It's a Hoard Candy Christmas

Christmas Day was pretty busy for me. Not that I'm special. I know it's busy for everyone. Well...everyone but, perhaps, Hick and The Pony.

I was cleaning up after Christmas dinner. Genius helped clear the table, and Friend rinsed off the dishes and collected the silverware and helped put some cold items in FRIG II while Genius gathered games they were taking to Friend's family's celebration that afternoon. I continued working away, washing all the dishes and the glassware, to let them dry in the dish drainer before starting on the pans.

It wouldn't have hurt to have a little assistance in tossing some leftovers to the dogs, or bagging up the trash to take it out. But sadly, I was alone. I figured that maybe Hick and The Pony were just dense. You know. They'd be glad to help, if only they knew that I needed help. So I went into the living room to put them on the spot.

Hick was rocking SnoozaPalooza '17 in the La-Z-Boy. I guess eating all that food in 15 minutes tired him out. Lest you doubt my previous revelation that Hick covers his face when he sleeps, even while wearing his breather...here's the proof. A pic, so it DID happen.

The Pony was plumb tuckered out. Apparently, digesting six Sister Schubert's rolls and half a stick of butter is quite taxing. I gave up on the pipe dream of getting some help, and went back to finish clean-up by myself.

Later that evening, after warming some leftovers for The Pony, and doing the same for Hick, and actually delivering it to his La-Z-Boy (!), I got to looking for a treat. Just a little something. I remembered that Niecey had given us a container of candy and cookies the night before, at my sister the ex-mayor's wife's Christmas Eve party.

Huh. I didn't see that container anywhere. I know that we brought our stuff home. I unpacked my box and put it away. When the treats were handed out, the passer-outer told me that they had given ours to Hick. But I didn't see what he did with his stuff. So I asked.

"Where's the candy that Niecey gave us?"

"I don't know. Where did you put yours?"

"What do you mean? It was for both of us. Whoever passed out the gifts said they gave ours to you."

"No. We each had one."

"NO. She gave US one. And they said they handed it to you."

"Well, I brought MINE home."

"Where is it? It's ours, and I want some."

"Where's your stuff from last night?"

"I put it all away! I did NOT have a container of candy and cookies! Where did you put 'yours'?"

"I left my stuff in the car last night."

"Where is it now?"

"With my other stuff."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"In the BARn. I took it to the BARn."

"OH! So you're HIDING it in the BARn! And you're going to sneak-eat it! You're not even supposed to have sugar! You shouldn't have it over there in the BARn."

"I was putting away my presents. My Coke stuff she got in Atlanta. It was just in the box with my stuff."

"Yet you LEFT IT THERE!"

"We EACH had one! I don't know why you're so worried about what I did with MINE!"

"Pony! Text your cousin Niecey and ask if she gave me and and Dad the container of candy, or if we EACH got one!"

"She says it was for both of you."

"SEE! I would like to have some of it."

"It's in the BARn."

Well. Of course I had to send a text to Niecey.

Niecey, thanks for the cookies and candy. When I asked Hick where it was, he said we each got one. Further interrogation revealed that it's now in the BARn. Because that's where everyone keeps their Christmas candy, I suppose. I don't know when he found the time to stash it there. For all I know, he's eaten it already!

But my point, of course, was to sincerely thank you. And not to tattle on the selfish candy thief to whom I am married.

NIECEY: "Hahaha! So it's basically already gone! Next year, just for you, I'll make you your own container! I will even put your name on it."

"Next year! I'll be watching him like a hawk! I knew he was up to something, because he was so evasive during questioning."

NIECEY: "You'll get your own. Don't worry. Sounds like Hick."

"Hick is many things, but a good liar is not one of them."

NIECEY: "Hahaha! Well, I am so sorry that he stole all of your candies. I promise to make you your own next year."

"That's okay. I was mainly trying to debunk his theory that we each had one, and that I'd lost mine. Mission accomplished."

NIECEY: "Perfect!"

Lucky for you, I have a picture! Not of MY share of candy and cookies. No siree, Bob! It's in the BARn, or in Hick's stomach, or in his descending colon. But this is the container that The Pony got.

It looks tasty, but I would never ask The Pony to share his with me. I have some of my own. Somewhere. Possibly in the BARn.

Thank goodness my best ol' ex-teaching buddy Mabel gave me some homemade chocolate-covered cherries.

