Today’s list describes “The Funny Scale”, which is the scale I use to test out new posts right before or right after I publish them to my blog. This scale is based on the various, repeated reactions I get from my in-person readers, and is listed in descending order, from most valued response to least valued response.

Flying Spittle

Tears

Snorting

Laughing Out Loud

Laughing Silently With Shaking Shoulders

Breaking Into A Grin

Reading With An “I’m Waiting For The Funny” Expression On Their Face

1. On Christmas Eve as we were all sitting around the fireplace, in that nice, mellow, semi-hypnotic stupor that comes from knowing that there is nothing left to prepare for the next day, and that all of your loved ones are together in one place, my mother-in-law turned to my husband and said, “So, what do you think about cremation?”

2. Christmas Eve is also my husband’s birthday, so my family and his family got together for brunch to celebrate with him. As I was walking back to the table from the restroom I heard someone say, “Well, for that you really need your own bazooka.”

3. A new acquaintance explaining their entry into the world: “I wasn’t born. I was gifted down to people from the gods.”

We’re pretty excited here in blog land because this is our very first post that we’ve ever done from a remote location, and not sitting at home in our office. But despite my new feelings of technological mastery I clearly have some more work to do before I reach the levels at which my husband and father-in-law are currently residing.

Here is the conversation that my mother-in-law and I were having on the way home from dinner:

My MIL: See how they’ve decorated all the lamp posts in town with those white lights.
Me: That’s really pretty. Remember when they used to have those really big multi-colored lights? I really miss those.

Here is the conversation between my husband and my father-in-law

My husband: Tonight after the movie we need to get started on that black belt level Sudoku puzzle.
My FIL: What we really need is a copier so we have enough sheets to try out different possibilities.
My husband: We could generate a spread sheet in Excel to do that for us.
My FIL: I bet we could even create it so that it checked to make sure that all of our totals were correct.
My husband: What is the total?
My FIL: What’s 9 factorial? Is that it?
My husband: No, 9 factorial is huge.
My FIL: Oh, you’re right. What was I thinking?
(Snorts and chortling laughter as they realize their mathematical gaffe.)

Clearly, I cannot start drinking eggnog soon enough.

Well, it’s that time of year again. The time when families come together to celebrate the holidays and strengthen family ties by participating in cherished, long-standing family rituals. And if I were going to sum up the essence evoked by my own family’s holiday rituals in one word, that word would definitely have to be…”speed”. Here’s what I mean.

Take, for example, the cherished tradition of the Christmas tree. Sure, there are many people who go out immediately after Thanksgiving, comparison shop to find The Perfect Tree, lovingly position it in the best spot in the house, and then create beautiful holiday memories of decorating the tree filled with homemade foods, holiday music, warmth, and laughter. Not us.

We prefer the thrill of the hunt. When Christmas trees are readily available at every home improvement store, grocery store, drug store, and church parking lot, well then we’re just not interested. Where is the challenge in that? But you just try and find a viable tree on Christmas Eve afternoon; that’ll get your adrenaline pumping.

Then of course there’s the Christmas shopping, and I can think of no better example to illustrate this than that of my brother. Every year he rolls into town about two days before Christmas. Up until this point he has completed exactly 0% of his Christmas preparations. But is he worried? Absolutely not. Because we are speedy.

He just grabs my mom and any other random family members who happen to be milling around at that moment and off they go. His personal goal is to go to one store, purchase presents for the 9 family members with whom we celebrate Christmas, and complete all of his shopping and wrapping (thank goodness for charities who raise money by wrapping gifts for crazed shoppers like us) in less time than it took him the year before. And somehow he always does.

(I decided to go along on the shopping trip last year, and because this is my blog I feel that I can TOTALLY take credit for the fact that last year, he beat his record by 50%. It now stands at under 30 minutes.)

Finally it is time for us to decorate the tree that we have so lovingly chosen speedily salvaged from the Christmas tree lot guy as he was closing down his business for the year. And here’s where the real fun begins, because in our house there are no rules. This stems from my mom’s childhood experiences of having a parent who forced her and her siblings to hang the tinsel on the tree strand by tiny, slippery, individual strand. (Even writing that sentence makes my head hurt in the place where my migraines start.)

So now that she is a grownup and can have her own Christmas tree, she has declared that anything goes. Anyone can put anything they want on her tree. If you can find a way to get it onto an ornament hook, it’s going up on the tree. This results in a unique, eclectic decorating style that I like to refer to as “Visual Anarchy As Staged On A Christmas Tree”.

I remember one year in particular where, in addition to the ornaments, our tree featured construction paper garlands made by my brother in elementary school, red, gold, and white tinsel garlands, at least 2 packages of individual tinsel strands, one tree’s worth of multi-colored strands of lights that shone constantly, and one tree’s worth of blinking white strands of light hooked up to a variable-speed remote control. It was AWESOME! (Unless you are someone who prefers things like balance and visual harmony over absolute personal freedom. Then you probably wouldn’t like it very much. When I asked my engineer husband what he thought when he first experienced one of our Christmas trees he described it this way: “I felt the part of my head between my eyes and the rest of my brain shut down so I didn’t have to process what I was seeing.”)

