Archive for November, 2005 Page 2 of 3



All I want for Christmas.

At work, I’ve been volunteering with our Secret Santa program. I sit at a table during my lunch hour, and take down employees’ names who want to sponsor a local child by buying them a gift or two for the holidays. For many of these disadvantaged children, it’s the only gift they’ll get. I know this because in past years, I have attended the holiday party during which I noticed some were not opening their gifts. I asked the program coordinator about it, and she told me they often choose to save their one gift for Christmas morning. Now that gives you something to think about.

I volunteered for Secret Santa thinking this experience would feed my soul and raise my awareness. It most definitely has. But it has also shown me a few other things:

1. The most giving people are those who can least afford to do so. People earning under $25K are dropping $50-$100 in the Secret Santa program while I’ve seen executive after executive walk on by without so much as giving us a second look. Maybe they donate in other ways. I’m just not seeing it.

2. Brownies seem to bring out the worst in people. I can’t tell you the number of people who have walked right past the sign-up sheet and gone straight for the treats table, where we serve complimentary cookies and bars to Secret Santa participants. Un-friggin-real.

3. Just when I thought my childhood sucked, reality comes along to whap me upside the head. Looking at the kids’ wish lists, I see some of them are asking for toys. Many others just want winter coats and snow boots. One child even asked for a haircut. That’s right — a haircut.

Being poor sucks. But being poor at Christmastime sucks even harder. It’s positively soul-killing. Surely there is a toy drive in your town going on right now. When you’re out holiday shopping in the next few weeks, give a little less to that person on your list that you don’t really like anyway. Then use that money to buy a toy. In a few weeks, you will soooo be making someone’s day.

Introducing untitledstuff.

Ask… and you shall receive.

Since so many of you expressed that confining the WTF? design to only a desktop was a damn, dirty shame, I have created untitledstuff — a mini web store featuring my creations. Bumper stickers, t-shirts, magnets — it’s all there. Christ, there’s even a doggie t-shirt. So far, it’s just the WTF? design. I’m hoping the creative muse pays me another visit, so I can add more things.

Rest assured that this venture is most definitely NOT about turning a profit. By getting untitledstuff out there, I’m hoping to grow untitledlife.com. After all, misery loves company.

PS - After I created the WTF? design and opened the untitledstuff store, I noticed that there are similar designs out there. Well damn it all to hell. Just when you think you have an original idea, too. I wonder if anyone has thought about doing a yellow ribbon that supports our troops? Maybe I’ll do that one next.

Introducing untitled Downloads.

It seems we’re breaking new ground here at untitledlife. We’ve added a new section to the site — downloads. It will feature desktops, screensavers, printable artwork — anything that strikes me as thought-provoking or amusing. All will be original, created by me.

Now I know what you’re thinking. What about a desktop featuring the “Hang in there” kitten or a tropical beach screensaver? Not to worry. These beauties will come in due time. But until then, you’ll have to be satisfied with our inaugural designs. They just so happen to be desktops, so you can let your untitled freak flag fly.

UPDATE: I’ve received several e-mails requesting a sticker and/or magnet version of the untitledlife W desktop. Please let me know if you would be interested in one. If I get enough responses, I’ll look into doing it.

Swedes, shopping and the Shanghai Shits.

While untitledson was away this weekend, untitledhusband and I tackled the most unholy of chores — painting the living room. Should be a simple task, right? Well christ. It took three days. And right now, I’m out of my mind, due to the manual labor and such, which I so clearly am not cut out for. It may also have something to do with all Goof Off paint remover I’ve been huffing (surely the high point of the weekend). Reading the can, I see it says something about prolonged exposure and brain/nerve damage. Now you tell me.

In an effort to jam-pack our weekend with everything we cannot do when untitledson is here, untitledhusband and I also decided to visit Ikea. We shopped until we lost our religion (which for us, is about four hours), then drove back home. One afternoon in that store, and I would’ve thought nothing of suffocating the random screaming child in a flokati rug.

Our experience has left me enlightened. First, I am in awe of that shopping cart escalator thing (you know, the device that latches onto your shopping cart and heaves it to the next floor as you ride the escalator next to it). Those crazy Swedes. They’ve now officially made up for the wretched Ace of Base.

Secondly, it seems anything tastes good after walking behind a loaded shopping cart for four hours. ANYTHING. In a shopping-induced delirium, untitledhusband and I wolfed down a plateful of Swedish meatballs and declared it the BEST FOOD EVER. I had wanted to eat at Panda Express a few hours earlier, but decided to forego, lest I get a debilitating case of the Shanghai Shits. Might as well have enjoyed the sesame chicken, because the Subway I opted for ended up giving me the squirts. Yes, Subway. Given that their food is fresh and all, I can only surmise that my Sandwich Artist must’ve wiped his ass with my Italian roll.

As you can tell by the photo, we took in quite the kill. Now, to assemble it all. I must admit that I feel a bit overwhelmed, in a minimalist chic sort of way.

Ikea Kill

Of proper care and feeding.

This weekend, untitledson is going to grandma’s. Not my mother, mind you. Oh hell no. He’s going to stay with Mary Poppins herself — untitledhusband’s mother. I say this without the slightest touch of sarcasm. I have no doubt that for untitledson, this weekend will be filled with more belly kisses, ice cream and long glorious rides on Papa’s lawn tractor than he can shake his Spaghettio-stained fist at. I reluctantly entered this agreement knowing he may never want to return.

While I may not be worried about untitledson, I am concerned about the safety and well-being of his grandparents. Sure, grandma has raised four children. But I’m not confident that she is prepared for Tasmanian Toddler.

I thought I’d sit down and write out an abridged owner’s manual for untitledson, in case things turned south. A few highlights:

1. If boy’s head starts spinning and pea soup speweth from his mouth, stay in control. Warn him that he will lose all Hot Wheels privileges for the day if he does not exorcise himself by the count of three. (Here is where I would like to officially bless the inventor of Hot Wheels, wherever he or she may be. For parents who may have fallen to the tyrannical rule of a two-year old despot, Hot Wheels has proven to be a formidable negotiating tool.)

2. Under no circumstances do you read him more than three books at bed time. This will be a signal that he has once and for all conquered the last bastion of parental control. You will then be doomed to read “Olivia” and that dreaded truck book until your ears bleed.

3. If untitledson refuses to enter the house for whatever reason, threaten to shut the garage door. Maybe even press the button a few times, so it jolts up and down a bit. It’s the one sure way to smoke him out, for he’s hella scared of garage doors.

4. Never, ever leave him in control of the Teddy Grahams box. He will down that shit quicker than you can say colon blow.

Above all else, don’t forget to give him his Snoopy and kiss all 10 toes before tucking him in. Somewhere, his momma is wondering how she’ll get through the weekend without waking up to find that her son had once again commandoed his way into the master bed, and that due to his odd sleeping habits, she is wearing what amounts to a human hat.