Shannon and Christmas...

My wife is a Christmas freak. She gets it from her dad I think. Maybe it’s genetic. Woman get the love of Christmas from their father’ side of the family. Men get male pattern baldness from their mother’s side. I swear when I go to the store in August and see Christmas stuff out it is because my wife and her father have threatened the manager. In our house we watched Elf on the 4th of July.

My wife’s family loves Christmas carols. Growing up I really thought Christmas Carolers were a myth. You know like Bigfoot, the Loch Ness Monster, or Brit and K-Fed’s happy marriage. People always talk about them, no one can ever prove them though. But I now know carolers do exist. My wife and her family do this every year – always have I guess. Imagine them bundled up like Han Solo on the planet Hoth, singing their little hearts out for their neighbors – in Hawaii!

I’m not much into Christmas carols. To me most make NO sense what-so-ever. I mean think about it, really think about it. The Twelve Days of Christmas – what kinda song is that. First off if you do know the words, you have way too much time on your hands. But that’s a good thing ‘cause it takes at least an hours to sing it, and if you don’t know the words – well, there’s no hope for ya. Did you realize that your “true love” gives you something like 184 birds for Christmas. I mean what am I gonna do with twelve partridges in their pear trees. Hunny, honestly, buy me a Nintendo Wii. Heck, buy me twelve of them and we can sell them on Ebay. We are gonna need the money to feed all those dang birds! Three French hens… I thought after 9/11 we decided to call them “freedom” hens. Four calling birds. Who are they calling? Is it off-peak hours? FIVE golden rings… you are seriously pressuring me here. Is your biological clock ticking? Eight maids a milking – is there something I miss understood about birds? Nine ladies dancing......................sorry I was visualizing that one. Whoops, is my face red! Ten lords a leaping. Why do you think I would want that? I guess we could rent an RV and take them and the dancing ladies to the Cheerleader Nationals in Florida - maybe make a workout video or something. Eleven piper piping. Once again, give me something like eleven plumbers plumbing. We need to pay for the birds! And last but not least – twelve drummers drumming. Yeah that should help with my insomnia...

Honestly though thanks to everyone for their love and friendship this year. I really do appreciate you all and all you do. I hope your holiday is full of the happiness. Merry Christmas and have a joyous new year!

Holiday shopping....

I love the illusion people have of shopping during the holiday season. People are always like “I can’t ever remember the mall being this crowded”. Duh – last year! The day before Christmas and last Cabbage Patch doll will turn any blue-haired grandmother into Tonya Harding. Man that cane can really bust up your knee cap…

Many people now shop on-line. “Oh it’s so convenient – I don’t have to do my hair, take a shower, and I can shop in my hole ridden pajamas and dirty house slippers”. Have you been to Wal-Mart lately?

I’m “keepin’ it real”. I still shop in the store. I like seeing what I am buying. I like building that “relationship” with my purchase while I stand at the check-out for several hours. I get emotional when I see the cashier handle it so nonchalantly. They act like they do this all day long . I’m special – treat me and my purchase that way!

Hey, it's almost Christmas!

Just to forewarn everyone I will not refer to it as the Holiday Season, Holiday songs, the Holiday tree, or Holiday cookies…mmm, I want a cookie. After all it is CHRISTMAS!

Remember Christmas when you were a kid and couldn’t wait to open your presents. That Christmas tree always taunted me. “Look at me, look at me. I got presents you got NOTHIN'!” If my parents would have ponied up the dough for a real tree I would have infested it with bark beetles. It was such a bully! I would beg, cry, scream, hold my breath until I passed out in hopes my parents will would cave. Once when I was nine I think I even suffered a mild aneurism. Well, I am still like that. I have been bugging my wife for weeks. She says “Oh hunny, but what will you open Christmas morning?” Hello, we are employed adults! We can go buy more!

Christmas was always big in our house, but not for reasons you would think. Our house received a total transformation every year. Several hundred man hours went into the decorating of our home – which would have been fine if we started in August. No my family is what some might call "procrastinators". I always thought it was a law of physics or something that Christmas lights could not be hung on your house until the mercury dropped to ten below zero. And as far as inside… our house seemed like it was literally gutted of all “everyday” interior and was replaced by “Christmas” interior. My mom had boxes and boxes of this stuff. We went through more boxes during Christmas than FedEx, UPS, and the Postal Service ever dreamed of. I swear one year Macy’s sued us because my mom had a monopoly on Christmas decoration and they were afraid they would have to cancel their parade.