So clearly our methods of celebration are not for everyone. But they work well for us. And so, on the eve (almost) of the 2005 holidays, I wish you a holiday that works well for you, or at the very least, a funny story to share afterwards.

Lately I have been thinking a lot about super powers.

It all started last weekend when I borrowed one of my technologically astute guy friends to help me purchase my husband’s Christmas present. My friend is an avid video gamer, and so as we were walking out of the store, I with my husband’s gift and he with a new stack of games for himself, we got to talking about super heroes.

My Friend: I should never be given the power of invincibility, because if I were invincible I would go around hurting everyone else just because I could.
Me: Hm, interesting.
Me (silently): OK, Universe, are you listening here?
Me: So, you’d really be more of a super villian than a super hero.
My Friend: Exactly.
Me: And then you’d need a super hero to come against you.
My Friend: But no one could, because I’d be invincible.
Me: Ah, but everyone has a weakness. There’s Superman and kryptonite…
My Friend (interrupting): Well, I guess you could bore me to death.

(I still haven’t figured out if he just meant people in general, or if he was talking to me specifically at that moment. So I haven’t decided yet whether or not I’m offended.)

So then I started to think about myself, and what super powers I could have. I would love to be able to fly, but that one’s probably a ways off yet. So then I started to make a list of everthing I could think of about myself that could possibly be considered as some kind of super power. Here’s what I’ve come up with so far:

1. My hair is absolutely irresistible to cats. Scarily enough this is actually true. But try as I might, I really couldn’t think of any kind of situation where this ability would actually come in handy.

2. Apparently I am able to contain amazing amounts of tension in the muscles of my neck and shoulders. All the medical health professionals I’ve seen for this problem are just stunned when they examine me. I’m like the antithesis of “Elastigirl” from “The Incredibles”. But, once again, I really can’t imagine that the public would have much need for the services of “Really, Really Tense Girl”.

3. When people meet me they are frequently compelled to create a new nickname for me on sight. Now, I think this one could actually be useful. What this says to me is that I apparently have the ability to shape-shift, and to adapt myself to each situation and person that present themselves in my experience. So I could be “Chameleon Girl”, or even better, “The Confounder”. I can see a lot of potential uses for this ability.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go and see about a costume. (But no capes.)

Today’s list details the hierarchy of pleasures that our cats experience as residents of our household.

1. Bugs That Fly.

2. Bugs That Crawl On The Ground.

3. Someone Opening The Drawer Where We Keep The Cat Treats

4. “Helping” Us Make The Bed.

5. “Helping” Us Cut Our Nails.

6. Lying On Freshly Laundered Clothes.

7. Harassing Me For Food.

8. Napping.
a. In The Sun
b. Next To An Air Vent
c. In The Spot They Just Stole From Another Cat

9. Pretending They’ve Never Seen Us Before So As To Have An Excuse To Freak Out.

10. Running Back And Forth Through The House At Night.

So the bug guy was here yesterday for the second time in a week. He’s getting to be quite the regular fixture around here. He actually told me last week that he enjoys coming to our house because there’s always something new to deal with. He said we were “well-rounded customers.”

Right now we are having issues with rodents. I’m sure that for many of you the first thing that popped into your mind upon reading that was, “What?! How can they possibly have any kind of rodent problem if they live with 3 cats?” Trust me. It’s not for any lack of desire on the cats’ parts. I know that as far as they’re concerned, they would like nothing more than to have as their goal in life the scouring of all rodents from the face of the earth. Well, at least two of them would. I’m pretty sure that the big cat’s goal in life is to become surgically grafted onto my husband’s body so as to be phycially attached to him at all times. (She has some issues.)

The reason we are having rodent issues now is that when I was growing up we had outdoor cats, and they were always bringing us “presents” and leaving them for us at the back door. And frankly, I’ve come face to face with just about all the random bird, squirrel, and chipmunk parts that I can handle for one lifetime. So that is why we have The Bug Guy. He comes to deal with all of those icky things for me, and I get to continue living in my illusion that the world is only filled with nice, soft, cuddly creatures.

The only hitch in this plan is the fact that The Bug Guy constantly feels compelled to Tell Me Things, including wa-a-ay more information than I would ever want to know about the creatures with which he is dealing. Yesterday he said that he really likes this job because I am always happy to see him. That is certainly true, but apparently that mutual happiness then leads him to want to share something with me, which is why I now know things like how many rodents tend to group together in one spot, or why they are constantly gnawing things, or the fact that apparently they’re playing out their own squeaky version of “Survivor” down in my basement and kicking out the weak members of the tribe.

Next time, just bring me chocolate.

Hi. I’m Pip, Jenny’s middle cat, and I have taken over her blog today because I think there are some things about Jenny that you all really need to know. I know everyone thinks she’s so funny and nice, but I guarantee that once I tell you about the trauma she put me through last week, you will never look at her the same way again!

