Things that make the season JOYFUL- The Lost Numbers 8 – 9

So, I’m tapping away on my keyboard finally wrapping up the painful conclusion to a three-part sarcastic holiday series I wrote called- Things that make the season JOYFUL and whooooops… apparently, I can’t count.

Somehow, numbers 8 and 9 were lost in the clusterfuck of chaos.

Appropriately, flushed down the toilet like a holiday turd.

No surprise there, as this time of year, chaos tends to completely dominate my existence, much like an elephant sitting on a flea.

Therefore, this post is a proverbial bandaid intended to mend this clusterfuck, so I can put it all to rest once and for all.


This holiday and this post are quickly becoming a nightmare episode of Groundhogs Day where rabid zombie gophers suck the sanity out of our brains using a tiny bar straw.

Numero 9 (I’m putting it ahead of #8 because I fucking said so– K?) is…

Batshit Crazy Relatives in the house EARLY.

Holiday Tip- If your son ever breaks his collarbone snowboarding, hold on to his extra pain meds with two hands. Use the white knuckle death grip if necessary, because those babies will come in handy the Saturday morning after Christmas when you wake up with the headache from hell, and your crazy family is on their way to crash into your living room like Japanese kamikaze pilots on hallucinogens.

Rewind- I thought I had agreed to having a dinner-thing sometime like after 4:00 PM. It’s not even noon, I have sleeping teenage bodies draped across every horizontal piece of nonjagged furniture in my house, dishes and half eaten food everywhere, and the crazies on route.

Hell no I’m not cleaning my toilets, emptying the trash or even removing the newest hairball from the stairs.

Pearl Harbor was not a pretty sight.

Things that make the season JOYFUL #9- batshit crazy relatives…. in the house. Early.

The Things that make the season JOYFUL is far from over. The big moment is not when the fat lady sings, but when I slide into home base, otherwise known as New Years Day… face first.

Then you may applaud LOUDLY.

If I’m not dead, I may join you.

Oh shit, did we forget # 8?


Chaos wouldn’t be authentic if things were smooth and orderly.

Appropriately, out of order #8 is fried brain cells.

My extended family has finally retreated and the homestead is now marginally quiet. At least until my daughter’s annual New Years Eve/Birthday bash on Tuesday.

I’m finding it quite difficult to put words and especially thoughts together right now, as my brain cells seem to be experiencing a sort of coma.

So, for now, I shall kick back on the couch in hopes of magically regenerating a portion of my sizzled grey matter.

This fried brain coma state was most likely the result of random family members poking it with invisible dull pins and/or from the consumption of a katrillion calories. Probably both.

You may not have even known the katrillion concept existed. Consider yourself enlightened. Do not attempt to eat this much at home though, because you will undoubtedly become an amoeba sloth like me.

I’m seriously afraid to look in the mirror right now, because if Honey Boo Boo’s mom is looking back at me I will freak the fuck out.


Anyway, an amoeba sloth is what the hungry caterpillar REALLY turns into when she gorges on holiday comfort food that’s something like a katrillion (delicious) calories.

It went something like this…

She ate through two pans of lasagna, one holiday ham, three extra cheesy sausage rolls, four trays of Christmas cookies, one fudge roll and one bottle of Godiva chocolate vodka.


Nope. There’s no beautiful butterfly here. No way in hell is this body lifting off the ground. Blame deep fried gravity dipped in a spicy delicious chocolate sauce.

What you do see is an amoeba sloth, which is a slow, jiggly, and rather quiet creature that doesn’t do much of anything except eat, sleep and breathe.


This has been an Extreme Mom Bedtime Story exclusive.

Let the brain cell regenerating begin… NOW.

The End.

Happy 2014!!!!


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Things that make the Season JOYFUL- Part 2



Live sap-regurgitating pine trees that contain something like eleventy gazillion pine needles that will inevitably end up in your underwear… and other dark recesses.

Especially when said sap bleeding monstrosities are acquired during a blizzard… when it’s 10 degrees and blowing out.

