New Year’s Resolutions I Will (probably not) Keep

I will not let the gas light come on in the truck (Ironhide). Also, I will not keep driving when said light does come on.

Yeah, right. 2011 will likely be the year I’m stranded on the side of the highway out of fuel.

I will stop eating Nutella out of the jar with my finger when I’m grumpy.

In 2011, I will use a spoon.

I will stop dropping into the pet store that has all the cute baby rats. I am not that strong.

Well…. Maybe just to look….

I will not judge people.

Much. Except bad drivers, bad dressers, bad parents, bad… er, ok, this one may be hard to keep…

I will grow up and stop sleeping with stuffed animals.

Except Sir Loin and the Petite Sir Loin. And the other cows when LT Fromage is gone. But all others will stay out of the bed.

I will not use duct tape as a fashion item; even though it is designed for holding things together, the things held together should not be my pants.

I will learn to bake. And while doing so, I will try very, very hard not to catch the house on fire or add a little crunch to brownies with a splintered wooden spoon.

I will lose the last….

Oh forget it. No weight loss resolutions. I’ll mess that one up before I finish this post!

I will take a picture a day for 365 Days in Pictures.

Ok, I actually plan to really really try hard to do this one. Check out my new website devoted to my year in photos.

What are your resolutions?

Active Imagination

Growing up, I had an imaginary friend; he was a horse named Acorn (But not the Black Stallion kind, more like a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. He walked on two legs; the back ones of course, wore clothes and could talk, even though no one but me ever heard him). Actually, Acorn had a whole family which mirrored mine (except he was a boy with a brother, and I a little girl with a sister), they even adopted another imaginary horse at exactly the same time my family adopted a little girl! Hm. Coincidence?

Acorn and his family must have moved somewhere along the line, or stayed behind when my family packed up. I’m not sure where Acorn is now, but I hope he finds himself doing well; perhaps even settled down with a nice imaginary female version of himself raising little imaginary foals.

I count myself lucky for having such an active imagination. Creativity, being left brained, whatever it is, most of the time it’s pretty cool. Except when I’m trying to sleep.

“Count sheep” everyone tells you. Ah, well, would if I could, but I can’t. Those darn sheep take on a life of their own you see.

Sheep number one, wearing a blue blanket with a big yellow numeral prances in, easily hops the fence.

(Why on earth am I keeping my sheep in a pasture with a fence they can so easily jump? I should do something about that… Maybe if I wasn’t so busy sewing all of their numbered vests…)

Sheep numbers 2 through, oh, about 7, are all well calm and relaxing, leisurely bouncing over my wooden boundary. But then it gets a little out of control. By the time we are in the double digits, too many sheep have decided to jump at once and I’m having a difficult time keeping up. Somewhere in the teens, someone always misses the jump and then a real chaos begins as he’s trampled by a flock of rushing sheep. Everyone is out of order, of course. “Get up, number 17! Hurry! Wait, 14, 22, 37 and 41 just went by, but how many have actually escaped now? Oh dear!”

I’ve given up on counting sheep. Know what else helps you sleep? Over the counter pills. No livestock involved.

Smarty Pants

The duct tape jeans have gone into retirement. (Notice I didn’t say “the trash”…. I might have kept them, just in case… in case of what, I don’t know, but just in case.)

I finally, after months and months of searching, found new jeans. And the best part? Marked $36 (which is, sadly, much more than I like to spend on jeans. I’m a cheapwad) but were 70% off! Booyah!

Somewhere I missed out on the girly jeans I was supposed to get (haha, get it, genes/jeans… bad pun, never mind). I hate shopping for clothes. I usually end up dashing from the store sweating profusely and near tears without even actually making a purchase. No lie. Now put me in the kitchen department of any store and it takes the jaws of life to get me out, and when I do emerge, you can count on my arms being full of serving dishes, strainers, blenders and such. I even like Home Depot, sometimes I used to just hang out in there when I was bored (don’t I live a thrilling life?). But clothes shopping, no way, I’d rather kiss a moving train.

But I found some new jeans! Arizona, dark wash, flare leg size… er, I’ll keep that part a secret.

To avoid any future duct tape needs, I thought ahead and bought an extra pair! Way to think ahead, Lady Fromage (*pats self on back*)

What I really want is pajama jeans. I’ll bet they’re like wearing heaven....

My Favorite Place to Stroke LT Fromage

Whoa, get your mind out of the gutter! *wink wink*

From the first time I saw it, I wanted to touch it, run my fingers through it, stroke it ever so gently. But I was too shy to ask so I just longed for it from afar.

