It's Not a Good Thing

I know that when you all come to this blog, you expect hijinks. I freely admit that when things happen to me, they most often involve hijinks, and I choose the venue of this site to share the hijinks bounty with all. I'm like Oprah on her "Favorite Things" show, except instead of Burberry coats and Teslar watches, I dole out the zany kooky happenings. And I imagine all of you out there, reading the ridiculousness that is my life, jumping up and down and crying your mascara off like those crazy Oprah followers. "AHHHH! She's telling us about her Celine Dion nightmares! WOO-HOOO!" Oh yes. I'm a giver, people.

So, although it is a time for the giving of the thank yous, and I have been trolling the blogscape just reveling in all of the warm and gushy gratefulness out there, and believe me, I have been feeling the thanky feelings myself, let me just tell you about a hijink that happened this weekend. It is of a rather grumpy nature and so please excuse the non-holiday feelings that I am expressing here and be rest assured that I was sufficiently thankful for the hours of this weekend that did not involve this particular story. And after writing this out, I promise to reconvene with being merry.

I had spent the morning trying to think of something crafty to make as gifts for my co-workers for the holidays. And, to this end, I decided I was in need of some help from Martha Stewart. Now, I am arty. I am crafty. But sometimes Martha is just too friggin' over the top for me. Have you ever tried to make a recipe from Martha? That lady is on a mission to fuck with our MINDS, people. I made this raspberry loaf from one of her recipes, and it was like some kind of brain experiment where Martha just wanted to see how fast she could make this here monkey dance. And Nordic Boy and I went right ahead and put
our tap shoes on like the chimps we are. Martha had us mixing up two dry mixtures and four wet mixtures. Then she had us combining said mixtures in the following fashion: "take one third of dry mixture #1 and sift it into a large bowl. Then take wet mixture #1 and drizzle it gradually into large bowl, mixing just until peaks form. Then take one-half of wet mixture #2 and fold it into two-thirds of wet mixture #1. Peaks should now melt into rolling waves. Then take three grains of sugar and place them gently in your right nostril, after which you will farmer blow them back into wet mixture #3. The resulting chemical reaction will have the potential to blow up the world, but only if you have a two-inch ramekin under your pillow tonight." I'm not even kidding you. Martha is trying to fuck us UP, people!

Regardless of this, I was having such a dearth of crafting ideas that I needed Martha's help. Martha Stewart Living is too complicated for me, but Martha Stewart Kids, now THAT I can do. Yes, in Martha's world I am the equivalent of a four-year-old. What of it?

Now, on Thanksgiving, Neighbor J had told me that Martha had discontinued Martha Stewart Kids. Not enough simple-minded fools out there like me who want recipes where you just mix some shit up in the same goddamn bowl. But then I talked to someone at work who insisted to me that Martha had not forgotten the children who, after all, are our future. Martha Stewart Kids was still alive!

This is the inevitable part of the story where I am shown to be a World Class Dumb Ass. I went to the mall to get to the bookstore to find Martha Stewart Kids. The MALL. During Thanksgiving weekend. Yes, that is what I did. And holy TomKat, I almost gave my life for Martha! Because that mall? It was nuts. This may not be news to you all out there who frequent malls on Thanksgiving weekend, but to me, it was harsh. The carnage! The brutality! Finding parking alone was enough to make me wish I had brought along some nunchucks or a throwing star or two. There are some angry, angry people out there, did you know this?

I fought my way into the Barnes and Noble and started the quest for Martha. Martha, please. Tell me how to roast some peanuts and wrap them with a pretty bow and be the talk of the library. Tell me how to make peppermint bark and personalize the canisters they come in. I need you Martha. Please baby baby please.

I went over to the magazine area and had a looksee. In the process, a little boy to the right of me was hopping up and down doing a sort of dance and making a suspicious gesture where he was kind of pinching his pee pee through his pants. Oh god, it's way too crowded in here for pee spray to start flying. And I couldn't find Martha. I waited in line for an employee to show me where to go and I overheard a dude on his cell phone say the words "double condom it." What is going on in here? This is not the holiday spirit that is touted on the Cool Whip commercials. Where is the fa-la-la-la-LA, French VanilLA atmosphere? And where is Martha?

I got to the front of the line, and the disheveled Barnes and Noble employee confirmed for me that Martha Stewart Kids is indeed defunct. Gone. Never to return. Speaking of never returning, um, me and the mall? We officially broke up.

Kiss the rings, I'm out.
Librarian Girl