I haven’t forgotten you my lovelies. I’m here, but today I’m here because Sonia is vacationing someplace spectacular. Oh, wait, you don’t know Sonia Sunshine? Seriously? (I know! Nice use of alliteration. Pretty awesome, don’t you think?)

Go see my story about my silly Aunt Mickey. And a Christmas tree. (Don’t pretend you’re surprised that I’m not the only one in my family that has, um, issues with trees in the house!) Check out the rest of Sonia’s guest posters and her site in general, because she’s wicked funny.

Wait! First, before you go, don’t forget that we’ve got the whole Hotlight thing coming up. I know you all have some coffee- (or tea- or your beverage of choice) snorting sites that you’re keeping from me. Send them my way - I’ll be working on reviewing them and coming up with some commentary (while wearing a bib and keeping some extra snot-rags around for cleanup) this weekend.

—- In the meantime, I’m beating Mr. Hot and Shortman in our March Madness brackets. I am a basketball goddess. —-

…and there I sat, ready to hit publish when [plop] - all the lights went out.  No lights, no internet.   Also?  No wind.  No snow.  No rain.  WTF?  Whose idea of a joke is this?

Have I mentioned that when our lights go out, we have no water either?  Because the well pump runs on electricity.  And the heat?  also electric.  All appliances?  you got it.

We got out the candles, lit everything up, and gathered blankets.  We called the power company, and were told (by an electronic voice) that they were so busy, they would need to call us back.  The Voice recited the phone number, and asked for an alternate phone number.  I gave her/him my cell.

Then, after staring at each other for about 3 minutes, Mr. Hot, Shortman and I decided to give up and head up to bed.  I slept with both phones on the table next to the bed.  No phone calls.

My toes were freakin’ cold in the morning.  Even with socks on and between flannel sheets and two blankets.  When I got downstairs, Mr. Hot said “Eleven o’clock.”  It was 7:30.   Eleven o’clock came.  And went.  Another phone call to DTE.  “Between now and 2 o’clock.” 

Shortman woke up about 11:30.  Mr. Hot yelled up at him,“Get dressed, we’re going someplace.”  And so we did.  Brunch (ahhhhh, coffee, finally!).  Met a neighbor eating in the same diner (She had been told 4 o’clock.  Sigh.).  Then to see “I Am Legend” with Will Smith.  Once again, I walked how of a theatre with swollen eyes.  Why does the dog have to die?  

We got home about 2:30 and lo - there was light.  And heat.  And it was good.

And yet?  No internet.  No cable television.   More phone calls - this time to Comcant.  (No, that was soooo not a typo.)   Yes, the outage was reported.  No, they didn’t know how long it would take to get it back on.

Five hours later, I called them back.  “About an hour or so.  They’re working in your neighborhood even as we speak.”  My neighborhood?  Have I mentioned we live in nowhere-land?  I didn’t know I had a neighborhood.

Once again, I called it a night and went up to bed, with my book.

Finally, this morning, we’re back up and running.  Everything electric.  Everything cable-y.  And we’re leaving in about an hour to head up to our local dump-turned-ski-hill so that Shortman can snowboard and Mr. Hot and I can curl up in chairs in the lounge and drink coffee and read.

I just wanted to check in and tell y’all that I miss you and will be getting to your sweet emails soon - later this evening when we get back.   I did pull a bunch of old pictures to get scanned in for your amusement (I swear, even Shortman said “Mom, what’s with the glasses that cover your whole face?”).  Oh, and Santa brought me this.  I love it.  It’s much easier to use than I ever dreamed.

—- Okay, now I must go get dressed.  We’re on a tight timeline.  Out of here by 10:30, back by 5.  There must be a football game on.  Later babes! —-

May this season and the New Year bring health, happiness and prosperity to all of you. Peace on earth, goodwill towards men.

Ree

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1JYrOMK1aDA&rel=1]

Hark how the bells,
sweet silver bells,
all seem to say,
throw cares away

Christmas is here,
bringing good cheer,
to young and old,
meek and the bold,

Oh how they pound,
raising the sound,
o’er hill and dale,
telling their tale,

Gaily they ring
while people sing
songs of good cheer,
Christmas is here,

Merry, merry, merry, merry Christmas,
Merry, merry, merry, merry Christmas,
On on they send ,
on without end,
their joyful tone to every home
Dong Ding dong ding, dong Bong

And Shortman as a 10-year-old. 2001.

—- It melts my Hotfessional heart to remember my boy so young. Dear Santa, I’d like a time machine. For one day. —-

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9E5WqegfuyE&rel=1]

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Ev’rywhere you go;
Take a look in the five and ten glistening once again
With candy canes and silver lanes aglow.
It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Toys in ev’ry store
But the prettiest sight to see is the holly that will be
On your own front door.A pair of hopalong boots and a pistol that shoots
Is the wish of Barney and Ben;
Dolls that will talk and will go for a walk
Is the hope of Janice and Jen;
And Mom and Dad can hardly wait for school to start again.
It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Ev’rywhere you go;
There’s a tree in the Grand Hotel, one in the park as well,
The sturdy kind that doesn’t mind the snow.
It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas;
Soon the bells will start,
And the thing that will make them ring is the carol that you sing
Right within your heart.

Another shot from the past. Shortman, 2002.

—- He was 11. And still letting me cut his hair. —-

Hello? Hello???? Oh Mah Holy Hell y’all. There’s 4 people here today. It’s so freakin’ quiet. I can actually hear myself think. You may think this is a good thing. Not so much. Because my thoughts? They don’t stay focused or coherent when there’s not “Fuck!!!!” or “Shit! What do I do now?” or “Danger, Will Robinson, danger!” being screamed outside my office. So, unfortunately lucky for you, you get randomocity.