I shared some with Genius, because he loves them. Not gave-him-some-to-take-home shared. More like you-can-have-one-if-you-want shared.

I don't know if Hick has been into them. Maybe I should start counting.

Come On Down and Play Thevictorian Family Feud!

Heh, heh! Not so fast. This isn't some juicy expose' on Val's kin. Just another one of the games we played on Christmas Eve. Surely you know how to play Family Feud...don't you? If so, you are ahead of selected Thevictorians.

Here's our head-to-head face-off podium, with some results in the background:

The game got off to a rocky start when the host, Niecey, redistributed the already-chosen teams. Let the record show that we were told, after being seated, that it would be one half of the room against the other. Fair enough. Val was on a team composed with Wrong Way Blue, WWB's husband, The Pony, Neph, and Babe's Daddy. We were all cheering and trash-talking the other team, when Host Niecey serendipitously declared that the teams were not fair! That Wrong Way Blue and Val should not be on the same team.

Huh. That must have made the other team of Hick, Genius, Friend, Ex-Mayor, Babe, and Matriarch feel like imbeciles, what with Host Niecey pretty much declaring that they had no chance against our powerhouse brain trust. Do you know what she did? Host Niecey moved Val to the other team! Switched out Val with Matriarch. There was much booing, most likely because my team wanted to keep me, and the other one didn't so much want me. Anyhoo...what was done was done, and I switched.

Another bone of contention was that rather than "100 People Surveyed," the answers we were supposed to guess came from "What Host Niecey Thinks." The first question caused a kerfuffle. "One hundred Christians surveyed (not really, I didn't go out and talk to 100 people, it's pretty much what I think) said THIS is a sign that Christmas is coming." When results were in, with Val and her new team winning, The Opposition complained that none of their answers made the survey, because obviously these "Christians" supposedly surveyed must have their own church and an odd set of values. They declared that the question was misleading, since none of the answers had anything to do with Christianity, but only general things like snow, colored lights, and cold weather. They were overruled.

A further giant thorn in the side of The Opposition was the denial of their answer "PRESENTS" in Round 2, which posed the non-question, "Name something associated with Santa." The Opposition was quietly grumbling throughout Val's Team's answers as we got every single one correct. But when the last answer, which happened to be the #1 response from What Host Niecey Thinks, was "GIFTS," The Opposition started looking for pitchforks and flaming torches. Again, Host Niecey overruled them, stating unequivocally that PRESENTS were not the same as GIFTS.

Six rounds we went, the family feuding more at the end of each one. Val's Team emerged victorious, winning the group prize that had enough for everyone. Here's my share:

Yes. My teammates took the good colors of stretchy key ring (can be used to hook onto your casino player's cards, you know) and the good flavors of Blow Pop chapstick. I'm okay with pewter, though, instead of pink or green. And grape. Even though it's the flavor I detest most.

After all. Val is a WINNER, by cracky!
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Let the record show that Sister Schubert appears in that picture purely by accident, as I was warming leftovers and had the bag from the rolls providing a white background for my Feud swag.
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The Race is On and Here Comes Hick Up the Backstretch

Christmas Eve dawned all picturesque and good-will inspiring. I finished up some of my pre-Christmas dinner preparations, like deviling the eggs, and wrapped a couple of final presents. The view out my kitchen window was holidayish. All that was missing was Christmas carols. I don't have a radio in the kitchen, and even though the living room TV is plenty loud enough to hear, if I had put on one of the DISH channels that plays Christmas music (saw one Christmas morning with kittens and puppies in front of a fireplace!), The Pony was watching something else. He DID take a picture for me, out the kitchen door:

You may not see the snow falling, because the flakes were small. Take my word for it. SOMETHING had to make that coating on the back deck.

The day flew by. Genius and Friend arrived around 4:45. We visited briefly, then all piled into A-Cad to attend the yearly Christmas Eve party thrown by my sister the ex-mayor's wife. As you know, games are part of the festivities. This year, we each had a Christmas cracker thingy, and inside were paper crowns, and jokes, and AN ELF. Those elves were made for racing! We had two preliminary heats, and then finals.

The pit crew got the racers ready for those of us who couldn't reach the start line. You might notice that Hick is the arm not dressed in festive Christmas colors. Or even colors suitable for a Christmas Eve party.