Jack Frost definitely blows.


Hell NO, I didn’t cut one down like a pioneer woman. No way, Jose.

Leaving the house and driving to the farm stand in frigid conditions was already extra credit in my mom call-of-duty book.

It went something like this- “That one looks good.” And, a new Christmas-tree-picking-out-record of under 5 minutes was made.

My eeny meeny miney mo blind selection wasn’t half bad either. This year I won at Christmas tree roulette.

Here’s the sappy bitch in all her evil glory.

Technically, she’s not fully decorated but that’s all I’m going to do. If my elf staff would like the remaining dozen or so bulbs and tinsel hung they can do it themselves.

No kidding… we still use tinsel. What a shiny disaster that is. The only real perk is glittery dog and cat poop.



Yes, live trees are lovely and they smell amazing, but after 20 something years of pine needle enemas I’ve finally had enough. Who needs the extra work and aggravation during this joyful season of stress, exhaustion and pulling the last hair out of your head?

Count me out.

A couple of years ago, against my families wishes I bought an artificial tree, figuring it would grow on them.

Technically, I lost by a vote of 5 to 1, in favor of a REALmutherfuckingmessofatree.

I don’t concede easily, so I presented my fake tree as now-we’re-one-of-those-hip-families-w-two-trees kinda thing, hoping sooner or later they’d accept it and I’d be free from tree fuckery forever.


Notta yet anyway. I’m still waiting.


For the record, it’s not just the sap and needles that makes my hair stand straight up like Marge Simpson, it’s a combo of that and the ceremonial wrapping and unwrapping of the FuckYou lights, which are inevitably tangled, dead or both every. single. time.

I absolutely despise dancing the tango with lights. The end of that chapter almost always involves scissors, alcohol and singing the annual holiday overture called FuckThis and FuckThat.

So, for the next few months, I will be dissecting pine needles out of my unmentionables and chanting the FuckIt overture.

Having sex with a hostile sticky porcupine (which is actually a tree) is número 6 on the… Things that make the season JOYFUL list.



Things that make the Holidays Joyful #7

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FRIGID temperatures and an over abundance of the nasty white stuff.

Winter sucks Frosty’s snowballs.


Screw snow.

Also screw Jack Frost, the Abominable Snowman, the Winter Warlock, Snow Meiser, Yukon Cornelius and his pet Bumble, Mr. Softy, Queen Frostine from Candyland and the entire cast of Ice Age.

Don’t try this at home… or anywhere near MY home. Thanks!

In the news-

Fargo man arrested for using flamethrower to clear snow

Fargo, ND – Local resident Todd Fox has been detained for “reckless endangerment” and “illegal use of high-powered fire-breathing weaponry” for attacking snow with his flamethrower. Fox reportedly became so fed up with the week-long blowing snow epidemic in his area that he decided to KILL IT WITH FIRE.
The neighborhood was treated with quite a show last night as Fox unleashed an inferno upon the mountainous snow palace that was his front yard. Neighbors to his immediate right and left noticed a bright orange cloud and could hear what they thought was “puff the magic dragon spewing mayhem all over hell”, which prompted one of them to notify police.
Fox stated that he was simply “fed up with battling the elements” and that he did not possess the willpower necessary to move “four billion tons of white bull shit”.
Police say that Fox surrendered his efforts immediately upon their arrival and that his front yard “looked like a hydrogen bomb had gone off”. They think he was just happy to be done with snow removal, even if it did mean a trip to jail.

This is cool and I totally want one for REAL!!!

Snow melting dragon kicks ass

Snow sucks.

The End.
(For NOW)

This has been a preview.

To view the THINGS THAT MAKE THE SEASON JOYFUL post in it’s entirety, click here-


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For other holiday related fuckery click HERE-

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Christmas is in DECEMBER dammit


Where I come from we get something like three-ish months of summer, which equates to MAYBE a meager 30 days of warm sunny weather- picnics, watermelon, fireflies, swimming and sandy flip flops.
In short, we have ONE summer month and… the REST of the year.
Eleven months of the grey season, which includes but is not limited to rain, drizzle, snow, ice and every other possible form of precipitation currently known to man.
 So yes, when people (lets call them psycho-holiday enthusiasts) try to contaminate our sacred sunny month with Christmas pollution we tend to get a bit crabby.