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First, though, go read Bossy today. I love Bossy. I love her dog. I love her kids and her humor and her sarcasm. I love her hair that hasn’t been cut for 283 days. I’ll wait here until you get back. (Well, I hope you come back, because if you get lost in Bossy’s archives, I can’t help you. You will drown in the humor.)

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Thank you all so much for the comments on yesterday’s question. I loved reading them - and I agree with Ali - obviously we are all way too intelligent to fall for the latest piece of “must have” bling. Jewelry is a lovely gift, if it’s personal and given with love. I’m personally hoping for a spa certificate and a Farouk flat iron. Breakfast in bed is always welcome, too.

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Here’s a picture that shows some of the snow in my perennial bed:

It’s supposed to be 45 and rainy tomorrow. Maybe the worst of our winter is over? Snirk. Right. And there’s going to be two tickets to Tahiti in my stocking so Mr. Hot and I can go lay on the beach and drink rum and get away from teenage boy stank.

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Speaking of teenage boy - Shortman is competing in the Business Professional’s Association regional tournament on January 4th. To add insult (getting up for a 6:45 am bus trip to a freakin’ school? on the last day of Christmas vacation?) to injury (being at said school until 6:45 that night?) he has to wear a suit. And a tie. And non-athletic type shoes.

The last time Shortman wore a suit? Was. Never. He’s never been in a wedding. (Last wedding attended? Mr. Hot’s brother’s. Shortman was 2.) The last time he was at a funeral he was 4 (Thank Gawd, but y’know….no suit). He wears khaki or gray cargo pants every day once it hits 40 degrees (shorts if it’s 41 or higher). He hates jeans. (With a blinding hatred for denim touching his skin.) Silly me, I thought this would not be an issue since I didn’t have a daughter.

There will be much wailing and gnashing of teeth in Kohl’s the day after Christmas. (Do not ask which one will be doing the wailing, which the gnashing. It’s likely to be both of us). There will also be pictures to document that Shortman’s first time in a suit is NOT at his own wedding.

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Tonight is grocery shopping night. Tonight is the night I buy my staff presents. I wrap them up and on Monday I’ll deposit them on desks to wait for the recipient’s return. Why do I wait until the last minute to do this? Why don’t I give them out before people leave for the week? Because if I do, they undoubtedly feel like they have to reciprocate. And people don’t know what to buy the boss. And I don’t want to put them under that pressure. (Surely, just working for the bright and shiny-star that I am is pressure enough you say? Why yes it is!)

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And I am seriously out of topics for today. So I leave you with a picture of my youngster when he was 9. And believed in haircuts.

—- Yes, he did decide to grow out his hair to cover his ears. Snort. Christmas 2000. —-

Last night, while I was sitting curled up on my corner of the couch reading blogs, and Mr. Hot was jumping around the living room screaming at officials calling phantom fouls during the Pistons game, we got into a discussion about the overabundance of jewelry ads on television during this time of the year.  (I use the term discussion lightly.)

Y’know the ones. The “Every Kiss Begins with Kay” and “He Went to Jared” and “You Can Have an Affair With My Best Friend As Long as You Come Home With A Bag from Zales” commercials.

He believes they’re demeaning to women. That they would lead someone to believe that a diamond can make a woman forget every wrong ever done to her (yes, I’m talking to you Kobe Bryant).

“Aren’t women insulted by these commercials? What is it about receiving the exact same piece of jewelry that is being advertised all over the country that is so special?”

I’ve personally never been insulted by them. I am, if anything, apathetic towards the entire diamond thing. Practice Husband used to buy me a bracelet every year. By the end of 9 Christmases, I felt like I was being shackled. I love funky (and inexpensive) earrings. I tend to pull at necklaces - a habit, which has on more than one occasion - had me crawling around under my desk picking up beads. (And once, while wearing a skirt, in a conference room with 12 men.)

My most prized jewelry possessions are my wedding rings (Mom’s originals and my Gramma’s wedding band), the garnet from when I went to India, and my pearl/moonstone/amethyst ring from Amsterdam (both one of kind and picked out and bought by me to commemorate these trips).

As for the advertisements that pop up regularly from October September through January (during televised sporting events like, ehem, Pistons games?)? I figure they’re either to

1. make men feel guilty enough to go out and spend hundreds of dollars on shiny carbon rocks to prove “you’d marry her all over again” when they treat their wives like crap the rest of the year or
2. give the completely unimaginative man something to shop for or
3. damn. I can’t even come up with three reasons.

I want to make it clear that if you are a recipient of the Journey Diamond Pendant or a 3-diamond ring (past, present and future!), I’m not necessarily implying that you should hire a private detective to tail your husband -or- that he has the creativity of a styrofoam coffeecup. Well, maybe I am implying it, but I don’t really mean to - I just don’t get it. And neither does Mr. Hot.

So, help us figure it out.

What do you think of the ads? Because it’s really the advertising that is being held up to the criticism here. You may love all of the jewelry that is advertised, and it may make you swoon and give ….. cookies! ….. when you see that little box under the tree, and that’s okay. Really. I know a lot of wonderful people (Mom) who fit that description. But the advertising. What’s your take on it?

—- Let me know in the comments. That way, when we’re watching the Pittsburgh/St. Louis game tonight, and see the guy painting his wife/girlfriend’s toenails for the eleventy-kazillionth time, we’ll have your brilliant insights to read. Which has to be better than “Helping Regular Guys since 1915” —-