So remember how once upon a time, we had a ridiculously ugly couch that my children slashed with knives and the dogs puked on and how I was so very tired of furniture which looked better out on my lawn than in my house that I stupidly allowed my husband to purchase a leather couch with no wifely supervision?

And now, in my small living room there sits an oversized, overstuffed, hideously coloured sectional couch. A new couch that may actually look worse than the original piece of crap we were trying to replace.

So ya. I still have that couch. And 18 months later it is still ugly. And slightly uncomfortable, although that just may be my broken down old back screaming at me and not an actual reflection of this monstrous couch. Everything is uncomfortable when your back is not bendy.

My husband insists I’ve been not so passively aggressively punishing him ever since he bought that ugly couch. Of course, I will absolutely admit (and have already) to punishing him when I purchased my chair. But in my defense, this is a chair worthy of purchasing. It is beautiful. It is comfortable. It scares my aging father and small children alike.

It is the BEST. CHAIR. EVER.

I love this chair. It makes me happy. As long as no one is sitting in it. Because if you are sitting in the chair then I can’t appreciate the fully awesome power of its upholstery. This chair isn’t furniture. It’s art.

My husband calls it the bane of his existence.

Whatever. Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.

But after purchasing my chair to make up for his couch, things reached a stale mate. I no longer felt the need to adjust the balance of the furniture scales because in my mind they were fully balanced.

And really, who ever wins in a furniture war? Besides me, that is?

But Boo, he is convinced I’m out to get him with my decorating tastes. In his twisted mind, I’ve got nothing better to do than think of new and creative ways to torture him with tchotchkes and knick-knacks and colour schemes.

If I didn’t know better I’d tell him he needs to adjust his tin foil hat.

But here’s the thing. I’ve got years worth of evidence to prove to him that I’ve always had a bizarre decorating palate. Only he was too distracted by my cute face and small arse to notice.

What does it say about him that he’s just now noticing my taste for the bizarre? (Let’s gloss over what it’s saying about the size of my bum, shall we?)

I mean, when we first started dating my entire bedroom was a shrine to Elton John and John Wayne. I was 16. I surrounded myself with images of an arthritic cowboy and a flamboyant queen. The only thing that would have made my room any cooler was if I could have gotten my hands on some life sized statues of my boys and posed them together.

And then there was the time I hung my husband’s taxidermied deer head over our headboard and wrapped Christmas lights around its antlers. Because I needed a night light.

I’m not a stranger to strange. Which means, neither is my husband since we’ve been together for so darn long.

I mean he didn’t blink when he came home to find this in our bathroom:

What else was I supposed to do with an empty Crystal Head vodka bottle? 

Nor did he twitch when the UPS man delivered this:

My brother likes my cookie jar. Because he has taste.

Okay, so he did dig in his heels when he walked in the door and saw these staring back at him, but I can only presume he was only upset about them because he wanted to purchase them as a gift for me and I went and stole his thunder:

There is nothing weird about paper mache animal busts hanging over an ugly couch. Nothing at all.

But he also freaked out when I put up a crucifix made of dead people’s faces, a plaster statue of a dead Chicken Little and put an actual alligator head in my living room. And yet, I’m positive he’d miss them all if they disappeared. Just like I know he’d miss the creepy little tribal statue I keep at the front door, the bong I bought in Mexico because I thought it would look awesome on our dresser (and IT DOES) and the collection of human teeth I have framed in our closet. (It’s not weird. It’s our kids’ baby teeth. I’m not completely creepy. Sheesh.)

He’s even grown fond of the dead gopher earrings I like to wear on our date nights.

I still think I need a dead bird head necklace to match my earrings, Boo.

Okay, maybe fond is too strong a word.

Still. I think I’ve proven my point. My tastes, albeit strange, have always been so.

Which is why, I want it on record that my latest purchase which was delivered earlier today, was not in any way, an attempt to annoy or anger him.

I just figured the spot above the flat screen television he bought even though I asked him not to because our old television worked just fine, looked a little empty.

So Boo, when you come home and see this staring back at you every time you go to turn on the television, just know I was filling a decorating hole.

I’d have hung a real moose head above the television, but damn, those suckers are BIG.