Justifiably crabby.

I for one, happen to be a solar powered individual.
I get my energy from the sun and my reserves happen to be dangerously low these days.

The makers of Prozac can only do so much.

They’re like, “You’ve reached your limit lady… our hands are tied.”

“Go get some mood enhancing sunshine.”

And, so I do what I can. I soak in every single moment of summer.
The problem with winter-related holiday nonsense (no, I will not say the C word again) is that it’s like kryptonite for us who reside in the grey area.
The mere mention of the dark side during our sacred sunny sabbatical is enough to boot us out of our happy place clear into the fiery pits of hell, except in OUR hell, it’s snowing.

Resisting winter is a northern defense mechanism that’s been etched in our brains since the ice age.

To top it off, we broke records for cold AND snow in 2013.
I think we did. It felt like it anyway.
That’s my story and I’m sticking with it.
It sucked Frosty’s longest hardest icicle if you get my drift, then to top it off, we shattered all previously set rainfall records.
It felt like it anyway… the record breaking part.
 We did, however experience actual flooding.
Also, we made the big time meaning we were featured on The Weather Channel.

 It was definitely a How-many-Yeti’s-can-you-fit-on-Noah’s-ark? kinda year.


 Nobody really cares what the answer is.

The point is- when Yeti’s and Noah’s ark are mentioned in the same sentence you’re clearly fucked and there’s not a damned thing you can do.

Mother Nature is one moody bitch.

As a result, my people (those of us who reside in the grey area of CNY) have morphed into foul-weather warriors who’ve proven again and again that we can tough that shit out.
However, uninvited winter holiday hoopla in July tends to drive some of us right. over. the. edge.
For the publics safety we’ve established guidelines called…

The Northern Survivalist’s STRICT Winter Holiday Timeline.

Halloween– the fright fest officially begins Sept 30, although mums and pumpkins may be put out any time after Labor Day. (Note- generous leeway given, because I happen to be a mum fan)
Thanksgiving shall occupy the time period between Halloween and the C holiday.
The C holiday– not one bell shall jingle or hallway be decked prior to the conclusion of turkey day feasting.
This means the dishes are washed, dried and put away. Also, the turkey carcass is gone. I freaking hate the turkey-beast carcass with ever fiber of my being.
I would rather get a root canal than harvest meat from the leftover turkey any day of the week.
Make that two root canals and a pap smear.
(I threw that thing in there about the dishes, because I don’t care for the C holiday and I’m trying to keep it away as long as possible. Scrubbing a zillion dishes gives me a little breather)

Let’s call this- living in the goddamned moment.

Quit racing around like blind mice on meth preparing for the next three-ring circus that’s six months away.




If you must shop or bake cookies in July, that’s your business. Just keep that premature holiday pollution off my facebook.
Also, I’ll be happy to taste your cookies.
I’m generous like that.
I may be a holiday bitch, but I’m an excellent taster of cookies.
Unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do about greedy in-your-face retail peddlers who prematurely puke holiday what-nots throughout the land.
Winter holiday whatchamafuks will start polluting stores in August.
It’s the devils way.
Not only do I look the other way. (and say bad words) I also refuse to buy anything.
They’re not getting one premature cent from me until The Northern Survivalist’s Strict Winter Holiday Timeline says it’s time.
When I wander into Home Depot on August 15th in search of charcoal briquettes and get blindsided by a 12 foot blow-up of Frosty-the-freaking-unwelcome-snowman, I will breathe fire.
 This actually works out, because then I dutifully scoop Frosty up in a plastic cup and have something to chase my chocolate vodka with.

Hence, the only acceptable snowman in August is the one you drink.



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