constant incompetence of others. That, of course, included the checkout guy.

The checkout guy, for his part, looked like he'd been on shift for the last 6 weeks without a break. He was dead on his feet and was less than 5 minutes away from clocking out. We were all obstacles between him and quittin' time. We earned his wrath simply by existing.

He picked up an ornament that the twin crones were purchasing and dropped it into a bag. "HEY!!!", one of them shrieked. "I saw that! Wrap that one up! It's glass!"

The checker guy took the large ball-thing out of the plastic sack. It made dull hollow noises when he tapped it. It looked like a softball with a bird motif. It clearly would have bounced like a basketball if he'd dropped it.

"It's not glass," he insisted. "It's glass!", Foul Fiona shrilled. Checkout guy rolled his eyes, and carefully wrapped up Santa's special wishing ball.

They finally left, and it was our turn. Checkout Guy didn't look at us as if to say, "Thank goodness you two are the last ones for today." Instead, the look in his eyes seemed to say, "If I killed you I could knock off a couple of minutes early. Don't think I haven't considered it."

I decided he needed cheering up. "Be careful with that Charmin," I advised. "It's glass."

Turns out, so is my jaw.

==========

Note: This will be my last post before Christmas. Quit staring at the internet and go hug someone! Merry Christmas. :)

Counting Calories

My wife and I were given a Coffee Cake for Christmas.



It's such a small lovely little lump of sugary whiz-bang! So cute!

Curious, we turned the box over to read the nutritional information. 250 calories per serving. Ouch.

I got a sudden sinking feeling. "How many servings does it think this little cake has?"

"Sixteen."

Sixteen?!? Yikes! So any one paper-thin slice of this stuff would take almost 15 minutes on the ol' exercise bike to burn off? That's frightening.

I opened up the box, and broke open the seal. There was a sweet, powerful, *gorgeous* smell of glucose and wheat. The button on my jeans instantly broke.

My wife screamed. "I can't be a part of this!" She ran to the bedroom and slammed the door behind her. A minute later, she opened the door, hung a small sign on the doorknob and slammed it again. The sign read, "Pilates in progress... do not disturb."

She didn't leave that room for 2 days.

Even with *my* crazy metabolism, I couldn't eat all of it. But it sure was tasty. :)

Gift Card

One of our Christmas gift purchases this year was a gift card to a certain restaurant. My wife went there in the middle of an afternoon.

This was, apparently, a huge faux pas. The restaurant had several employees in it, but the door was locked.

She knocked at the big double-door until she got someone's attention. An embarrassed, guilty-looking employee finally appeared. "Uh... we're closed right now."

"All I need is a gift card!", my wife protested. "Don't make me come back when there's a dinner crowd!"

"Uh..." The employee blushed. Bass-heavy music could be heard in the background, along with an occasional "Whoo-hoo!" and the breaking of glass. A wadded-up string of Christmas lights flew through the air, knocking over a nearly-empty water pitcher and collapsing in a heap on the floor next to some lunch debris that hadn't been swept up yet. "We're supposed to be... I mean, we *are* decorating the store for Christmas. No customers allowed."

My wife sensed a chink in the armor. "I could call the manager and ask him for a gift card..."

"No! Hold on! I'll see if anyone's sober enough... er... *available* to find a card for you!"

"Wait! How long will that take? Can't I wait inside the door? It's cold out here!"

"Well..." This was tricky ground for the lightly-inebriated staffer. "What exactly do you see going on in here?"

"I see hard-working employees creating a festive atmosphere for tonight's patrons."

"Come right in."

My wife stood just inside the door, pretending not to notice the raucous activity happening in the general direction of the kitchen. A male and female employee, holding hands, covered in glitter glue and trailing garland, ran giggling past her and into one of the bathrooms. A couple of fireworks went off.

"Here you go," said the door-opener. It had taken more than 10 minutes, but he had managed to sober up and find a gift card. He had bloodshot eyes and smelled strongly of coffee. "Glad to be of assistance," he happily lied.