Finally (and I really mean finally, this was well into our marriage!), I sought permission for what I’d dreamed of for so long…

“Hun, could I please touch your arm pit hair?”

He of was confused, of course, as I’m sure many of you are also, but he let me. And oh, it was glorious! Long and silky, I stroked it and stroked it.

Before he deploys, I think I’ll snip a bit off to keep for myself, so with or without him, I can indulge in running my fingers along it’s silky softness.

Now you all know my armpit hair fetish.

And you thought I was weird before....

Things I Hate: Doctor's Visits

One nice thing about the Army is the medical insurance. Yup, we're pertty well covered. But the care provided is, uhm, well...

How come I’m asked to arrive “at least 15 minutes early” to see the doctor, and then made to sit alone in a tiny, cold room (with no magazines to be seen! Thank God I brought a paperback with me!) for 55 minutes before the MD ever pops in? Fifty-five freakin’ minutes. No apology, and then I’m rushed through my visit, hardly able to voice my concerns (to which every response is simply “Take this to the lab, they’ll run blood work”) in the generous ten minutes I was allotted.

Apparently, I had a mind reading doctor today, which would explain why he was so busy; he must be quite popular! (This is not my normal doc, mind you. Mine is friendly, and must not have telepathic powers since at those visits, I’m actually questioned about my medical history, current medications, symptoms, etc. You know, the stuff that could be important, like "Yes, this runs in my family, both sides, in fact!")

Mind reader or not, I was unimpressed, and a little irked that just because someone one to medical school his time is more important than a little blogger with internal bleeding. (Ok, irked was the wrong word. I was actually a blubbering baby about it as soon as I reached the lab for blood work. Thanks, girls, for cheering me up and addressing my questions, even though that wasn't your job. And thanks for the tissue, too.)

You can bet, Mind Reader, MD, when I make my follow up appointment in 7-10 days (even though my lab results are back already so it’d be cool to talk, uhm, before then, but whatevs….), it won’t be with you.

So I'll just keep bleedin' away for the next ten days, and since you wouldn't answer my questions about what I could do to ease things along, I'll keep being grumpy, 'cause I don't feel so good.

Anyone still want Government run health care?

Rant over.

Christmas Recap in Pictures

O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree....

Decorated with home made ornaments inspired by Country Living....

"The Cheese Nun" was opened and made me so glad.... (Thanks, LT Fromage!)

Then I opened this cow purse from "Mom" and from "Dad"

LT Fromage's stocking was overflowing with treats....

Left over turkey bones the ratinos did eat...

The dogs both got rawhides, despite being naughty....

Next year we'll save money and just give the cats all the paper....

Christmas oh-ten, you were such a good one. I hope all my readers had just as much fun!

Multiple Choice

Lack of recent posts has been due to

A) Taking a leave of absence from work to deal with my anxiety disorder

B) Hand feeding an 8 day old baby rat every 3-4 hours day and night

C) Cleaning cat pee off of the love seat

D) Screaming at the dog for unwrapping the gift “she got” for her daddy (That was FROM you, Erika, your name was in the FROM spot, not TO, D@MNITT)

E) Hanging cow Christmas lights in my cow kitchen (An early gift from LT Fromage, since he got to open one early… er, Erika opened it for him)

F) Winning the lottery

G) All of the above

H) All of the above except for F

If you answered H, you’re correct. I’m at home for a few weeks (maybe longer, if I qualify for short term disability). I wish we’d won the lotto, but alas, my recent activity has included no such luck. I’m supposed to be using this time to de-stress, however most of my time has been spent trying to undo the damages caused by our four-legged kids and playing wet-nurse to a little boy we call Florian Geyer who’s little eyes and ears aren’t even open yet. (Ok, the baby isn’t stressful. I actually kind of like all that mothering I get to do for our new little guy).

So, folks, please bear with me. I’m still around and blogging, but if I don’t post quite as often for a short bit, assume it’s because I’m re-stuffing the cats’ stocking (again) or dealing with a couple of dogs who’ve eaten every last shard of glass from a broken cake platter. Cross your fingers that I actually will manage to get some down time so I can drink some Red Thai Chi Tea (say that 5 times fast!) with LT Fromage, open some gifts (if the dogs don’t get to them first) and read a good book or two.

Merry Christmas to you and yours from us and ours in the Fromage household!

All I Want For Christmas….

Looks like denim…. But feels like PJs! They’re Pajama Jeans!

https://www.pajamajeans.com/flare/next

Jeans that are pajamas? H3LL yeah! Sign me up! I like to be comfortable while looking sharp!