Just think of how awesome he’s going to look wearing a Santa’s hat during the holidays.

And maybe be grateful that I couldn’t find a life sized statues of Elton John and John Wayne to bring home. Because I totally looked for them.

This year, my husband and I declared us miserable old fuddy duddies and refused to make any plans for New Year’s eve.

Oh fine. For the sake of honesty and accuracy I’ll amend that statement so that my husband doesn’t have a coronary.

This year *I* declared my husband and myself miserable old fuddy duddies and refused to accept any of the plans my husband tried to make to ring in the new year.

For one stinking year, I just wanted to sit home in my pajamas, watch a marathon of Criminal Minds, and do absolutely nothing. I didn’t have it in me to dress up, go out or host a get together. I wanted to start 2012 quietly. I just wasn’t in the mood to play.

My husband and my teens, however, weren’t completely on board with my lack of plans or enthusiasm. They were itching to go out and it wasn’t long before both of my teens had arranged to go over to a friend’s house for an impromptu slumber party to ring out the year.

My husband volunteered to drive them over to their friend’s house because he is friendly with the dad. Fine. Whatever. Go abandon me for wilder pursuits. Go enjoy your night of merriment and frivolity because I am going to enjoy holding the remote control and changing the channel whenever I feel like it, I muttered back at them as they fled our house.

I was just happy to be home, with my Criminal Minds and my television remote.

An hour or so later, my husband came back from dropping the kids off and when he walked through the door and looked at me, he stopped short.

“Um, what have you been doing since I left Tanis?”

I looked at him blankly and waggled the remote. “Nothing. Watching television. Why”

“Um, have you noticed anything unusual about your face today? Looked in a mirror recently?”

“Well, I showered early and I looked fine then. But I think I’m getting an eye twitch. Why? Do I have spinach in my teeth?” I asked as I hopped up to look in the mirror hanging in our foyer.

And then I saw what was clearly freaking my husband out.

My right eye was swollen.

“Weird.”

“Totally. But I guess that explains the twitchy feeling and why it kinda hurts to waggle my eyebrows,” I murmured as I examined my face.

The next morning, my eye was so swollen it was almost sealed shut.

The morning after that, it looked like I was growing myself a third eye.

It’s been awesome. Awesomely grotesque.

I mean I’m used to my face looking like this:

Except lately I refuse to wear my contacts and my hair is blazingly red so I probably look more like this:

Except of course when I’m playing with my computer. Then I tend to look like this:

I like to take weird pictures of myself and randomly send them to family and friends. It freaks them out every time.

But today, on day five, my face looks like this:

I mean, it’s not quite normal but clearly there is no third eye growing like there was a few days ago, so I suppose that’s progress.

So basically I wrote this post just to show you all that my eyelid is swollen, I’m still in my bathrobe and clearly I need a shower and some make up.

Awesome.

Carry on then.

So I’m falling behind on everything. Work. Parenting. Housework.

Although, to be fair, I’m always falling behind on the housework, mostly because I hate doing it so much. I keep dreaming of one day having a maid which leads me to dreaming of having enough money to employ a maid which then leads to me dreaming that hey, if I’ve got enough money to hire a maid I must have enough money to do actual fun stuff. Like pay someone to shave my legs and hire a circus trainer with a pack of elephants who would then come put on a show on my front lawn.

Because who doesn’t want a herd of dancing elephants to call their own?

All of which leads to more day dreaming and less actual house cleaning and well, I’ve gone full circle and it’s all my imaginary maid’s fault.

Which is why even if I had money to hire a maid I’d likely not do it.

Because I’d never get anything done.

And I’d probably end up with a metric shit tonne of elephant poop on my grass and what exactly does one need that much fertilizer for?

My point is, I have been busy.

Busy going to craft shows with my mother and my sister and sometimes my daughter because she likes to join in the adult fun and I’m teaching her how to silently mock what passes as craft show art all the while instilling manners and lessons about making eye contact and never laughing at anyone’s beloved retail items to their faces even if they are the most hideous things you’ve ever seen for the low low price of 19.99, not including tax.

Every year my sister makes me try on this type of hat thingy and every year I want to buy it and every year my mother steals my wallet and tells me I must have more money than brains if I am seriously considering buying it. Which I was. And still am. Next year, I promise.