My wife left the restaurant as quickly as dignity would allow. Part of the store was on fire.

Next year we may have to resort to actual presents. Gift cards are too dangerous.

Snowmen

"How'd your liposuction go?"


"I still say she had a face-lift."


"We're taking him in for braces next week."


"So, how was bungee jumping?"


"What the?!... A snow cone?!... YOU'RE SICK!!!"


Although an entertainer at heart, Frosty's career as a fire-eater has a short run.


"Gesundheit."


While snapping his fingers to a catchy beat, Frosty learns the consequences of rubbing two sticks together.


Right in the middle of the produce aisle, Frosty gets caught picking his nose.

... And my personal favorite...


Young Cyrano De Bergerac makes a snowman.

My Subconscious Is Hilarious

I was at work, and I messed something up.

I honestly don't remember what it was. I just remember the grim knowledge that re-doing the mucked-up work would take an hour or so, and it was almost 5PM.

So, I wrote a note to myself. I spelled out what I'd need to do in the morning, and concluded the note with: "..., you dumb-hinder".

In the most appropriate application of irony I've seen in a while, I managed to miss-spelled "dumb". My pathetic handwriting turned the curse into "bumb-hinder".

Naturally, the next thing I did was to type it up into a blog reminder. Here, unedited (well, except for "hinder", you can guess what went in its place), is the line I typed:

"Wrote a note to myself, concluded with "You bumb-hinder", but mis-spelled it as bumb-hinder"

That's right... I mis-spelled it with the pen, then I mis-typed it, too.

Apparently, the harsh descriptive term was appropriate.

Snuggie

When the office "Dirty Santa" gift exchange was all said and done, I wound up with an OSU Snuggie!

It's the blanket with sleeves.



You're supposed to wear it so that it covers the front and is open in the back, like a hospital gown. Then you're all cozy and warm sitting on the couch.

But I find it's more fun to wear it over the back like a cape.



All you have to do is fold your arms to pretend you're a Jedi.



Hail, Jedi Pete!

Warning

"It may be your sole purpose in life is to serve as a warning to others."
- Unknown

Almost two years ago, I wrote a story about coffee from Brazil. It's worth a re-read, but the high points are as follows:

1) P-Ziddy gave me a bag of his favorite coffee (imported from Brazil).

2) Jeff accidentally made a cup that was caffeinated enough to launch a space shuttle.

3) Midway though the cup, an "Emergency Evacuation" happened. I barely made it to the bathroom before the cannon fired, if you know what I mean.

Well, recently my buddy iCanSpell shared this story with me...

iCanSpell: Did you know that you're a warning in our house?
Jeff: I can't say I'm *too* surprised. How so, exactly?
iCanSpell: Well, some time ago, I relayed the story of the Brazilian coffee to iCanDrink (Note: iCanDrink is her hubby)
Jeff: Ah. Most of the rest is clear to me already.
iCanSpell: ... and how you'd made it quite strong and had something of an involuntary response to it.
iCanSpell: So, at times like yesterday, when we got up extra early so we could leave work to get new tires on the car...
iCanSpell: ... and iCanDrink was sucking down cup after cup of strong coffee...
iCanSpell: ... all one really has to say is "Careful, you don't want to be Jeff."
Jeff: This is *so* going in the blog next week.
iCanSpell: lol
Jeff: I'm a dire warning to others!
iCanSpell: Exactly

This was truly a proud moment for me. It's only a matter of time before "You don't want to be a Jeff" makes it into the Urban Dictionary, I just know it!

Dirty Santa

Last week at work we had our annual Dirty Santa potluck. Home-cooked chili and Christmas present stealing! It was a good day.

I put my present in a plain brown paper bag. I wasn't paying attention during my walk from the car to the office (5 city blocks), and I bumped into a staggering hobo.

We both dropped stuff, and he fell over. We apologized to each other, picked up our stuff and went on our separate ways. I didn't think anything of it.