I was the Green Elf, and as (bad) luck would have it, Old Orange Hick was in the lane next to me. He kept giving me the bum's rush right off the track! At least I wasn't Wrong Way Blue.

The racers needed refueling by hand crank a couple times before they completed the race. So I might have had a chance, if I could have stayed on the track.

We had a photo finish. Looks like I would have been proud to be Wrong Way Blue, because that little elf redeemed herself and won our heat, making it to the semifinals against Babe (the almost-4-year-old daughter of my niece), and Babe's Daddy.

The finals came down to Wrong Way Blue and Babe's Daddy. It was a dead heat, and Babe was given the honor of breaking the tie. She chose the winner to be: "NOT YOU, Daddy!" So Wrong Way Blue took home the trophy. The purse. The special prize in a stapled-shut gift bag. It was a giant container of mixed nuts, a $9 or $10 value. Congratulations, Wrong Way Blue. Hope you don't have a nut allergy.

Old Orange Hick didn't even apologize for his moving violations. Apparently, he is also a sweaver on foot.

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Let the record show that Val and Thevictorians are leaving Wednesday morning for CasinoPalooza 3. There will be a fresh post each day, and comments answered late night or early morning. The CasinoPalooza tales themselves will be next week.

Because what happens at CasinoPalooza 3 stays in Val's head until she has time to reveal events properly.
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I Really Don't Believe in Coincidences, You Know

Thursday, Hick and I went to see my best ol' ex-teaching buddy Mabel. And by "see," I mean we drove down to have lunch with Mabel and her husband, and hand over the gold frames Hick has been buying for them at the auction and flea market and Goodwill, and also exchange Christmas gifts (and birthday) and Chex Mix and chocolate-covered cherries.

We never go anywhere, Hick and I. Not besides the casino. We get down there to see Mabel every few months. Let the record show that Genius rarely contacts us, unless he needs money or advice about money or help with moving so it doesn't cost him money.

The waitress hadn't even come to take our order yet when my phone rang with a call from Genius. Of course I answered. He might be in need of money, you know! Okay. He was not. He was calling to say that he was having his mail held until he got his new mailbox straightened out, and that there might be some of his mail, or a form from the post office, coming to our house. No big deal. I told him we were having lunch with Mabel (one of his former teachers), and Genius said to enjoy it, and hung up.

After a delicious lunch of chicken quesadillas (me), a fried fish sandwich with sweet potato fries (Mabel), chicken strips and fries not crispy (Mabel hubs), and a bacon and swiss burger with fries (Hick), we reconvened at Mabel's gorgeous mansion for the framing and gifting. I was standing at the kitchen counter unwrapping when my phone rang again with another call from Genius. His post office told him it might take 30 days to get a key for his mailbox at the apartment complex, because they were behind. He said he could still go to the post office and pick up his mail there, but he was worried because I said I'd sent him something.

I told Genius that it was fine. Only a Christmas card to welcome him to his new apartment. Nothing important included. No six dollars for Chinese food. No lottery tickets. No insurance card. No check. He was fine with that. Just wanted to make sure.

It's unusual for Genius to call like that. He's a busy guy, getting his future in order. I don't think the mail was a big deal to him, though it would have been eating away at me for the whole 30 days. Anyhoo...it was nice to hear from him. I don't worry about him being on his own in a new city, because he's so self-sufficient. I tell him he's my shining star. Not every letter or conversation, of course. That would be kind of creepy. No, just on special occasions. Like on his birthday card a couple weeks ago. And on his graduation card. "You will always be my shining star."

I would be flattering myself to think that Genius was just wanting to hear my voice while getting acclimated in his new surroundings, or wanting my assurance that everything was going to be fine. And he would say I was crazy if I thought that! He has a roommate, so I knew he wasn't lonely. He has money in his account to last until his first paycheck after he starts work on January 8th. It was just unusual. Getting two calls from him.

Back at home later than afternoon, I was busy making two Oreo cakes for HOS and The Veteran. Sitting at the kitchen table, putting on the icing and decorating with Oreos, I took a break for a little snack. NOT Oreos. I don't really like them.

On the kitchen table was a bag of candy I had left over from filling the stockings. An assortment. Delicious candy, like Reese's Christmas Trees, and mini KitKats, and bite-size Snickers, and those dark chocolate Milky Way bites. I didn't want to go overboard. I chose one piece of candy. A little square of Dove chocolate. They have sayings inside the wrapper, you know.

