Handcrafted Holiday Heirlooms

Nothing says "I care" more at Christmas than a thought-filled handcrafted gift, right?

My friend, Ken, and his siblings wholeheartedly agree. In fact a mere recent evening ago, they sat down and crafted a number of lovely items for their out-of-town sister, who regrettably was unable to join them this year for their Christmas celebration. Their mediums? Macaroni, pasta, spray paint, a lil' glue and a whole lot of alcohol-fueled ingenuity.

I will let Ken's own words (and photos) speak for themselves -- making a historic mark on the one-year anniversary of this humble blog -- a guest photgrapher AND contributor. To differentiate from my monologue, Ken's commentary is in italics.

"It's a pasta miracle! Yes, that's the Blessed Mother lurking in the center of this pink pasta travesty. Oh, and the mints? They're actually painted disks of wood."

"The severed angel box, front view... for the exterior we crushed elbow macaroni and painted it white for the "faux coral" effect."

"This started out as a cigar box simply covered with pasta in glorious OCD fashion. Then we had a few drinks, and decided... "Hey, everything looks better in chrome.' ....did I mention that there is a chew toy mouse "ornament" hiding inside?"

"This is a collection of action figures glued to a cardboard wreath with pasta embellishments. The figures are mostly health care professionals and smiling injury victims (for some unknown reason) but we included a sturdy little pirate just for effect. We used a glue gun to string a lovely ribbon from hand to hand."

Ken today provided me with an update of his sister's reaction to her family's heartfelt gifts:
"She was impressed by the level of the prank, and that these macaroni miracles were now treasured holiday heirlooms in her family. Her son & daughter (who both live in NYC) got dibs on the wreaths, and are taking them back to their apartments to proudly and permanently display them as proof that their family is retarded."

Worst Job Ever...Part Deux

Nothing says the holidays more succinctly than a dancing Santa Chik Cow outside the local Chik-Fil-A, right?

To the passerby, this particular Chick Cow -- on Christmas Eve afternoon -- looked fun and festive as he danced along Center Ridge Road in Rocky River/Fairview Park in a cold pelting rain. If you stood and watched long enough, you'd notice something...his sad, "it-can't-get-any-worse-than-this" trudge between dancing stints.

This picture says it all.

And...reconfirms my opinion that any job requiring you to dress up in a ridiculous costume = WORST JOB EVER!

Mars, Venus and the Dog World

Apparently even in doggiedom, distinct differences exist between the sexes. Look at my pug niece, Ikea. She sits demurely, delicately and even takes pains to hide her private parts.

Now look at her cousin, our dog, Maxie D, in his favorite position. What a slob. Sprawled all over the place, letting his junk hang out for the world to see. I'm almost embarrassed for him. Really.

Chuckie's Christmas Caroling Cousins

Remember that 80s' movie, Child's Play?

It turns out that crazy doll, Chuckie, has relatives...and they're here in Cleveland. The photo is courtesy of my next-door neighbor and friend, Lisa.

Someone at a well-known,Cleveland-based international corporation seems to think these freakish dolls would make festive holiday decorations -- plaid scarves and all -- at the entrance of aforementioned company's technical department.

I'm sure the employees there are just waiting for these disturbing little guests to go batshit crazy just like Chuckie did in the movie and kill them all. Forget Halloween...it's time for a good Christmas slasher film, right?

All I know is that I can't look at the picture anymore. They scare me. Almost as much as my dummy head.

Deck the Halls With...

Dummy heads. Yes...you are seeing what you think you are seeing. And it's in my living room.

My tiny auxilliary tree has been defaced with one of the things that terrifies me the most...a ventriloquist dummy head.

My family...both immediate and extended...know how much these things wig me out. For years. Hate them. I can hardly stand to look at them.

Yet, Johnny (my little brother from another mother) apparently has spent months looking for a dummy for me as a Christmas gift. He, my dad and stepmother, Brigette, were coming up for the day today, and as of yesterday a.m., he was coming up empty. But then fate threw him a bone -- or better put, a head.

He walked into an estate sale, and there it was. This lovely dismembered head. That he gleefully purchased. And lovingly wrapped up in fabulous holiday gift wrap. And brought to my house, cluing in my dad and Brigette on his twisted little surprise.

We spent all day together, lunching, bowling, shopping and enjoying lovely holiday desserts -- not a single mention of it from any of them. Not a word. We come home and exchange gifts. He urges me to open mine first. I'm thinking, sure...as he and my stepsister, Jen, always have purchased great things for me over the years...cool Lush Bubble Bars, cocktail accessories, you name it. The little box looked like a good thing to start with, so I open it. And peer in...and see the most terrifyingly ghoulish grin in the world peering maliciously at me from around the tissue paper lining the box.

I'll confess. I screamed. Like a little girl. And threw the box in the air. It seriously might have won the $100,000 prize on America's Funniest Videos if Johnny had the foresight to record me on his iPhone. Evan immediately seized it, stuck it in my face and made it talk. I found myself hovering in a state of hysteria, half laughing, half crying. These things seriously freak me out.

Then, Scott decided it would make the perfect tree topper. Thus, I am forced to look at it for the next three weeks until the decorations come down. Rumor has it, we're going to get him a Santa hat.

Thank goodness it's Christmas Ale season. That's all I can say.

Caffeinated Commentary

My mom bought this great calendar for me last year, knowing full well my love for vintage art AND that caffeinated deliciousness known as coffee.

Throughout the year, I have giggled over the sentiments it has shared with me.

All I can say is they saved the best for last...

Santas, Swingers and Smut

When a group of us headed out the other night to see "Island Rock God" Ray Fogg perform at Put-in-Bay Lakewood, we wouldn't have believed it if someone told us we would become immersed in such a surreal scene.

Ray plays most of his gigs during the year on Put in Bay and apparently has landed quite a following with a group of middle-aged Ohio swingers. They gather at his shows, including those on the mainland.

Take a hearty dose of swingers, mix it with 50 Santas, elves and naughty reindeer and what do you get -- something you'll probably never see again in your life!

We had swingers spanking scantily clad elves.

Santas watching Ray.

Santas buying Christmas Ale.

We had James Claus.

And Angry Claus.

And not on film -- we witnessed an aging swinger removing her bra in public. She then retreated to the restroom and re-emerged, still braless, wearing a sheer pink ribbed tank topShe proceeded to go hit on our husbands and also try to recruit us to her swinger cause.

I'm still shaking my head in disbelief (and giddy amusement over such an evening of spectacle!). Our posse will have enough cocktail conversation from simply rehashing this bizaare evening for a long time to come.

Oh...and in case you're wondering, here's a rear view of the aforementioned braless wonder -- patting the derriere of a fellow swinger...

He's not one she one she was "with," who apparently, according to her is one of the "best catches" in the group. Her man was cruising the bar in an oh-so-fetching pirate shirt. ARGH Mateys!

So it is true...if you can't be with the one you love, just love the one you're with!