Later, during the gift exchange, somebody walked over to the pile of presents and chose my brown paper sack. He opened it and proudly revealed the present to the entire room... a dirty half-empty bottle of whiskey.

Somewhere in downtown Tulsa, a hobo is staring at a Santa-hat teddy bear, trying to decide if it's a hallucination.

The bottle of whiskey quickly became the "favorite" gift at our exchange. Once the neck was disinfected a bit, everybody starting taking swigs.

Soon, the other presents were piled in the center of the room along with the lunch leftovers, a broken table and several old computers. A rowdy crew of I.T. professionals linked arms, started dancing and singing "Yo, ho, a pirate's life for me!" as the bonfire was set.

The Macintosh techs totally can't hold their liquor. I'm just sayin'.

Christmas Lights

Santa's had a little too much eggnog.



And this one... wow. The pic is good on its own, but be sure to read the story that goes along with it, too.



"Good news is that I truly out did myself this year with my Christmas decorations. The bad news is that I had to take him down after 2 days. I had more people come screaming up to my house than ever. Great stories. But two things made me take it down.

First, the cops advised me that it would cause traffic accidents as they almost wrecked when they drove by.

Second, a 55 year old lady grabbed the 75 pound ladder almost killed herself putting it against my house and didn't realize it was fake until she climbed to the top (she was not happy). By the way, she was one of many people who attempted to do that. My yard couldn't take it either. I have more than a few tire tracks where people literally drove up my yard."

Playing Cupid

There's this couple that my wife and I know. They are inseparable, and really cute together. They also stubbornly refuse to admit that they are anything other than friends.

We were hanging out with them recently, and I decided to play Cupid a bit. I figured I could drop a subtle hint or two.

I took my wedding ring off and rolled it across the floor toward them. "Whoops!", I shouted as I dove for the ring. "Sorry about that. The silly thing got away from me. I'd forget my own wife if she wasn't wife'd onto me all permanent-like."

I held the ring up for both of them to see. "Funny how rings make you think about rings, isnt it?"

I got silent, angry glares in reply.

"It was a nice try," my wife told me later. "I'm sorry I was laughing while he was kicking you."

It's OK. I'm sure it won't be the last time.

Christmas Oddities

'Tis the season for interesting holiday choices! This "Simpsons" themed Christmas stocking made me think of P-Ziddy.



I like this next one more, though. It's really fun when the store doesn't completely clean up from one holiday before they transition into the next.



To be fair, that pic was taken a while ago. Even so, it was a full couple of weeks *after* Halloween, so the mockery is still appropriate. :)

Problems With A Short Word

We had a meeting at work. It was one of those big presentation-type things, where a bunch of people from different departments all attempt not to sit too close to each other while pretending to pay attention to the speaker and trying not to look too dissapointed about the lack of donuts.

Not only did our speaker mumble vaguely about nothing for minutes at a time, but he also had problems with the word "of".

"Well, as you can see, this is a time of... of of... of... of of of of of... of... great importance for..."

"We have a big need of... of... of of of of of of of of... of of... of... of progress on..."

"An optimist would say that his glass is half full of of of... of... of of... of of of of of of... of... of of scotch."

Literally every time a sentence contained the word "of" he would stammer like a verbal jackhammer.

Half-way through the meeting he noticed somebody sitting on the back row. "Oh look!", he said. "We have a Jack Nicholson impersonator with us today!"

Everybody turned around. Sure enough, one of our employees bears a resemblance to a young cuckoo's nest. His name tag said, "Here's Johnny!". He was carrying an axe and sweating.

I pretended to get a call so I could leave early. I'm still not sure what the meeting was about.

The Dove

A dove died on our roof.

Most distressing. It was past sundown, and very cold out. We had a barely visible bloated white lump of feathers moving ever-so-gently in the breeze. The corpse was perched right over some of our landscape bushes too, because something this icky couldn't at least be *easy*, oh not a chance.

I called Dad. He mocked my lack of enthusiasm for the task ahead. I was really hoping he'd volunteer to come remove it for me.

