It's Not My Fault! It's the Elf On the Shelf!

It’s Not My Fault!  It’s the Elf On the Shelf!

How do you know it’s the day after Halloween?  Every suburban strip mall blitzes red and green, and declares that evil is SO yesterday and all the cool people are now into elves and eggnog.  Spooky store windows seem to turn on hinges revealing their twinkling toyshop side like in Harry Potter.

For me, Christmas decorations inspire warm and fuzzy stress.  From the depths of my eggnog, I feel a compulsion to create the most outrageously holiday doorway and tablescape in the neighborhood.

When my children were younger, I jumped on the Pretentious Party Bus and labored over mantle mania, fir flamboyance, and bannister blow-out.

The themes flanking my entry consisted of everything from “Who-ville Yule” to “Holiday at Hogwarts:  Glad tidings from Griffindor!”    

And don’t even get me started about that creepy Elf on the Shelf.  My first Elf bolted because I ordered him to clean up his messy, late-night Patron exploits involving strewn Coco Puffs.

                                                                                                  

  

 mommyofamonster.com                                                          post.fulldorm.com                                         

But later I succumbed to kid pressure and bought another Elf who unfortunately “enabled” my G.O.D. (Gone Overboard Disease)

I hosted an amazing NASCAR Christmas party.  As guests strolled through my threshold laden with 1,027 blue spruce branches, most of them didn’t even notice the colorful race cars and checkered flags arranged in the greenery.   Ken dolls dressed as Jeff Gordon with Santa hats and barely-dressed Malibu Barbies kissed for photo ops.  And elves changed tiny tires. And beer-chugging fans dressed in little Willie Nelson t-shirts.

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My oblivious guests went straight for the drunk dog cocktail weenies and never noticed the angel tree topper dressed in a black and red #24 jumpsuit and my official Budweiser tablecloth.  

The next day, I found my suicidal Elf, who could no longer take the pressure, hanging by his tongue from an ice sculpture of the Daytona 500 trophy.

Age and exhaustion cured me of G.O.D.  My enabling Elf on the Shelf went to be with the Big Jolly Guy in the Sky after freezing to death from the ice sculpture debacle.  

My family says if I’m ever tempted to buy another Little Elf that rouses my addiction, they will stage an intervention and cut up my Hobby Lobby Visa card.

I Might Like Prozac Barbie After All

I Might Like Prozac Barbie After All

I often shop at the upscale, Just Plucked Market in my suburb, but I stick out like Peg Bundy in Tiffany’s.  All the ladies wear tennis outfits or dark, rhinestone-studded jeans with stilettos.  I’m convinced everyone is looking at my hair and assuming I can’t afford to get my roots done.  I always feel a little nervous, like Aimee on My Big Redneck Vacation when all the rednecks visited London and discovered they were having spotted dick for dinner.  

Recently while shopping at Just Plucked, I noticed Prozac Barbie with her preschoolers, Babs and Ken Jr.  I saw her lips cart coming around the corner first, and she looked like Lisa Rinna/Daisy Duck perturbed with the children.  I didn’t know she was mad at them at first because she was botoxicated trying to stay calm.  But when I got closer I heard her hiss something to her son about the cookie he was eating and his expensive Polo shirt.

             

While standing at the meat counter, little K used his fingers to wipe chocolate from his mouth.  Aghast, at least I think, Barbie pulled baby wipes out of her Louis Vuitton and shoved them toward Kenny’s face.  By that time he’d already used the back of his hand, and wiped the fudginess on his shirt.  Barb was mortified.  She leaned down in her stilettos and went anti-bacterial on his cookie mess.

What’s strange about this scene?  First, I wouldn’t be organized enough to have baby wipes in my purse.  Second, my kid would’ve worn a Star Wars t-shirt instead of a Polo.  And third, I would’ve expected him to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand and rub it on his shirt, like a normal boy.  If not, he would’ve put his arms around me and wiped his mouth on my butt.