Craft shows are awesome fun I tell you.

Then there have been the requisite Christmas concerts and pageants that are mandatory for all people who decided it would be a good idea to raise small children for fun. And as my father is learning, after having done his time in the audience of umpteen children’s Christmas concerts, you can never escape the concert hell. Because after your kids are grown then you have to go see their children perform. It’s a vicious unending circle of bad carols, grumpy adults and stupid costumes.

Candy canes. The new devil horns.

Of course, Jumby wasn’t the only one required to wear something stupid this holiday season. His big brother had to get in on the act too. And I’m sure Frac will be thrilled beyond reason to know I’m sharing his holiday pain with y’all.

 He is very bitter his sister did not have to wear a dorky costume for her part in the church pageant.

Of course the holiday season means every movement you make, including surreptitiously picking your nose when you think no one is looking, will be well documented by the plethora of iPhones, digital cameras and video cameras everyone seems to carry with them everywhere at this time of year.

Which means if you don’t take the time or spend the money you will have to live forever with those photos of you with your finger up your nose while sporting horrible roots.

And that would be a damn travesty.

 The only good roots are the ones you can slice up and put in a stew.

My husband is of course, beyond thrilled to have one more added expense during this time of year. He doesn’t seem to understand that my vanity? It’s priceless.

 This is what I think about Scrooge and his budget.

Of course, as my husband likes to constantly tell me, a fool and his money will soon be parted. Or rather a fool and her husband’s hard earned money would be more accurate in this case.

I finally finished all of my Christmas shopping this week. Better late than never. The only thing left uncrossed on my list is the gift for my adorable in-laws who have everything and more. So I lovingly informed my husband that if he wanted his parents to have a Christmas gift from us, he could figure out what to buy them.

Heads up Mom and Dad in-law, since your son is buying your gift you can expect either a can of tuna or a set of steak knives. Since that’s what he’s bought for me Christmases past.

Beggars can’t be choosers, yo.

Of course, purchasing all the gifts is only half of the battle.

One still has to wrap them.

This small mountain of gifts, including the sheepskin rug for Jumbster (it’s okay, he can’t read so I’m pretty sure I’m not spoiling his Christmas by writing this) is currently sitting on my living room floor waiting to be wrapped.

 Nixon is scared. And trying to control his urge not to mark his territory on the mountain.

One small problem? How exactly does one wrap a sheep skin rug when one does not have a box big enough to contain it?

First world problems, I have them.

By the time I’m done wrapping all this, I’m going to need one of these:

Single malt whiskey. Where have you been all my life? 

 Of course, my daughter has musical theatre rehearsal tonight, my son has a basketball game in a different town and my youngest will need me sober enough to push him up our snow covered driveway when he gets off the bus so I’m only going to be dreaming of my whiskey induced happiness instead of actually making it a reality.

In the mean time, the kids and I made y’all a video for Neil Kramer’s Blogger Christmahanukwanzaakah Online Holiday Concert!

We sound horrible, but we perform with heart. Or so I like to tell myself.

If you are all in the mood for a little merry holiday spirit, you should wander on over and check out the entire concert. There are some gems of gold over there. Mine, not included.

Now please excuse me. Those presents aren’t going to wrap themselves, no matter how hard I wish they would.

I like to think I’m a patriotic Canadian what with my unabashed love of the beaver, my fondness for our long winter months and my ability to rock any and all sweaters, even those garishly ugly Cosby type sweater vests and the insanely ugly Christmas sweaters with the blinking Rudolph noses smack in the middle of your chest.

But lately, I’m starting to rethink my love of all things winter related as I get progressively older and my bones start to become as frail as a baby bird’s.

I’m starting to think winter is trying to kill me.

And I’m not just talking about the winter roads and my poor driving skills although it’s a well documented fact I drive as well as a blind person hopped up on crack as soon as the snow starts to fly. There is a reason my husband saves all year long so that he can put heavy duty steel studded winter tires on my vehicle. It’s because he’s had to haul my arse and our car out of a snow bank one too many times and apparently he doesn’t consider this a fun winter time activity we can all partake in.

