poor bastard

December 24, 2016

 

santa wants a nice suit

 

For ONE HUNDRED YEARS —

This guy has been pulling on his tatty little red outfit and showing up to spread joy and commerce and what did you leave him last year?

Cookies right? Maybe some milk?

Poor bastard.

This year leave cash.

And maybe a nice Men’s Warehouse gift certificate.

 

couch potato austin

January 25, 2015

 

Screen shot 2015-01-25 at 10.23.05 PM

This is totally overdue, Couch Potato Austin has kept me up and running and alive while I was recovering from an injury and Couch Potato Austin rocks so I should give them a shout out.

Here it is. Shout Out! Couch Potato Austin! Yay!

Part of me is hesitant to do that because, you know, if you unwashed masses start using MY awesome delivery service, you might overwhelm Couch Potato Austin and then Couch Potato could not deliver to me. Also, you might go all crazy and start ordering my cigarettes so then when I order they are out and no cigarettes for me! Ahhh!

[Not really, I figure most of you are too cheap to order my cigarettes.]

But, I adhere to the philosophy the universe is big and full of so much goodness there just is enough for everybody and I don’t have to hog Couch Potato Austin for it to keep being awesome.

[Whew! Lucky for you that is my philosophy or I would totally not be sharing Couch Potato Austin with you.]

 


*Okay, “alive” might be an overstatement, I probably would have lived AND recovered without cigs and ice cream — or not, it really wouldn’t have been smart to walk far and I definitely wasn’t driving and I was out of cigs hmmm — but happy. Definitely happy. And to me, happy counts. Yay!

*Other people who get a shout out for getting me through the housebound Christmas injury too: Sparkle Hayter sent me Christmas cookies, yay! Jared Thomas sent Christmas chocolate, yay! Kym Kemp sent the coolest Christmas shirt in the verse. Yay!
 
 

 

hard_candy

This is —

My favorite Christmas story ever.


 

When in Doubt, Throw Hard Candy
[AKA The Santa from Hell]

— by Toni McGee Causey

When the kids were little — I think Jake was three and Luke was seven — Christmas felt like it was going to be slim. Make that downright anorexic. So I was looking for a way to bring a little fun into the season, something that wouldn’t cost much.

I had a brilliant idea. [I should come with a warning label: If brilliant idea occurs, step way-the-hell back for your own safety.]

Anyway. The idea was to have someone play Santa at our house for a pre-Christmas visit. We’d invite all the neighbor kids and their parents and each family would bring a gift for their child ahead of time. I’d hide the gifts away and squirrel them to our Santa, who would come in the house with lots of Ho Ho Hos and joy and jovial warmth and after regaling the kids with whatever it is Santas regale kids with, he’d give out the presents. There would be hot chocolate and apple cider, a beautifully lit Christmas tree in the background. Maybe even singing, if the kids wanted to sing. We would be so sappy, Hallmark would sue. Or throw up, but whatever, it was going to be great.

When I write it out like that, it sounds like a very nice day, doesn’t it? It really does seem normal and sane and I should have known that in my world, “normal” and “sane” do not apply.

:::continue reading:::

 


*Wondering where to get those sassy hard candy planet lollipops? Okay so you are officially a solid geek but no worries go :::here:::

 

the christmas tulips

December 24, 2013

 tulips_christmas_final_cbFor the early days —

Of my life, flowers were always something someone else brought or gave to you. Mostly associated with men. And death.

 


 
Men came calling, men sent flowers.

[Not for me, pervo, I was a little kid, jeez, for adult female relatives and family friends!]

Loved ones died? People sent flowers. Which, if you ask me, is a kind of weird association.

Flowers = Death and Men?

That cannot be healthy.

 


 
Then I worked at this interior design firm.

 


 
One day one of the other girls at the interior design firm said, “Let’s go get some flowers!” She said it like that, too, with an exclamation point. We were all at lunch. But everyone rallied right then. And we all hopped into our rides and headed over to a flower place I had no idea existed and just went fucking crazy buying flowers.

 


 
We’re not talking roses. Actually the woman at the flower place was a little freaked out about the roses. If you pull flowers out of any other tub — and we are talking tubs of flowers all containing a lot of water — and get any water on the roses, even just a drop, the roses are toast.

But we were not after roses. We were after every other flower in the flower spectrum. And that day, I took peonies back to the office.

 


 
[Side Note: Dear Men: If you ever buy me peonies as a romantic flower gift? One, you have missed the point. Two, you will never see me naked in this life or the next.]

 


 
Buying those flowers was awesome. And after? The whole office was full of flowers. And we were all insanely happy. It was like those flowers lifted five levels of unhappy off everyone who saw or touched them.

 


 

After that, I bought flowers a lot.

 


 

Then things changed.

 


 

A couple rough interstate moves. Some of those days that say, “Maybe you should buy the pancake mix instead of the flowers. Some of those days when you start saying to yourself, “You don’t really need flowers.” And then get so used to saying “you don’t really need flowers” you just stop buying flowers at all.

 


 
Today I was in line at Whole Foods behind a man and his two little girls.

The little girls were probably about nine and seven.