I have SO many “favorite” presents from childhood. One Christmas I got super hero action figures – they were the size of Barbie. There was Spider- man, Batman, Robin, Incredible Hulk, Aqua-man, and Superman. They came with an RV called a mobile crime lab, and Spider-man’s car. I have no idea whatever happened to them. I recently saw some like them sell on an online auction site. Let’s just put it this way – if I still had them I could buy Wyoming. Montana, and the Dakotas.

I also got enough Star Wars toys growing up I am pretty sure my parents secured Mark Hamill, Harrison Ford, and Carrie Fisher’s great grandkids future.

I remember one Christmas though that our family was very financially blessed. My parents had money to buy us what seemed to be hundreds of presents (the tree was REALLY mean that year). In order to distract from my pleading my mom prayed and received revelation. She would “randomly number” ALL the presents, and keep a secret list of what number went to whom. This way I would not know which ones were mine, hence no begging. I wish she would have sought the same revelation when Christmas morning showed up and she had lost her list! Hard tellin’ what my sister, Jasi, or myself would be opening that morning… man boys are mean to you when you’re wearing Rainbow-Brite panties. Oh yeah, and Jasi I want my G. I. Joe back!

A salute to beards...

Coarse, wiry, abrasive facial hair!

Face it guys it is one thing that separates us from most of the woman on this rock. That and the ability to pee outdoors with out propping ourselves up against something.

Well about once a year I a get a little lazy. I miss one day of shaving / maintaining my goatee. Then the second day goes by. By the third day I am auditioning for "the New Adventures of Grizzly Adams" TV series.

I don't mind beards. Some of the most influential men in history have sported the beard. Abe Lincoln, John Lennon, Jim Morrison, the Amish, Papa Smurf, and Uncle Jesse.

So come on guys - grow that beard and honor those before us!

A more P.C. Santa?!?

So I heard on the news that certain people are calling for a more politically correct Santa.

It seems that people in Australia think Santa's trademark "Ho-Ho-Ho" may be offensive to some women. He is now being asked to say "Ha-Ha-Ha".

Give me a break!

Also here in the U.S. people are concerned about the "image" Santa portrays. They are concerned what his lack of physical activity, cookie and milk diet, and large belly maybe saying to our youth.

Are you kidding me?!? Let's look into this... Santa travels something like 111 million miles in one night. He is up and down 223 million chimneys - how's that for lack of physical activity. No wonder the guy takes 364 days of PTO each year. And as far as the diet - I think he needs all the sugar he can get to accomplish his task. I think I would rather have a Santa hopped up on sugar instead of some crackhead elf comin' down my chimney. Or is that why he is always wiping his nose, hmmm.

I can live with the above mentioned I just can't believe no one has raised a concern about his "personal" habits. First off what's with all the alias'? Saint Nicholas, Father Christmas, Santa Claus, Pere Noel, Babbo Natale, Hagios Nikolaos...

He spends alot of time with hundreds of elves, which by the way look exactly like little kids. Honest - I saw the movie. He keeps a list of kids AND checks it twice. He hangs out in malls -invites little kids to sit on his lap by luring them with candy. And if that doesn't freak you out he sees you when your sleeping and knows when you're awake... think about it.

And did you know his wife, Mrs. Claus, was not even "created" until 1889? Sounds like a cover...

He's like an old, white Michael Jackson. Michael had Bubbles - Santa had Rudolph. Both never really age, and both live in this place children dream of.

I mean weren't these the same things the state of CA had on M.J.? Maybe they should check into the home life of one Kris Kringle...

Ahhh, crap. He knows when I've been bad...

Sorry Santa.

‘T was the night before a car guy Christmas

So last year I wrote this mildly off the wall Christmas letter. I guess it was somewhat enjoyed by those that received it. I have not decided if I will do it this year yet or not, but I did write this little spoof of a Christmas classic...

‘T was the night before a car guy Christmas

‘T was the night before a car guy Christmas,
when all around the house

Not an engine was revving,
not even my small block Chevy - a.k.a. “the mouse”.

The wrenches were hung
on the peg board with care,

In hope that St. Nicholas
soon would be there.

The children were nestled
All snug in their beds,

While visions of Weber side draft carburetors
danced in their heads.

My wife in her Victoria’s Secret,
and I in a So Cal Speed Shop cap,

Had just settled our brains
for a long winter’s nap,

When out by the garage
there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my bed
to see what was the matter.

Down to the driveway
I flew like a flash,

Threw open the door
to check on my car stash.

The moon on the breast
of the new fallen snow

Gave a luster of midday
to all my hot rods below.