It’s the ice. It’s everywhere. For some reason it just won’t stay on the roads like it’s supposed to so grouchy underpaid government contractors can drive up and down sanding and salting the ribbons of pavement through out this beautiful province.

I swear I hear the ice patches taunting me as I walk across them. It’s like they’re just waiting to howl with delight as I howl in pain when I land on my arse.

I’m pretty sure the iceberg that sank the Titanic got the last laugh. I’m just saying.

I’ve been extremely cautious with our winter conditions for a few years ago, ever since I decided in a moment of clear brilliance to wear a pair of slippers outside as I packed my precious little doggie in my arms so he could go potty. You see my dog is a princess and doesn’t want to go outside to do his bidness if the temperature drops. His paws are sensitive.

I realized, as my feet slipped out from under neath me on some hidden ice and my dog struggled in my arms and I was hurtling my way to the very hard ground that perhaps I had made the wrong choice in footwear. Two surgeries later and a relentless back ache and it’s been confirmed. Even my princess dog looks at me like I am a dumbass.

But recently, my sister-in-law slipped on some ice herself. And instead of busting her back like I did, she shattered her elbow. The difference between her and I? She was at least wearing proper shoes.

2 pins and some chicken wire later and Aunt Dandy will one day have a working bionic arm. I however, may never recover.

I’m so paranoid about going outside now I’ve started looking at having industrial sized rolls of bubble wrap sent to my house so I can wrap myself and my kids in it every time we need to wander beyond the warmth of our house.

My husband likes to remind me that wearing proper shoes would probably be sufficient to keep me safe. However, now that his sister is all hobbled like a busted up arthritic geriatric person with more metal inside her arm than the bionic woman herself, I can rightfully point out that his theory has been proven false.

Bubble wrap would indeed be safer.

So imagine my excitement when I found a giant parcel with my name on it waiting for me at home. I was convinced that my husband had listened to my concerns, heard my arguments and provided his family with a life time supply of bubble wrap to see us through the Canadian winters.

I gleefully tore up on my package to find the ugliest, biggest pair of winter boots a person could ever hope to not own. And sadly they weren’t packaged in bubble wrap.

Maybe they wouldn’t be so bad if they were yellow. And not as tall as my youngest son.

My husband? Well he insists, that much like bad tasting medicine, these are the boots I need to swallow, I mean wear.

I’ll forsake fashion for warmth any time, but these? These may be my limit. Don’t tell my kids though, because I’m totally making them wear the pair their father sent for them. Hypocrisy for the win.

It’s going to be fine though. Because I am a clever girl, even if I do like to wear my slippers outside in the snow and ice.

I found me some ice cleats. That I can slip on over my slippers.

It’s like I blinked and turned into a fuddy duddy without even knowing it.

Because somehow, wearing steal studded slippers out in public is totally more cool than wearing industrial sized winter boots.

I’ll save the boots for when he’s home though. So he can enjoy watching me tromp about in them and see just how sexy they are.

In the meantime, winter may be winning the war, but I at least totally won this little battle.

As long as I remember to wear my studded slippers when I go out in public.

Shhh. Don’t judge me.

It’s that time of year again people.

The time of year I fall down the Etsy rabbit hole and bring you all with me, kicking and screaming.

Because it’s the season of giving, yo. And my gift to you is a guide to some of the awesomeness hidden over at Etsy.

Because if you are anything like me, you’d rather have a rabid gerbil munch your eyeballs out than set foot in a crowded shopping mall during the holiday season.

The brilliance of Etsy? Besides the wide assortment of basically any item you could ever imagine all conveniently located on one shopping site? Etsy delivers.

That sound you here? It’s the magical sound of the heavens singing as the postman delivers your parcels. Postal workers are way better than a fat man in a red suit posing as a mythical holiday saint I tell ya.

So without any further ado, I bring forth my own personal Etsy gift guide.

Feel free to check out last year’s guide (because brilliance is timeless) and then get your fingers ready to do some happy holiday shopping.

Disclaimer: Please note that the following gift guide is a reflection of my own personal tastes and in no way should be a reflection of the person my parents had hoped I’d turn into.

