But I wanna be a DEN-tist!

One of my favorite things about Christmas is that it allows me to go around declaring that decidedly unremarkable events are "Christmas miracles."

For instance, yesterday I was at Wal-Mart shopping for gluten free pasta shells. I became dismayed when I noticed a withered old hoarder reaching for the last box. Luckily she was in one of those motorized carts and the box was on a high shelf, so I was able to shove her out of the way and snatch it for myself. Once I had my treasure in my hot little hands and the wretched old disabled woman put her Amigo in reverse and backed her ass down the aisle and out of my face, I dropped to my knees, raised my arms to the heavens, and shouted in front of God and everyone: "It's a Christmas miracle!!"

Because lord knows it ain't Christmas without gluten free pasta shells and store-bought sauce.


Other situations/events that totally "count" as Christmas miracles:

There's a two-for-one sale on holiday-themed marshmallow peeps at Big Lots

I say "Father Christmas" five times in a row and his disembodied head appears to me in the bathroom mirror

My dad lights up a cigarette and I have a coughing fit, but he doesn't cough at all because his lungs are coated with tar!

A blind orphan regains his sight

My cat falls four stories, but when I look down he's not moving or yowling or anything, which means he died quickly and peacefully

Every hungry person in my hometown gets Christmas dinner

Nickelodeon airs a marathon of plucky 90's cartoon "Doug"


Happy holidays everyone! Here's hoping you witness a Christmas miracle or two and get your Christmas wish. This year, I'm wishing for a whole lot of money and material gain.

www.mylifeisinshambles.net

I've recently begun the magical adventure that is online dating. For a long time now, I've thought of online dating as my "spare tire"--no, not my spare tire as in the unsightly band of fat around my midsection, but spare tire as in my back-up plan, my get-out-of-jail-free card. And when I say 'jail,' I mean the self-made prison of loneliness and self-doubt that has been my reality for the past few years.

Let me catch you up. A few years ago, I broke up with the guy I thought I was going to marry. I was in love with him, but I left him anyway, mostly because he got into the habit of saying things like, "I never want to marry you," and "The idea of having kids with you or anyone makes me sick. Fuck kids! Fuck this world!" He was very dramatic, but not in the good way (you know, the charming, full-of-life kind of dramatic). He was depressed-dramatic, he was I-can't-fathom-why-anyone-would-ever-get-excited-about-anything-as-POINTLESS-as-a-birthday-or-a-trip-to-the-ice-skating-rink-and-who-cares-about-Christmas-lights-we're-all-going-to-die-someday-anyway-probably-someday-soon dramatic.

I'm still in love with him, even though I honestly believe he doesn't care about me at all. I'm not trying to get you to pity me (although, that would be nice)--I'm just stating facts. But even though I love him so much that sometimes it feels like my intestines are on fire, I believe that he is dead inside, so it's time to move on.

In that spirit, and because I thought it would be "good, clean fun," I joined a few free online dating sites. It turns out, though, that online dating is even more of a punch in the gut than real-life dating, if that's even possible. I think the problem is that it's too easy to sit back in the comfort of your ergonomic computer chair, surrounded by the wreckage that is your life (plus actual trash if you're a hoarder like I am), and poke fun at how desperate and just plain idiotic (not to mention creepy!) your potential "dates" are. For example, one of my "matches" attempted to lure me into his web of sex, lies, and videotape by emailing me a list of every WWE movie he owns. For those of you not in the know, WWE stands for World Wrestling Entertainment. Oh! What a lucky girl am I! Did I say I liked wrestling, fuckwit?! Get your head out of your ass.

Another keeper wrote this in his profile: "The most private thing I’m willing to admit here: My penis size--6 inches long, and 3 inches wide. I know every sexual position. I like to masturbate about 3 times a week. I do shave down there all the time so I have no pubic hair. And I do shower every day."

I'm so glad I know how often he masturbates and that his dick looks like one of those hairless baby hamsters. Romance is alive and well, folks!

The sad part is...it's all fun and games when I'm the one doing the judging. I sit here in my judging chair, surrounded by broken dreams and grease-saturated fast food hamburger wrappers, and I make a mockery of the hopeful profile of some pitiful wimpus or pervert who could maybe be my new boyfriend--if only I would give him the chance. But when it's someone else's turn to do the criticizing...well, that doesn't sit so well with me.

For example, I have the "privilege" of being able to see pictures of all the different guys who have viewed my profile and I get to know when they viewed it. As in, I get a little notification that says: SlappyClown27 viewed your profile at 7:12 pm!. That's nice. Thanks SlappyClown27. Thanks for viewing my profile and then deciding NOT to message me. I would understand not getting a message if when I clicked over to his profile SlappyClown27 turned out to be some super slick frat-boy type whose idea of a good time is popping his collar, watching team sports and playing beer pong--otherwise known as Mr. Definitely Not Into Chubby Funny Girls. But no, SlappyClown27 (and he's not real, folks, just a symbol of what almost ALL these guys are like) usually turns out to be some unemployed Nascar-loving 40-something super-creep whose skin is as pasty as raw dough because he lives in his brother-in-law's dank basement and hasn't left the house in over a month.

But he, SlappyClown27, an aging virgin whose proudest moment is the time he shoved six hot dogs into his mouth at once, looks at my profile and thinks to himself: Eh, I could do better. This is why online dating requires a thick skin.

But don't worry, I haven't lost hope. I know I'll meet Mr. Right eventually. I'm just starting to think we may meet while we're say, shopping for nets, instead of surfing the Net.

What, you don't do a lot of net shopping?

Hello, Dexter Morgan

Dexter is an amazing show. I applaud the writers for giving us consistently top-notch story lines, and of course, the acting by Michael C. Hall and all the actors on the show is AMAZING. Dexter, I could listen to your ominous, sexy, sly, witty voice-overs all day long.

For Dexter fans (and if you're reading this blog, you BETTER be a Dexter fan...seriously: I will hunt you down, wrap you in plastic, slice up your cheek, and kill you if you're not a Dexter fan), check out this interview with one of the show's executive producers, Clyde Phillips. It's a whole hour of Dexter chat!!

**DON'T WATCH THIS IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN ALL OF THE MOST RECENT DEXTER EPISODES**

I can't wait for next week's season finale!! And I can't wait EVEN MORE for season 5.