I got the ladder out. I slapped my knees with it a couple of times before I got it set up straddling the bushes. I put on thick work gloves and grabbed a broom.

The trip to the top of a ladder after dark in freezing temperatures is never fun. It's a relatively short climb, but a combination of vertigo and cold temps had me shivering pretty bad. My wife handed the broom up to me. I took a deep breath and moved the bristles of the broom over to sweep off the dead bird.

The dove wasn't dead.

Several things happened at once. My broom hand spaz'ed, causing the broom handle to hit me on the head. The dove jumped and flapped and vomited feathers at me. I lost my balance on the ladder, causing a desperate butt-wiggling arm-waving "save me!" dance to break out. And I taught the neighbor kids some new words.

Several seconds later, I got a grip on the ladder. I was bent over (looking down, which was great for my vertigo), muscles shaking from terror and vertigo and the cold. I looked up, and a moderately annoyed dove looked down at me as if to say, "What the heck are you doing, idiot?"

There are now some white streaks on our roof shingles where the dove "died". I'm not going to try to clean them off. I no longer care what is or isn't on my roof.

Olive Garden

We went to the Olive Garden recently. One table over from us was a group of young idiots.

The waitress came over. One of the ladies sitting at the table recognized her and had an enthusiasm babble-burst.

"WOW!!!", she shrieked. "Oh, this is GREAT!!!" She looked to be in her early 30's but she was gushing like a teeny-bopper meeting Edward Cullen. "*YOU* get to serve us today!"

Waitress clearly did not share her enthusiasm. In a frowning deadpan monotone she replied, "Yeah, I'm excited about it too."

Later in the meal, I wandered off to the bathroom. As I approached my stall I could see little kiddo-shoes in the next stall over. A little fellow was sitting and swinging his feet.

I stood and prepared to do my thing. The little kiddo noticed my shoes under the stall.

"Daddy! Is that Mommy!"

I nearly fell into my porcelain receptacle laughing. I could hear his daddy saying, "No, that's not Mommy."

"Are you sure?!?" "Yes, I sure that's not Mommy."

I've never been mistaken for anybody's Mommy before.

The Bad Mind-Reader

From the comedic genius of ... The Genius ... comes this fantastic idea.

He happily suggested that *anybody* could be a mind-reader, as long as you offer up the disclaimer that you're bad at it.

Then he put on hand up on his forehead and pointed at me. "Is your name... Jim?" "You are correct!", I shouted. "Because 'Jim' is, in fact, a name! And I have one of those!"

"See," he explained. "Jeff gets it."

His hand went back up to his forehead. "I see that you know somebody who has died... in the past 20 years... OK, maybe a friend of yours knows someone... ah, you just lost a pet... you hate pets?..."

I think the "Bad Mind-Reader" gag is a winner. It gives me the freedom to walk up to anybody, anytime, and tell them "You should be ashamed!... do you think about your mother with that mind?"

Fantasy Football

For those of us in Fantasy Football leagues, playoff time is fast approaching. I wound up in three leagues this year. I had a bit of a rough start in a couple of the leagues, but I had been doing pretty well for a while there. In fact, I was ranked number 1 in two of those leagues, briefly.

Then came the dark times. For the past three weeks I've lost in at least two of my leagues. Once I lost in all three.

In each case, the loss could have been prevented if I'd played one or more of the guys on my bench. My wife has noticed this trend, and she's unhappy with me.

Late Sunday, I brought up my teams for her to see.

"Here's the 'Tiny Nerds' league. I'm going to lose by 20. Here's the guys on my bench I should have played."

"Here's the 'Village Idiot' league. I'm going to lose by 20. Here's the guys on my bench I should have played."

"Here's the 'Total Biscuit' league. I'm going to lose by 20. Here's the guys on my bench I should have played."

My wife gave me an unapproving look.

"Next year," she said, "When you join a Fantasy Football league, I want to join too. I think I can beat you."

I think she may be right.