My family is weird. Just…odd. The immediate family, the extended family, on both sides and all branches of the family tree.  Last year, in honor of Jesus’s birth, we decided to amass the ugliest Christmas sweaters the world has ever seen. (Don’t ask. I don’t know either.) With no rhyme nor reason, we showed up in all of our finery:

2008 Entries

This year, we refined the rules into two categories. Embellished and Fugly Off the Rack. Because really, there’s homemade ugly and there’s why-in-the-name-of-all-that’s-holy-would-someone-manufacture-that? ugly. And this is where our categories separate.

Honestly, I don’t have all the photos in yet. (You know who you are!) But I’ll post what I have and add to the mix as they trail in.

———First up we have Fugly Off the Rack:—————-

Marvelous Marva (or “Mommy” to some of us) is modeling an untouched, Some-Kind-of-Blunderful frock that surely makes me want to weep. Shiny presents stick to her bosom and in case she ever wants to, oh, I don’t know…tie Santa up…?…she has ROPE stuck on there, too. Nicely played, Mumsay, nicely played.

MARVA: "Seasons Beatings! For the S&M crowd we have this black little number complete with festive restraints!"

 Next, we have yours truly modeling a hot little number SO ugly, even a crappy picture does it justice. I found this little beauty in a secondhand store and have the resale tag still attached to prove it. HOW, I ask you, could someone have let this little baby go?

KELLY: "As a Christmas gift, can you ever really go wrong with flowers and a big red bow? Yes, evidently you can."

And finally, we have the Doublemint Twins. Steve and Marci, aren’t they cute? These newlyweds arrived in equally icky sweaters celebrating the holiday season. BONUS points to Marci for wearing ugly Christmas socks to match! (My apologies for the lousy photographs. One of these years I’ll invest in a nicer camera. )

Are they cute, or are they cute?

In our next category, we have  sweaters for the artsy-craftsy folks who just can’t leave Ugly Enough alone. You have to admire their dedication and wonder just where these little gems will wind up when the season is over. Somewhere, there’s an old folks home about to get FANCY.

These three lovely ladies are a Mother-Daughter-Sister combination. I’d tell you exactly who’s related to who, but what fun would that be? And besides, I get so confused.

I’m loving the general state of fugliness those sweaters entail, but bonus bravo points for the head wear. Seriously.

(L to R) DIN, MARSHA, HILLARY: "Lady Gaga, eat your heart out!"

To the left we have Din, sporting a festive pink number complete with a snappy head scarf that would make RuPaul proud. (You GO, girl!)

In the center, Marsha models her pom-pom Nutcracker army. (I will not take the cheap shot, I will not take…) It comes with a wreath trim which is just hideous enough to showcase below:

MARSHA: "You KNOW you want one. Yes you do!"

HILLARY: "I FOUND Elmo squashed on the road. Honest!"

YOU! Go Home!

Exactly.

The Thinker

I’m trying to think of a good post. Really, I am!

The Culprit

The heifer.

Since I’ve been a 16 for quite some time now, I think not. I’d like to pretend Gloria is just being kind, but I secretly suspect the old gal’s on crack. It can happen to the bored elite, you know.

This isn’t the first time I’ve been lied to by a fashionista, either. Liz Claiborne lives in HappyLand, where everyone is  petite.

I’m not kidding.

And so, dear friends, this missive comes to you with a warning. Don’t. Trust. Retailers. Because really, where will it end? Abercrombie sweatshirts with tags that say “You’re so smart to pay double what this sweatshirt is actually worth! Buy, sheep, BUY!”  ?  Designer jeans with “Damn your butt looks good!” printed on the inside?  ‘Tis Madness. MADNESS!

Fisher the cat loves to cuddle around tree trunks. He rubs up against them, purring like crazy. As soon as the sap begins to run, our long haired feline becomes a matted MESS. Sometimes we can wash/comb it out, other times the poor boy gets shaved. Today was a clipper sort of day.

First off, Fisher doesn’t like the car. He yowled and growled all the way to the vet’s office. Next, they gave him shots. He was NOT amused.

And then out came the clippers, and he knew exactly what was coming. I wasn’t holding him down. I wasn’t about to shave him. I didn’t give him shots and I didn’t put sap in his fur in the FIRST place! Yet I was the one he hissed at. Repeatedly. Now there’s gratitude for ya.

 

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

Seriously, turn me loose in your lawn and I’ll mow that sucker right now.

The problem, which is really no problem whatsoever, is that my husband sees no discernible method to my mowing pattern. In his eyes, I’m randomly driving like a crazy person. For some odd reason, this irritates him.

I DO have a pattern. Yes I do! And it makes perfect sense. I mow in squares.

This is not an odd thing to do. It’s not like I mow in octagons or isosceles triangles. Yet somehow my husband does not ‘get’ my multi-sized, multi-directional squares that fit no grid known to man. If I start the process I have to finish because even though I could come back 3 days later and know precisely where I left off, my husband is hopelessly lost, wandering the the yard and murmuring obscenities under his breath.

Do you mow in a particular pattern? Are you one of those people who go the full length of their yards, leaving fancy long lines the neighbors all envy? Do you mow around all the trees, and then carefully finish the rest? Do you wander yonder, mowing over the ‘big stuff’ or just say “Screw It!” and let it grow?

Do tell. Especially if you mow in odd little squares.  ;0)

Begone, winged beasts! Oh pestilent poultry! Fowl land mine leavers most foul!  I command you to LEAVE THIS PLACE!  *Walks the yard holding a cross at arms length, swinging an incense orb in her other hand.

I. am. so. HAPPY!

For those just tuning in, I have a real thing about chickens. Their beady eyes, flappy wings and terrifyingly bold nature freak me OUT. Me noooo likey. I’ll spare the regular readers, but do a search for “evil chickens” in here and you’ll have reading material up the yazoo.

I was especially happy to see them leave after I spooked them by accident –with a plastic bag of all things– and one of them flew up in my face and hit me hard enough to bend my glasses. In. My. Face. In-my-FACE.

IN MY FACE!!!

*Waves goodbye while giddily breathing into a paper bag.

The absolute last, final word: Alektorophobics, you are NOT Alone!

Survival Mode!

I sprinted to the front door in my jammies calling, “DexterDexterDEXTER..!” in a blind panic, tripping on a toy, stubbing my toe on a door frame and mowing over the cat along the way.

But we MADE IT.  All manner of awfulness occurred outside. Can I get an Amen?

Why do sick dogs aim for the carpet?

Why do dogs chew up their toys and gag on small pieces?

Why do bloggers disappear into oblivion for a month and then announce their return with stories of Dog Yutz?

I cannot explain these things. But. I’ve gotten a TON of work finished in the past few weeks, so now I get to play on my blogs again. Yaaaayyyy!

Missed ya.

So much to do, so little time. Unfortunately the blogs need to take a breather while I get some things accomplished around here. Wish me luck! ;0]

What are you looking at, Punk?

‘Tis madness!

My first encounter with this version of Enter Sandman was as some guy’s ringtone. I honestly thought it was new because I’d never heard it before. (Pretty sure I would have remembered this little baby.)

How have I missed this little gem for so long? Has my head been firmly planted in the sand? Or elsewhere? I just can’t imagine how this one flew under my radar. Enjoy!

*Applauds Mr. Boone for sheer attitude.