I had every intention of adding some witty sorta caption to this bizarre old picture.
But it seemed to have an insanity all its own, so I decided to let it be.

Speaking of insanity, I’m at the CHICAS site today.

It’s over.
Christmas 2006 is over.
Is it safe to come out now??

Let me begin by thanking everyone who wished me a merry one, and for dropping by during your busy time. Hope yours was fantastic and filled with love!!

I sometimes get the feeling that folks stop by here, read some of the nonsense I’ve posted, and go away thinking, “Ha! Aw, she’s making that up.”

No no no no no no no no no.
It is the truth. Every bizarre, strange little story. True. So naturally, there’s no such thing as a ‘normal Christmas’. This year was no exception…

Ignoring the horrendous start to the day (we won’t do details—just trust me on this), I determinedly made my way to my relatives’ house on this overcast Christmas afternoon. There were only a few people there, and since there was no food, drink, or presents, the only thing left to do was to actually talk to people. (What kind of commie bastard forces their guests to SOCIALIZE?!)

I was shortly introduced to my sister-in-law’s cousin, a young adolescent beauty of flowing black hair who looked to be about 15 years of age.

I noted that the girl had a large elastic bandage wrapped around her knee. So, of course, being the caring person I am, I approached her and asked, “honey, what happened to your knee?”

“Oh, nothing.” She smiled gently. “It isn’t my knee, it’s my leg.”

“Okay.” I nodded, expressing my concern. “So what in the world happened to your leg?”

“Oh, nothing.” She smiled gently. “It’s just…my leg.”

I shook my head, confused.

At this point, she quickly unwrapped it and handed it to me.

No.

Not the bandage.

The leg.

No, I shit you not. She took off her entire lower leg and handed it to me. A skillfully manufactured prosthesis, quite a match to the real one.

It’s my understanding that some people circulate at holiday parties holding a plate of turkey and dressing, or carrying a snifter of fine brandy.
But there I stood. Eyes wide. Jaw slack. Holding a leg for Christmas.

“It’s okay.” She smiled gently again. “I was born without it. Doesn’t bother me. So what did you say your name was?”

Did the evening improve? Nooooo…
It was as if The Ghost of Christmas Bad, not unlike The Red Death, held dominion over all. I retreated to a corner, carefully cupping my yummy glass of Christmas water, halfway expecting someone to take the damn leg and flog me with it for being anti-social.

And so I ask: Is it safe to come out now??

Hope everyone else had a great holiday!!
(yes, I’m smiling gently as I say that).

I’m at the Chica’s site today.

And Santa has been kind enough to come and share a few excerpts from his own Secret Blog!
Come join us!

(The following is a true story…only the names have been changed to protect the insane…)

It’s a couple of days before the Christmas weekend. Things are pretty busy at work, and a few people have time off.
Poor Dak was unfortunate enough to be the only male today in an office of ten women. But he’s a nice enough guy, never had any problem being in that situation…until now~~~~~

Toye (making numerous copies at the Xerox machine as Dak approaches): Dak, you just dropped a quarter. Behind you.

Dak: Did I? Oh, yeah. Thanks! Um…Toye? How did you know?

Toye: Hmmm?

Dak: I mean, you’ve got your back to me, and the thing had rolled under the desk over there. How did you know it was a quarter?

Toye: Women just know these things. It’s in the genes.

Dak: No, I’m serious.

Toye: Okay, if you must know, I heard it hit the floor. It sounded like a quarter.

Dak: Oh yeah, uh-huh. You could tell from the sound that it was a quarter.

Toye: Yup. Locating and identifying loose change has always been an intuitive staple for women, especially when they weren’t allowed to work. Money for the cookie jar. It’s in the genes.

Dak: You’re telling me that if I drop a coin—ANY coin—you can tell from the sound of it what it is?

Toye: In the genes.

Some of the other ladies begin to take an interest as Dak, very slowly and deliberately, drops another coin on the hard tiled floor.

Toye (without looking and missing nary a beat): Nickel.

Dak: This is a trick, right? You ladies had this all set up?

Toye: In the genes.

Dak: Oh yeah?

Turning his back to us, he allows a single piece of paper money to drift to the floor.

Alise (whose nose has been firmly planted inside the latest Nieman Marcus catalogue): Five-dollar bill. Folded.

In a hysterical frenzy, Dak begins emptying his pockets of change, smiling smugly as the coins hit the floor and flip-flop or roll.

All Ten Women After Listening Closely: Seventy-two cents.

For some reason, poor Dak seemed inclined to remain very quiet for the rest of the evening—as if he’d somehow been…well, violated. And he kept his hands in the pockets of HIS jeans, as if desperately trying to keep whatever secrets he might have left.

I may hate my job. But there are times I LOVE being a woman.

Big Congratulations to fellow Chica Denise McDonald, whose first book in print, DEADLY MISTAKES, has been released by Samhain Publishing!!

I don’t care what anybody says—there’s nothing like being able to hold your firstborn baby in your arms.

P.S.~~~

Adding congratulations to Jorrie Spencer, whose first book HAVEN is ALSO now available in print from Samhain!

Wishing you many sales, ladies!