Speaking of my butt and lard, I saw something freakish in the dairy section at Just Plucked—containers of Duck Fat—to buy!  Of course, I keep my bacon grease in a coffee cup in the fridge like regular people, but what do you possibly do with Duck Fat?  Maybe deep-fry some Oreos.  I’d love to ask a manager what it’s used for, but I figure he’d be real snooty like the saleslady at Glamour Shots when I only bought one slutty picture from my photo session back in ’83.

One day I’d love to yell across the aisle to the smug Regional Director of Just Plucked Inc. 

“Could you tell me where ya’lls vie-enny sausages are?  Wooo, I sure do love them thangs.  That’s some good shit right there.  They’re better’n crap on a cracker.”  

That’s going on my bucket list.

I picked up a bag of organic Cheeto balls and waited for Prozac Barbie to herd her clan through the checkout.  I felt a tad sorry for her because her make-up was running down her face in the Memphis heat.  She must’ve moved here from the Hamptons or something.  Just as I walked out, she shoved her offspring into a clown-car sized Mercedes, melted into the driver’s seat, and took a cleansing deep breath.  

Then, as I watched PB’s life unfold in her little cocoon of a car, I realized we’re all alike.  

She gave her four-year-old his Nintendo and her two-year-old her sippy cup, and untucked a bottle of Chardonnay from the hidden compartment of her suburban mom-mobile, and didn’t even worry about a glass. 

I hear ya’ sister.  We have more in common than you know.  

Mattel recently announced the release of several limited-edition Barbie Dolls for the Greater Memphis market

I received an email similar to this five years ago and filed it away.  I recently found it and laughed out loud.  I changed a lot in order to be applicable in 2011, but I kept some things intact.  You just can't mess with perfection.

I hope no one will be offended by the tongue-in-cheek stereotypes, but we sho

uld all be able to laugh at ourselves sometimes.  If you don't live in Memphis, it doesn't make much sense.  However, I'm sure you can accurately replace your suburbs with those mentioned because most Americans have more in common than we realize.

Six or seven more Barbies are being released soon in the Memphis market, including Orange Mound Barbie and Midtown Barbie.  Stay tuned!

Eads Barbie:

This princess Barbie is sold only at Saks.  Comes with a multi-million dollar house in gated community and another in Rosemary Beach - with wine cellars.  Condo in Beaver Creek, CO and fur sold in conjunction with stock-broker Ken.  Also available is Randy, the Home Decorator, who is impeccably dressed, creative and loves to shop.  Sold with or without yummy pool boy.  Your choice of Mississippi State or Ole Miss bumper sticker on back of Hummer.  Available with or without tummy tuck and face lift.  You won’t be able to afford any of them. 

Germantown Barbie:

This I-wish-I-lived-in-Eads Barbie comes with a 2-seater Mercedes and an optional new Lexus SUV to cart super-busy Babs, super-competitive Kenny Jr., and Baby Bo to cheerleading, football practice, and My Baby Can Read class.  Comes with an inconspicuous "love" tattoo on her ankle from a spring break trip to Destin in the 80's and a case of Chardonnay.  Optional home-gym so that she doesn’t have to go to the real gym with tight clothes that show her muffin top.  Sold with a semi-custom house with no furniture because Babs and Kenny Jr. attend a $15,000/year private school.

Houston Levee Barbie:

This modern Barbie comes with an assortment of the trendiest clothes from the clothing boutique she owns.  She comes with a gym membership and bathroom scale, a country club membership, her own Starbucks cup and a wine cooler of expensive Chardonnay.  Also available with this kit are Hutchison Heather and MUS Maddox, accessorized with LAX sticks.  Pregnant version is sold in conjunction with handgun and bottle of Prozac.  Augmented version sold only in conjunction with Workaholic Ken.

Bartlett Barbie:

The hard-working, big hair Barbie is available with Ford Windstar Minivan with 120,000 miles.  Comes with a Sam's membership card and a frequent diner card at the Western Sizzlin'.  This ingenius model sells Avon and pockets the profit before Ken sees it.  Available with or without box wine, bright blue eye shadow and home-perm kit .  This frugal Barbie comes with a one-story brick house with a half-built deck in the back while Electrician Ken comes with a fully-stocked tool box and a tricked-out truck.