When what to my wondering eyes
should appear

But a candy apple red sleigh
and eight high octane reindeer.

With a little old hot rodder,
so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment
it must be St. Nick!

More rapid than Nascars
his coursers they came,

And he whistled and shouted
and called them by name:

“Now, Duece! Now, DeSoto!
Now, Plymouth and Bel Air!

On, Comet! On, Fairlane!
On, Corvette and Corvair!

Like a top fuel dragster
Stay out of the wall!

Now peel out! Burn out!
Lay rubber and all!”

As belly tankers
on dry lake beds do fly,

They meet with an obstacle,
and launched toward the sky,

So up to the rooftop
The coursers they flew,

With that sleigh full of power tools –
Oh yeah and St. Nicholas, too.

And then, in a twinkling,
I heard on my roof

The prancing and pawing
of each reindeer hoof.

As I gathered my head
and was turning around,

Down my old chimney St. Nicholas
came with a bound.

He was dressed in Levis and Dickies
From his head to his feets,

His clothes were all soiled
with oil and grease.

A bundle of vintage speed parts
he had flung on his back,

Like a Pomona Swap Meet vendor
just opening his pack.

His eyes, how they twinkled!
His dimples, so merry!

He had a tattoo of a heart,
in it the name Cherry!

And the beard on his chin was
like one worn by Bo,

It was long, wavy, curly
the color of snow.

A cigar like Bill Hines
he held tight in his mouth,

smoke encircled his head,
like a big ol’ burnout.

He had a old face
and a little beer belly

It shook, when he laughed,
like a bowl full of jelly.


He was one of a kind,
the true O.G. hot rod elf,

I should give him a thumbs up,
I thought to myself.

I knew at that moment
I had nothing to dread

St Nick was a hip cat
he probably drove a flathead.

He ported and polished,
just kept to his engine work,

not until he had balanced and blueprinted,
did he turn with a jerk,

And laying a finger
alongside his nose,

While giving a nod
up my chimney he rose.

He sprang to his sleigh,
to his team gave a whistle,

And away they flew
like a new fangled missile.

But I heard him exclaim,
As he raced out of sight,

“Merry Christmas to all,
and to all a hot rod built right!”

Semi-formal?!?

I recently found out my wife’s Christmas party for her work was going to be semi-formal. I vaguely remember this term used with school dances, but never a party. I am not a big fan of social gatherings. For me to go to this is a real stretch of my comfort zone, and then to have “semi-formal” thrown into the mix…

Now two of my wife’s greatest passions in life are parties and Christmas. Needless to say she is beside herself in anticipation of her work Christmas party. I, myself, well I am not so enthused. I don’t know these people and she sees them everyday. What is the big deal? I don’t care to meet Muff and Biffs’ children. I could care less how Carl in I.T. is having an affair with Shelia from Accounting. And I really don’t want to see Rick from A.R. get drunk again and hit on anything with a pulse. But I love my wife and I will support her.

With that being said our conversation went down like this:

“Hunny, don’t forget my work party next week.”

“Yeah, yeah… I know…”

“Oh, and it is semi-formal.”

“Huh?”

“Semi-formal.”

“You mean like wear a belt and tuck my t-shirt in…semi-formal.”

With that my wife walks into our closet and a few seconds later returns to the room.

“I think you should wear this” she says while holding a shirt and a tie.

What, where did that come from? I have those in there? I thought.

I then peered into the closet. Maybe there is a secret porthole to the mall or something in there I never knew about.

“Holy crap mom – I don’t have class pictures today…” I replied sarcastically.

“You would look so handsome.”

Visions of my wife spitting on a Kleenex and washing my face in front of all her work friends just raced through my head.

“Where did that come from?” I asked

“I bought it at the mall while I was buying my dress” she replied

“How much did all that cost?!?”

“How much did your new hot rod cost…?”

Needless to say - will I go to the party – yes. Will I wear the outfit – yes. Will I like it – I plead the 5th.

Car chicks are hot...

You know there is just something about a woman in a T-shirt and jeans, wrench in hand, working on a car. I will take a little grease and gasoline over Chanel #5 and Mary Kay anyday.

One of my wife and mine's first dates was to a car show. She has allowed me to buy "project" cars, and even store those special car parts in the house. She supports my obsession...

These things and the fact that she has never referred to a car as "cute" have always impressed me.

Well, until the other day I never realized that I truly lucked out. A couple of nights ago my wife was in the garage assembling the bed on a '54 Ford F-100!

She still won't admit it, but deep down she is a car chick!