First Twitter, Now Me

So far I’m all about the massive FAILs this week.  I know everyone is loosing their minds over all this holiday bull shit, but I can ease your stress.  My holiday gift to all of you is to share my shortcomings so you can revel in my ineptitude and feel better about yourselves.  Let’s see if I can hit the highlights for you kids:

I burnt collard greens.  COLLARD GREENS.  I’m not talking about over cooking the greens or charring the bottom of the pan a bit.  I’m talking about smoke detectors, flames, and some quality time with an SOS pad.  Ina Garten I am not.

I decided I needed a hair cut.  It was probably because I woke up one morning looking like this.  (To be fair, it might not have just been the haircut that was the problem.  The night before I’d decided to take advantage of Happy Hour pricing and consume well vodka.  Look at me, I found yet another FAIL to add to the list.)  Because I’m such a cheap bitch (as illustrated by my drinking well vodka at Happy Hour) I decided to visit the economically minded Buzz Cuts of Hoboken.  (By the by, don’t you think they should have just called it Buzz Cutz?  Those random z’s are just all the rage.  Obviously they didn’t consult me and my marketing genius before making such decisions.  Amatuerz.)  So the good news is I didn’t give someone a shit ton of money to look ridiculous.  Bad news is…well…this.  Jennifer Aniston I am not (unless you count my bod – then we’re totally twins).

I started (sort of) on the homemade holiday gifts.  I actually dropped (then kicked, and then fell on) an entire bag of confectioners sugar.  Lucy thought that was just fantastic and proceeded to roll in the powdery goodness then jump onto the bed and burrow under the covers.  Awesome.  Yeah then I did it again with a bag of powdered milk.  I strongly considered suicide by spatula.  Paula Deen I am not, y’all (though I’ve been hit in the face with some pretty creepy meat products).

So then I busted out the sewing machine to work on another of my brilliant (read: ridiculously ambitious and probably pointless) gift ideas.  Apparently, sewing on a semi-annual basis has in no way improved my skillz (aw yeah, working the z).  I think bobbins are actually the tools of an alien life form conspiring to take over our planet.  I used three spools of thread before completing twelve inches of stitching.  Here’s a little lesson for ya, Interwebz: if you buy super strong thread, it’s all the harder to rip out those stitches when your work comes out looking like Frida Kahlo’s bikini line.  So yeah, that’s going super well for me.  Martha Stewart I am not (but don’t rule out some prison time in my future).

Now if you’re paying attention, my house is covered in white powdery substances (music industry flash backs) and nearly two spools worth of thread from ripping out stitching.  Enter the cat…a brutally stupid cat…that eats ANYTHING.  Despite my best efforts to keep her clear of the holiday carnage, she managed to ingest some of the tasty trappings spread about the apartment.

Now that she’s the alpha kitty of the household, she’s all about doing everything with a little more drama, a little more pomp, and a little more circumstance.  So having ingested whatever white powdery or thready (or both) substance that struck her fancy, she climbed on to the top of our armchair, leaving tiny white paw prints along the deep red wood and upholstery.  She lounged briefly, bathing on the back of the chair, loading another round of ammunition if you will.  Then she stood and with no pre-heaving or retching, vomited a large undulating log of tuna flavored funk.  The glob landed on the hard wood floor with a single nauseatingly moist THWACK.  I swear the sound reverberated for five solid minutes off the facade of the fridge and the brick walls.  Little satellite chunks splattered onto the carpet and fabric spread on the floor.  Siegfried and Roy I am not (should you give me an hour with a bedazzler and I’m pretty sure I could do a pretty good impression.)

…and with that, I will now go consume what’s left of the bowl of turkey soup that exploded in the microwave.  Sigh.