Well, the holidays are over and I am ready for Spring. I've had enough winter, thank you. W4D's Festivus vacation is history and I no longer feel like I have a vulture peering over my shoulder or a goofy puppy sniffing and licking the back of my neck when I don't expect it. Part bird of prey, part big-footed hound dog, plus a healthy dose of adolescent boy for good measure, W4D was forever making a mess or sneaking up behind me to grab one of my jiggly parts. He's back in the confines of his office now, thank goodness. The castle is once more in my control.
The holidays were enjoyable. We ate too much, drank too much and laughed ourselves silly.
I found another raspberry gift that I had forgotten. Check out this raspberry pink tripod vibrator that was in my stocking. W4D says he didn't put it there so it must have been from Santa. I have named my new pet tripod, Trey Busby.
New Year's Eve was spent our traditional way with best friends and a huge bonfire party and fireworks. We partied until 5:00 AM, outlasting all the younger folks, and the next day after we strapped our heads back on, we had the traditional good luck dinner that is de rigueur in the South: Ham, Hoppin' John, Collard Greens, Corn Bread and more. Hoppin' John is black-eyed peas cooked with ham hocks and served over rice. Eating the afore-mentioned meal is said to insure good luck in the coming year. I know it works and I would never ever risk not eating this traditional New Years Day meal. Kudos to Cathy June for cooking a fabulous New Year's Dinner. I salute your Southern cookin,' CJ!
Our Gators won their bowl game and we had an extra day to recover from all the frivolity. We took down all the holiday decorations... except the Gator Tree since it would have been bad luck to de-deck the Gators before the game. The weather was temperate and balmy and I should also brag that we went barefoot much of the weekend. I even blew up, as promised, the rest of the peeps. After the first peeps splattered all over the microwave and I was unsuccessful in capturing the explosions on camera, I learned to place a sheet of plastic wrap on the unassuming peep. It made the Peepocide clean-up much easier. See how the atomic motion of the microwaves burns a little hole right in their little Peep hearts?
I am writing today wearing a soft, dark purple cap with a fuzzy yellow Peep chick on it. There is also an adorable new Peep mouse pad under my little black mousie. It has pictures of all sorts of holiday peeps decorating it, including a Snowman Peep who is surely a cousin of the ones I blew up in the Nuker. The Peep gifts were a surprise from a dear friend who obviously understands my homicidal tendancies and fascination with gelantinous globs.
I am the Peep Queen.
You may bow before me.
.... or not.