The little girls were dressed for shit too. Those were not fancy clothes those girls were wearing. They were worn. Cheap cotton and frayed sleeves. And they had haircuts that yelled “Mom cut my bangs and she didn’t have a level.”

And their dad’s clothes? Not so much better.

But those two little girls had sparkley shoes. One of them had red sparkley shoes. And one of them had gold sparkley shoes.

And they were carrying tulips.

 


 
The girls’ dad talked to them like they were grown ups. He did not talk down to them. They were discussing things like dinner [mac and shells, they must have been East Coast, no one west of the Mason Dixon line says “shells.”] And the flowers.

One of the girls, the oldest, named Charlotte, went off to get some plastic wrap for the flowers so the flowers did not drip after being pulled out of a bucket of water while she and her sister and father were all waiting in line.

 


 

I bought flowers today. White tulips.

They are my Christmas tulips.

 


 

Thank you for reminding me, Dad and the little girls with sparkley shoes, flowers matter.

 

 

madonna_hard_candyThis is —

My favorite Christmas story ever.


 

When in Doubt, Throw Hard Candy
[AKA The Santa from Hell]

— by Toni McGee Causey

When the kids were little — I think Jake was three and Luke was seven — Christmas felt like it was going to be slim. Make that downright anorexic. So I was looking for a way to bring a little fun into the season, something that wouldn’t cost much.

I had a brilliant idea. [I should come with a warning label: If brilliant idea occurs, step way-the-hell back for your own safety.]

Anyway. The idea was to have someone play Santa at our house for a pre-Christmas visit. We’d invite all the neighbor kids and their parents and each family would bring a gift for their child ahead of time. I’d hide the gifts away and squirrel them to our Santa, who would come in the house with lots of Ho Ho Hos and joy and jovial warmth and after regaling the kids with whatever it is Santas regale kids with, he’d give out the presents. There would be hot chocolate and apple cider, a beautifully lit Christmas tree in the background. Maybe even singing, if the kids wanted to sing. We would be so sappy, Hallmark would sue. Or throw up, but whatever, it was going to be great.

When I write it out like that, it sounds like a very nice day, doesn’t it? It really does seem normal and sane and I should have known that in my world, “normal” and “sane” do not apply.

:::continue reading:::

 

Screen shot 2013-12-24 at 8.35.32 AM

At the risk of being grossly commercial here [hey it is Christmas, never say I do not understand the Christmas spirit o’ commerce] if you are still running about and have not found that perfect gift for the screenwriter on your list [well diamonds would work too but let’s say you are thrifty and want to keep it under thirty bucks] The New Screenwriter’s Survival Guide is available at these retail stores:

 

:::BOOK PEOPLE::: [Austin, TX]
:::BOOK SOUP::: [Hollywood, CA]
:::CINEMA BOOKS::: [Seattle, WA]
:::SAMUEL FRENCH::: [Hollywood, CA]
:::TRIDENT BOOKSELLERS & CAFE::: [Boston, MA]

 

That only works if you are in Austin, Hollywood, Seattle, or Boston, but hey, we are doing our best here and you ARE the one who waited until Christmas Eve to shop, jeez.

 


*The book is also available on :::AMAZON.COM:::.  In case you get any pesky gift certificates and do not know what to do with them.

 

my favorite christmas song

December 22, 2013

 

 

 

polar_bear_no_santaThere is —

Such an enforced extreme in your face “jocularity” during the holiday season, blaring from the speakers in stores and malls and hospital elevators, shouting at you from the television and radio, enforced cheerful near hysterical holiday mania shouting “Your life is supposed to be this!”

“This” apparently being some sort of Norman Rockwell painting that leaves no room for anyone not receiving diamond bracelets and being embraced by fat children and loving cake bearing grandparents.

There’s a whole world out there and a lot of it is not a Rockwell painting. And if you are among those not receiving diamond bracelets, ponies, new and overpriced phones, Ford trucks that according to Ford commercials are on every eight year old’s wish list, or the embalming love of Stepford relatives with perfect wrapping skills and even more perfect hair —

If you need to know you are going to be okay in place of a screaming message “you are not okay you are doing it wrong!” amplified across a million plus blaring electronic speakers stretching from Rhode Island to Hawaii?

:::THIS IS FOR YOU:::

And remember. It IS going to be okay.

 


*shout out to ana maria montoya for the danielle laporte link

 

 

santa wants a nice suit

 

For ONE HUNDRED YEARS —

This guy has been pulling on his tatty little red outfit and showing up to spread joy and commerce and what did you leave him last year?

Cookies right? Maybe some milk?

Poor bastard.

This year leave cash.

And maybe a nice Men’s Warehouse gift certificate.

And whiskey. God dammit, he deserves whiskey!

 

where i clipped that photo :
i clipped that off rain

 

santa wants a nice suit

 

For ONE HUNDRED YEARS —

This guy has been pulling on his tatty little red outfit and showing up to spread joy and commerce and what did you leave him last year?

Cookies right? Maybe some milk?

Poor bastard.

This year leave cash.

And maybe a nice Men’s Warehouse gift certificate.

 

where i clipped that photo :
i clipped that off rain

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