JEWELLERY

I don’t tend to wear a lot of jewelry. In fact, I almost never wear my wedding rings and most days just sport a pair of cheap earrings. However, when I saw the necklaces from this shop, I knew I had to have one. I’ve worn it several times and each time I wear it, I get a boat load of compliments.

Creation Twinne 

I love bracelets. Possibly because my grandmother always worn them and possibly because I like to wear them to distract from my freakishly hairy arms. When I saw this bracelet I immediately coveted. This shop is filled with amazing jewellery, including a personalized silver bangle etched with your own child’s art. I’m seriously jonesing for it.

 Tina Roeder Jewellery Design

I have big hands. Or as my children tell me, I have man hands. The upside to having big hands for a woman means I can wring their necks easier wear big rings. Which I love. I especially love this ring. In fact I adore the entire shop.

Delias Thompson 

Of course, a gift guide wouldn’t be complete without me adding in my number one wish list item. I’ve been begging my husband for this necklace for a while now and he just keeps shuddering and giving me the stink eye while wondering where he went wrong in choosing a wife. I swear my husband has no sense of fashion. Whatever. I’m totally going to get this even if it means buying it myself.

 Loved To Death. Best shop. EVER.

ART

Part of the fun of being a grown up is having the ability to decorate your walls without your little sister drawing moustaches on all your kitten posters in your bedroom or having your mother refuse to let you paint your bedroom completely black and not buying you the black light you asked for three Christmas in a row.

I like art. And I like odd art. Because let’s face it, I’m a tad odd.

So when I saw these sculptures I knew I had to have one. I absolutely adore them.

 Kenjio

After my husband bought the oversized, Godzilla poop coloured leather sectional last fall, I took it upon myself to redecorate my living room. It was a desperate attempt to draw the eye’s attention away from the monstrosity hulking in the middle of my living room. My attempts were mostly unsuccessful, but it did lead to one thing: Colour. I’ve got colour everywhere in my living room. Which is why I love this shop. She’s got great fiber wall art and beautiful drawings. I covet.

Sometimes I Swirl 

Sometimes when surfing through Etsy, you find a shop where you want to buy almost everything. This is that shop. In fact, I not only want this sign to hang in my front entrance, but if I ever get a dining room, I want this plate set. I should totally get Jett Superior to come and redecorate my house. Maybe she could make my ugly oversized couch disappear.

 Pretty Gritty Things

I want this doll so bad. Mostly so I can watch my nieces and nephews freak out when they see it, but also because it may be the coolest thing ever. In fact, I want every one of the dolls in this shop. I could send a different one each month with Jumby for show and share. Shh, don’t judge me.

 Vanessies

KIDS

As my children get older I am learning how much harder it is to buy gifts for teenagers without going to the poor house. Every year I hunt for something interesting and affordable and every year I end up weeping in a dark corner and wishing my kids were young enough to just want to play with an empty cardboard box.

Enjoy them while they’re young is what I’m telling you.

When I found these bags, I knew I had to get one for the Jumbster. Nothing screams cool like a furry monster bag for him to bring to school.

 Bags That Bite

For my teenagers, who are currently learning about biology while dissecting dead animals in science class, I found the perfect gift. Not only will they be comfortable as they study but they won’t forget the lessons their teachers are trying to drum into their heads. It’s a win-win for everyone. This entire shop is awesome. Be sure to check it out.

Dirtsa Studio 

When I was a wee lass, my best friend and I used to spend rainy afternoons by playing with puppets. We’d put on elaborate shows that no one would watch until my brother would steal our puppets and let our dogs hump them. Anyways. Puppets are awesome fun. For everyone and every dog. Everyone needs a puppet to play with.

My Puppet Buddy 

Which leads me to the next item. A stage. Every child needs a stage to play with and this one is perfect. I love it.

 Made by Mommy

One of my favourite Etsy shops for kids is a repeat. Because sometimes a shop is so awesome (as is the owner) that it bears repeating. Jumbster has a rattle he loves to shake from this shop and if he were able to, I’d buy him this rocker to ride. Be sure to check out the beautiful nativity set as well. I want.