Funny how The Universe has a way of spying on your life like Alexa in her Echo Dot. I sent Genius a text:

"Sorry. I think this was meant for you."

'Tis the Season, and There's Still No Pleasin' Val

Ah...Christmas, the season of good will towards men.

Good will is sorely lacking in Val's life. But you knew that already, right? All I wanted to do was run by the dead-mouse-smelling post office and pick up my last package on Friday. I TOLD you I was done with my Christmas shopping on time! I also needed a couple of last-minute items from Walmart. So off to town I went, after getting up at the crack of 9:30 a.m. on Friday.

The mailman lady had left an orange postcard in EmBee on Thursday, saying that I had a package that could not be delivered. I knew exactly what it was, and where it was coming from. It was a John Deere wall-hanging thingy for Hick's BARn, and also a John Deere temperature thermometer thingy that you stick in the ground. They're really better gifts than what they sound like, and something Hick would desire if he saw them.

Anyhoo...the card said the package was from another seller, one that I already had my items from. So I figured the mailman lady messed up. She's been delivering later each day, sometimes after 3:00, when it used to be before noon. It's a busy time for her, so I don't fault her for the lateness. But you'd think she could get the basics right. After all, she DID give me somebody else's package on Saturday, thus necessitating that I do her job for her, and get that guy his package (heh, heh, I said something about a guy's package!) in time for Christmas. Or at least Hick had to do her job.

Anyhoo...I went into the dead-mouse-smelling post office at 10:45. They close for lunch at 11:00. Only one customer was ahead of me, paying to ship something. It didn't take long until I had the full attention of the clerk. You'd think she would welcome me with open arms, wouldn't you? Seeing that all I had in my hand was an orange postcard denoting a package to pick up. No tedious package-weighing or change-making or listening to complaints. I stepped up and handed her my card. I even had my driver's license in my pocket, just in case, ever since that time they asked me for ID, even though they'd been handing out my packages all willy-nilly to a tweenage Pony and my mom, neither of which were asked for ID, my mom not even having the orange postcard, but merely saying she was there to pick up my package.

"I just need to pick up this package, please."

"I'm gonna have to dig for it. I just got my mail." Said with a heavy sigh, as if I was putting her out to ask for my package during working hours, by presenting a notice that her own agency had left for me, instructing me to come in and pick up the package.

Seriously? It makes me no nevermind, lady, how much you have to freakin' dig! You can call and rent a backhoe for all I care, and miss your lunch waiting for it to show up. Or you can get a post hole digger and start excavating. Or grab a good old-fashioned pickax and start chipping away at your building's concrete floor. Because last time I checked, it was your freakin' J-O-B to give mail to people it is addressed to. And while you're digging, could you maybe offer me your condolences for making my life harder, by requiring me to drive all the way to town to pick up my package, when I'm pretty sure you're in the business of mail DELIVERY, and not in the business of operating a mail store where people come and pick up things that other people have paid to have delivered to them.

Okay. So maybe that's being a bit rough on the young gal. But really, I was polite and within reason to present the card they left me, and ask for my package.

Don't even get me started on the fine how-do-you-do that I got from the Walmart cashier a half hour later...

Okay. You're going to hear about it anyway. I need to stockpile some stories to feed you while I'm celebrating Christmas, and heading out for CasinoPalooza 3.

Gift Horse

Today is the eve of Christmas Eve. The last mail delivery day before Christmas. Ol' Procrastinating Val got her internet shopping done on time, and all her presents delivered by yesterday. So imagine her surprise when she picked up the mail and saw a key to the package lock-box in the mouth of EmBee.

I took the key and opened the box. Huh. A package from Amazon. I didn't remember any outstanding gifts. But clearly, the mailman lady had left me a key, and now I had a package. Or DID I? Somebody else's name and address was on the shipping label!

What to do? You can't re-lock a post office lock box. The key won't come out. So I couldn't put it in the right guy's mailbox. Besides, the lock box won't re-lock. So that package would be there for the taking. I couldn't drive the package to the dead-mouse-smelling post office, because it was now 3:30 p.m., on a Saturday, and they were closed. The earliest I could take it would be Tuesday. The day AFTER Christmas. And I'm pretty sure whoever ordered this would want it before.

