Looks like I just stepped in a big, steaming pile of Christmas!

I know I've been notably absent from your action-packed lives as of late. I'm sorry I missed little Dottie's Christmas pageant, and I'm really sorry I forgot to pick your grandma up from her weekly poker game at the VFW (I sure hope someone finds her soon- how far could she have wandered in two days, really?).

I've been sick as a wino with whooping cough and a side of scabies, my dears. I'm achy, tired, and I'm pretty sure I just coughed up part of my spleen. Good times.

Since I'm just sitting here at home with kleenex stuffed up my nose and a warm mug of "special" tea, how's about I rummage through that big ol' box of photos and pull out some candy-coated christmas goodness for y'all?

A little "Whiskeymarie holiday retrospective bonanza starring Pheobe Cates as Whiskeymarie", if you will. Or, "Whiskeymaire's White Trash Hootenanny", if you won't:

Whiskey's first christmas, 1971. Poor little baby Whiskey looks confused. Perhaps she is overwhelmed by all of the sparkly things and packages, or perhaps she just pooped herself.

"That's right, fat guy. Keep those hands where I can see them. And give me a damn Barbie this year, will ya? And how about a Ken doll too, so I can play dirty Barbies again like my weird cousin from the South showed me. Thank you."

All I remember about this dog is that I tripped over him once and fell down the basement stairs.
You will note the awesomeness of the red/olive shag carpeting.

The year we got the BEST GAME EVER- Mouse Trap. This game had approximately 4,674 parts, and usually by the time you finally got it set up it was time for bed. Man, we LOVED that game.

My sister (the one with her tongue sticking out) may have just told me that Santa died in this picture. That would explain me screaming and running away. Well, that or she told me where babies come from. Either way, scary.

Christmas at the Farm with the Hee-Haw side of the family. The man in the Santa suit is Uncle Bucky, who you may remember from this post. I'd say that there is a 99% chance that Bucky is sweating cheap beer and brandy under that suit, judging from the sweat stains.

This is the year I was channeling both Dorthy Hamill and any random Charles Dickens character through my hair and wardrobe. I'm pretty sure this is also the year we got an Atari 2600 under the tree. Pong. Pong. Pong. We were the first people I knew that had an Atari.
Man, that was an awesome year.

Christmas morning in the early 80's. This is the year my Dad bought my Mom a Ronco Food Dehydrator in a sweeping fit of romance. That food dehydrator sat in the box in the attic for the next 8 years, unused. The following year I was recruited to do all of my Dad's shopping for him, including wrapping the gifts and acting surprised as to what was in them.

Look closely- I am this excited!!! to get a box of Love's Baby Soft Perfume. To this day, the smell of that stuff makes me barf in my mouth a little.

Pretty typical christmas eve with the menfolk at our house. Beers, salty snacks and a lively discussion about snowblowers, fishing lures and lumber.

Finally for today, Whiskeymarie on her way to the Snowball Dance at school. This is the one where the girls ask the boys to go. I asked a boy that I had liked (from Proctor- some of you know where this is), and he pretty much spent the night sulking and staring at one of my girlfriends. And- Yes, I still made out with him. Duh.

Between the gift wrapping, coughing up body parts and decking of the halls I don't know if I'll be back before Friday, my dears. I promise to say something socially awkward at an inappropriate moment at a family gathering if you will. Promise?

And, as a side note for Zibbs and Gwen- I believe I was supposed to post a crappy gift for a sick person here, but I'm pretty sure that as I am dealing with SARS or Avian Flu or the Whooping cough that I am the very person who should be at the receiving end of such crappiness. And don't give me that crap about needing to be "terminally ill" or something. Sheesh.

Have a happy Holiday, my beer-swilling, santa suit-wearing, sweaty sugar cookies. Happy Holidays.

XO
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