 Little Alouette

A gift guide wouldn’t be complete without a fabulous doll to decorate a daughter’s room with. Especially if your daughter is anywhere as twisted and dark as mine. (I’m so proud of her. Sniff.) I love these dolls. Zombie dolls are always timeless treasures.

 Paper Moon Gallery

HOME

I collect tea pots. I have tea pots of all shapes and sizes, some uglier than others. But this tea pot, well, it’s beautiful and I like it.

 YogaGoat

If your family is any thing like mine, you’ll know the importance of having coasters nearby. Otherwise your furniture will end up looking like mine. Full of rings. And there is nothing precioussss about these type of rings. I love these coasters.

 Decoy Lab

For the coffee lover in your life, I love these mugs. They’ve got some great other mugs all suitable geeked out by science and that makes them a winner in my book. Be sure to check out this shop.

 LL Townley Ceramic

I have a weakness for pretty things and this shop obliges my fancy just fine. I love these nesting bowls. Actually, I pretty much adore everything in this shop and wish I could purchase it all. My husband however, would likely not approve of such shenanigans, regardless of how beautiful these items are.

Prince Design UK 

I’m a big fan of pie. I dislike cooking in general, but when it comes to baking, pie is my game. I make a mean pie. And I don’t care what anyone says, store bought pie is never good. Don’t even argue with me about this. The only good pie is a home made pie. Preferably one I’ve baked. Which makes these pie plates perfect. Beautiful. Just like my pies.

 Leslie Freeman Ceramics

I adore a nice bowl. These bowls? They’re so beyond nice, they’re almost naughty. I want. Pay attention husband of mine.

 J&L Wood Turning

This shop is one of my absolute favourites. Her stuff is whimsical and fantastic. I am a big fan of her work, and the proud owner of one of her poppy bowls. I’m totally coveting these mugs next.

 Natalya Sots

PETS

I tend to spoil my pets. Okay, scratch that. I tend to spoil one pet. My Boston Terrier, Nixon. My other pets, from the fish to the barn cats, well, I feed them. But they aren’t my babies like my dog is. I’m one of those sick people who lets her dog lick her face and doesn’t mind that he sleeps with his arse just inches away from my nose as he farts all night long. Well, okay, so I do mind that part, but I over look it in the name of love.

So when I saw these little dog cowls, I knew my little Nixon had to have one. Just so I could watch my husband roll his eyes at how fashion forward my pooch is.

 EarthWalkers

Of course, winters can be brutal up here in the land of maple syrup and beavers, so I want my puppies to stay warm. Which is why I totally want to buy him this shirt. (Besides the fact it totally rocks.) Nixon will be a complete badass in it. No matter what my dad thinks.

Wren Willow

PAPER

Between the internet and cell phones, almost no one receives hand written cards any more. Which is an absolute travesty in my opinion. Because let’s face it? Checking our mailbox is not the same when the only thing one receives is bills and flyers. I miss the days of finding an envelope with a card inside it. Sigh.

Then again, I miss the days when our phone lines were all party lines because hot damn it was easy to spy on your neighbours back then.

Ahem.

However, cards should never become a lost form of communication, especially naughty cards. Because those are always the funnest to receive. Like this one.

 Sweet Perversion

I love the cards from this shop too. I have a soft spot for cards that have a vintage-y look and these ones fit the bill perfectly.

The Beautiful Project

But for my all time favourite, ever, card store? You can’t go wrong with the brilliant irreverence of this shop. An assortment of sugar and spice. Just like an old woman with baked goods. Heh.

 Lemons With a Pea by Robin Plemmons (who completely rocks by the way.)

MISCELLANEOUS

 Sometimes, when browsing the wonderlands of Etsy, you’ll happen across a piece of bizarre goodness that you will just have to have. For no good reason. I couldn’t think of which category to place this in, but I couldn’t bear the idea of scrapping it off the list either because you know, oh my goodness, the AWESOME.

I am totally buying one of these. To wear to my husband’s employers Christmas party. You know. To hide my own chin whiskers. If you can’t beat ‘em, may as well join ‘em.

 The Monkey Cannon

Now go forth and get your Etsy on.

*Have a favourite Etsy shop not listed here but want to send it some love? List it in the comments. Big thanks to everyone who sent in links via twitter, email, FB and Google+. I love y’all.*