Last Thursday started out just like every other day. After Tigger, Bailey and I had our breakfast of 7 cat food pellets apiece, we had all settled down to lick ourselves into our morning nap. Suddenly, I heard noises that made my blood run cold: Evil Cat Mama (or ECM, for short) had gone out into the garage and gotten out The Cages.

“Cheese it! The cops!” I yelled, in an attempt to warn the other cats of this impending doom. [Editor’s Note: Because they are, in fact, cats and not master criminals, their slinking away led them directly into me and the cat carriers.]

Despite our valiant attempts at self-defense, Bailey and I soon found ourselves cruelly caged and constrained. For some inexplicable reason, Tigger was not forced to undergo this inhumane treatment.

Tigger: Hi, guys. What are you doing? Why are you in those boxes? What’s going on? Can I play too?
Pip: Shut up, you, [BEEP] [BEEP] of [BEEP]! Don’t make me come over there and [BEEP]!

Try as I might, I could not formulate a successful escape plan, so we soon found ourselves in The Car. Even though I have been unsuccessful at preventing the ECM from placing me in this horrible machine, I have had limited success in modifying her behavior during our rides.

I have finally trained her not to drive any faster than 35 mph, or to play the radio when I am in The Car.

I have also trained her not to talk to me with her false expressions of sympathy.

ECM: I know, babies. I’m sorry. We’re almost there. It will all be over soon.
Pip: Shut up, [BEEP]! This is all your fault, you [BEEP] [BEEP]-ing [BEEP] [BEEP]!

I’m still perfecting the third part of my Vehicle Behavior Modification Plan. This involves experimenting with as many different pitches and tones of yowling as I can, to find the exact frequency that will both deafen her and shatter her nervous system.

Finally The Car stopped moving, and the ECM took us into a building. I was very excited about the possibility of being free from The Cage until I realized where we were: she had taken us to The Evil Vet!

ECM took us into an exam room where The Evil Vet and The Evil Vet Assistant were waiting for us. It all gets kind of hazy after that, but I do remember up to the point where they forced me out of The Cage and onto The Table.

The Evil Vet Assistant: Oh, what a pretty girl you are. Don’t you have a gorgeous coat?
Pip: Shut up, [BEEP]. Wait. Where are you going with that glove? NO-O-O-O…[BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP]!

Shocking, isn’t it? But it had to be done. Maybe now that the truth is out there, she will not be able to inflict her cruel behavior on any other innocent victims. We can only hope that one day, The Evil Cat Mama will finally be stopped for good.

For example, here is a list of things I’ve heard people (including myself) say that I think would make great titles for something.

1. When Busty Women Meet

2. I Am The Grit In Other People’s Oysters

3. He Walks As If He Still Had Testicles

4. Even In Death, Pumpkins Are Still Useful

5. Me And My Colorful-Ass Monkey Mind

6. Sometimes You Get To Throw Grenades

7. The Beaver Emergency

8. Blame The Wookies

9. How I Was Able To Use The Word “Autopsy” In An Everyday Conversation

10. You Can Never Have Too Many Krumkake Irons

My younger brother just recently got engaged (yay!), and as his older sister I am really feeling like I need to pass along to him the wisdom I’ve gained from being married for almost 10 years.

I could share with him that I’ve learned to ask myself this very important question during tense marital moments: “Do I want to be right, or do I want to be happy?”

I could emphasize that fact that it is a really bad idea to come up behind your spouse when they are engaged in performing a chore that you do not want to do, look over their shoulder, and then say, “Hm, that’s how you’re doing it?”

But I think the most important thing I could tell him is that, sure, pre-marital counseling may cover things like money, children, and in-laws, but what it doesn’t tell you is this: it really, really is the little, everyday things that have the potential to trip you up in a marriage.

For example, I remember that when we were moving into our first apartment it was VITALLY important to me that I get to arrange the silverware drawer in the order to which I was accustomed (fork, then knife, then spoon). My husband really could not have cared less about that, but he wisely took advantage of that moment to negotiate some household point for himself, which I can’t actually recall at this moment, but which I’m sure was EQUALLY as important as my silverware thing.

But no one ever talks about that kind of stuff.

Nor do they talk about what to do if, one day when he happens to be in a bad mood, your husband goes off on a rant about how nobody (translation: “you”) ever puts the new rolls of toilet paper on the actual toilet paper holder, but how everyone (again, meaning “you”) just leave them sitting there on top of it. So then for the next few years you obsessively RUN to “correctly” replace the toilet paper every time a roll runs out, until one day you notice that the person who was totally freaking out about this situation earlier is doing The Exact Same Thing that caused his freaking out to begin with, so you finally work up the courage to mention this little inconsistency to him, and he has no recollection whatsoever of that particular conversation and tells you that you need to not take things so seriously. And then you have to kill him.

Hm. On second thought, maybe I’ll just let them discover all these fun little marital treasures for themselves.