I took the box home. But before I could get there, I saw somebody in the front yard/field. Two somebodies. And two critters. Looks like The Universe gave Val a gift horse. TWO!

You have to zoom in, because I stayed back so as not to spook those nags. They'd gotten out of their pasture when a dude on a red tractor opened the gate to take in a giant round bale of hay. Neighbor horses just LOVE our yard. Over the years, we've had many of them gallop through, or stop and munch, or trample our little garden we used to plant out back.

Anyhoo...once the neighbor nags were imprisoned again, I took my unordered gift up to the house.

Hick was sitting in the La-Z-Boy on a heating pad, having done who knows what to his butt again. He'd better not mess up Casinopalooza 3, is all I gotta say! Hick programmed that address in his Garmin, and set out to deliver it. He later said the lady was out in her yard, and looked AFRAID when he drove up.

"No wonder. We live out in the middle of nowhere, and then you show up with that crazy Santa/meth beard! I'd be afraid, too."

"Val. I was IN THE CAR!"

"Still. She didn't know you."

"She went in the house for something, then came back out."

"Probably to get her shotgun. Or concealed weapon."

"She came out and said she didn't know what her husband had ordered. I told her maybe it was her Christmas gift."

"Way to go, Santa, giving away that guy's surprise gift!"

"She wasn't rude or anything. She appreciated it that I brought the package. But she was kind of nervous."

"Oh, well. If it was me, I definitely would be glad if somebody brought me my last-minute package that the mailman lady messed up."

"Yeah. They appreciate it."

So...Even Steven sent me two gifts, and then took them back, because they weren't really mine. What kind of giver is THAT?

Back-of-the-Book-Blurb Friday #90 "The Dog Leaps in On Little Croc-ed Feet"

Blog buddy Sioux is hosting Back-of-the-Book-Blurb Friday. I have 150 words to convince you to fake-buy my fake book. Sit back. Take your shoes off. Unless they're CROCS, of course! The most comfortable foot-protectors ever invented. The star of this week's fake book. You know you want it! There's nothing better than wearing a pair of Crocs--unless it's reading about them!

The Dog Leaps in On Little Croc-ed Feet

Pick Pickerson, a thief on a mission, needs stuff to sell or pawn, to feed his hoarding habit. He doesn't want the valuables, only to convert them to money, for bargains at Goodwill, flea markets, and auctions.

Pick likes to be comfortable on the job. He dons his size-8 quick-Pick shoes before heading out for break-ins each night. The gently-used brown Crocs he got (legally) at Goodwill are much kinder to his feet than the $1000 shoe inserts from The Good Feet Store. Almost as good as the camouflage Crocs he wore out last week.

Last night Pick had to beat feet to escape an over-eager watchdog. Funny how that dog didn't bite him. It jumped out of a shadow and pounced on Pick's Crocs, chewing like there was no tomorrow. The 47th incident of such an attack. Will Pick switch footwear to avoid future close encounters of the canine? (150 words)

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Fake Reviews for Val’s Fake Book

The Good Feet Store..."We highly recommend these Crocs for anyone with a $1000 in their pocket. Thevictorian's fake books, however...we don't recommend to anybody. Not even for a cut of the action."

Old Baby Blue Sweatshirt belonging to Val Thevictorian..."I find these shoes to be a good accessory to ME! I look really good in comparison. This author, on the other hand, has nothing to make her look good in comparison. She IS the comparison. Val Thevictorian is the Croc of the literary world. She'll make you sweat as you read her, and unable to rid yourself the stink afterward."

Nancy Sinatra..."These Crocs are made for walkin', and that's just what they'll do. Walk right past this fake book's shelf and save fake money for you!"

Blue Suede Shoes..."Step on these filthy foot vehicles all you want, just as long as you stay offa ME! Thevictorian makes me blue. With her pseudo-writing."

George Costanza..."Crocs are even frowned upon by people who know that draping themselves in velvet is socially unacceptable...but do it anyway. I'm pretty sure Thevictorian's fake books will never be taken into a bookstore bathroom. They're not even good enough to fake-read on the toilet."

Rebecca DeMornay down at the Homeless Shelter..."Thevictorian's fake books may not be toilet books, but people STILL keep bringing them here. The homeless don't want Thevictorian's fake books! Even muffin stumps and chicken skins and lobster shells are more palatable."