We ended up having a much happier holiday than expected. It started when we got special package in the mail from my Mom. It was a Christmas ornament that played a pre-recorded message from my little brother Joey: “Merry Christmas to Mr. Snook and Kristy. We love you!” I started bawling as soon as I heard it. We spent Friday relaxing and getting ready for our feast over at Amy’s today. We even made some very special gingerbread cookies. Can you guess what the shape is? (I bought the cutters at an op shop a few years ago. Some disgruntled Aussie tourist must have gotten rid of them.) On Christmas Day the four of us headed out to Taronga Zoo to visit the monkeys and the meerkats. Snookums and I had a close encounter with a koala and recorded our very own special holiday message for Joey. (He likes koalas.) Then we headed back to Amy’s place for a Mexican feast complete with two very Aussie desserts: homemade summer pudding and pavlova. Whew. I’m stuffed. I’m looking forward to two more days of relaxation before I head back to work…

The notion that a size 16 actress is such a “fat pig” as to star in a taboo-busting play about fat acceptance just churns my stomach. You know what separates me from that actress? About two inches of height. I had no idea I was exposing the Snook to such societal ridicule. (She says with sarcasm and bitterness…)

Bah, humbug.
I’m just not in the holiday spirit. I wonder why. Could it be – oh, I don’t know – the old man who shat his pants in the store yesterday? Apologies for being crude, but I’m still really not over it. And I’m not exaggerating. I was helping a nice man pick out a Christmas gift for his daughter when the old fella, who’s been in the store before, walked up with some tapestry wools in his hand. He was sweating and shaking, but he’s always been a bit weak and I’ve had to get him a chair before so he could rest. This time, the customer and I both recoiled in horror. He stank. It was an ungodly smell. In retail you smell a lot of stinky people, but he was the worst ever. He mumbled something as he set down his wools and returned to get more. The customer I was helping had basically fled to the other side of the store. I rang up his sale and he gratefully fled outside. Then the old guy returned. He put down another handful of wools and gasped that he needed a chair. I ran for a green plastic lawn chair that we had sitting near the framing department. As he collapsed in it, I noticed that his shorts were extremely dirty. “Could he…? Nah.” I thought. “He’s just old and smelly.” I rang up his wools while standing as far from him as possible. I handed him his change as he staggered to his feet. Then he turned and headed for the door. My jaw – and those of my co-workers – dropped. His gray shorts were completely covered in crap, and he had it smeared all down his calves too. It was horrific. Bridget and I ran for the paper towels and Windex, which was all we could find. We wiped down the chair as best we could and took it downstairs to be disinfected. Three hours later I swear I was still smelling poo everywhere.

And how was your holiday shopping experience?

Your Honor, I stand accused of disgusting myself.

Exhibit A: I went in search of a “LOVE THE O.C.” t-shirt after the Snook told me he spotted them in the Imperial Arcade. I told myself that I would only wear it “ironically,” but everybody knows that’s a lie, right?

Exhibit B: I hesitated once I determined that the vile Supré had the shirt for sale, but ultimately I went in anyway. I tried not to look directly at the jelly shoes or camouflaged ra-ra skirts.

Exhibit C: I spent fifteen humiliating minutes searching through racks of XXS sizes to find the one single Large tank top in the whole bloody store.

Exhibit D: I paid $20 for a shirt too small to wear out of the house. (But not too small to flaunt on my DeskCam.)

Exhibit D: The salesman adamantly refused to let me leave without a flaming pink reusable Supré shopping bag which I then had to carry all the way home, thus announcing my shame to all the world.

Your verdict?

JK Rowling says: “It’s done.” Sweet!

So, I tasted Pocari Sweat.
On Sunday I went to joint blogger birthday party for Andrew and Eva out in Centennial Park. Since Andrew had e-mailed me after my last mention of Pocari Sweat to express his love for it, I figured a couple cans would be a good birthday present. Needless to say, he was pretty happy and he decided to share the joy by giving me a taste. I was hesitant. Plucking up my courage, I took a sip. My initial reaction wasn’t exactly positive, but I definitely wouldn’t say it tasted like “bodily fluid” either. I’d probably describe it as like a lemonade or Solo, but without any sugar. Kinda like a really crappy Gatorade. So while the taste isn’t totally vile, I still think the international marketing concept could use some work…

Netcraft reports that several web hosting companies have disabled Movable Type comments because comment spam is putting a serious drain on their servers. The ensuing Slashdot discussion speculates on the problems within MT that allow this to happen, and it has some good ideas for ways to fix (or switch) your blog to secure it. (As for me, I haven’t had any spams since I implemented the “More than five links” rule. This doesn’t happen til after they post, though, which means it’s still tying up my server a bit. Now I’m thinking about a blacklist that would keep them from accessing the script…)

Gingerbread Laptop and CPU. That’s pretty neat! I’ve never tried making any gingerbread sculptures before. (Mostly because I know the Snook would insist on making all the gingerbread from scratch, and I’d get bored and lazy halfway through and quit.) Has anybody else ever done it? Is it really hard? (Link courtesy of not martha.)

Since we got camera phones a few months ago, our biggest use of them has been taking pictures of ourselves and sending them to each other. It was especially helpful at Halloween when we were both costume-shopping separately. Anyway, I just cleaned it off and found a couple funny pictures of me. (Just mouseover for the captions.)

It’s all Greek.
The Snook: “It’s easy. Quicktime is to AVI as Sorenson is to DIVX.”
Me: *hysterical laughing* “Fleurgen is to schneurgen as gmergen is to geflorgen. You didn’t make it any easier.”