Am I ashamed of my desires? Perhaps slightly. But c’mon, it “Feels like sleepwear but looked too good to keep hidden under the covers”!

*Concern is on the rise that I may soon give in and purchase…a….snuggie. Someone stop me, I need an intervention!

I Am My Mother’s Daughter

(image couresty of postsecret)

I strive to be even half the woman, the wife, and one day the mother that my mom is. My mom is my hero and my best friend. I haven’t yet mastered her patience or her home-made biscuits, but we’re 2 peas in a pod when it comes to interest in world religions, we’re both painfully introverted and we share a love (ehm, obsession) for Rocky Horror Picture Show (Not many people can relate when you say you’ve already watched it for the 5th time that week… on a Tuesday). She passed along much of who she is to me, and for that I’m so thankful. Except for one thing…

My mom has an aura that screams “Walk all over me! Use me! Please! Please! Take advantage of me!” My poor mom gets no respect. Like the time she was in Italy with my dad, they were the only ones in the restaurant for a late lunch. My dad was given a handsome, leather bound menu, while my mom was tossed (No lie, it was actually tossed to her) a dirty, food stained stapled stack of paper listing their food offerings. She could see a tall stack of fancy menus, but it was no surprise that they wouldn’t waste one on her!

Back home in America, when we go out to eat, the waiter or waitress will refill every empty glass except mom’s, sometimes they look right at her, turn with the half-full water pitcher and leave the table. Then there was the time the storage top on the car came open on the interstate during a family road trip, of course, the only bags that flew out were mom’s.

Just last week she tried to reach the 32nd floor of a hotel, the elevator wouldn’t move. She tried another but still wasn’t taken to her floor. Other guests rode the elevator with ease. She traveled up and down with them, never stopping on her chosen 32nd floor. She finally asked another passenger to push the button for her, and, of course, it worked then. Poor mom.

This, this is what I inherited from my mom. Not her ability to clean any stain, her charm, her vast knowledge about everything (basically), nope, I got this. A lifetime of empty drink glasses and lost luggage at the airport. When our couple’s massage appointment was “accidentally cancelled” recently, LT Fromage just sighed and said, “You defiantly are your mother’s daughter…”

Thanks, Mom.

Be sure to check out her blog, which she no longer updates, ehem, mommy dearest, but reading thru her archives is sure a lot of fun. Also, you'll notice this post is more than 4 years old... how come she didn't market her own snuggies?

What Were We Thinking? Part II

Still not back to work. Eff. Headed to a doctor's appointment this afternoon; thanks for the well-wishes, all.




For now, I offer you: Candid Shots part 2, Our Wedding:


*Clearly, we didn't hire as good a photographer as my sissy did. Crap.

What Were We Thinking?

I thought about calling this post “Finally! A picture taken by a professional and not that crappy phone camera! And, no vermin on her head!” but went with this instead.

Don’t you just love candid shots?

*picture from my sissy’s wedding in August.

**Cut me a break, I’m home from work today feeling no beuno, it’s after 2 and I’m still on the couch.This is all you get. Back tomorrow.

There are Always Consequences

(Photo credits not mine. D@MN I forgot to bring my camera. You get the idea…)

Last night we had to make a quick wal-mart run. Yeah. We shop at wal-mart. Don’t bother trying to tell me why it’s wrong, and I already know it’s kind of white trash, but I’m all about saving a few bucks. So sue me. No, really, don’t. Please. I haven’t saved enough bucks to make it worth your time, I promise!

Anyway.

LT Fromage and I were both in sort of silly moods. This is actually normal for us, so I’m not sure why I feel the need to mention it. The crazies were probably intensified just a little by the beer he had at supper, and the glass (er, 3) of wine I had before we left.

*easily distracted this morning. bear with me*

LT Fromage insisted on pushing the cart. Usually I like to push, but he got it first (wrestled it away from me). Near the end of our list, we passed by the electronics department where LT Fromage began grazing the displays with our cart. Why? “Because I can’t do it in the car! Here there are no consequences!”

He hadn’t even finished his statement when he totally plowed over a printer and ink display!

Which I’m saddened to see doesn’t seem as funny in type as it did when it happened. But trust me, it was uh-mazing!

We laughed like kids while we scrambled to reassemble the stuff we knocked down before this overweight, waaaaay to serious wal-mart employee comes running (well, as fast as he could run. More like a brisk walk) “Is everyone ok?!” LT Fromage assured him we were fine, I was too busy laughing like a hyena to answer. “Are you sure? Do we need to file a report?”

Do tell, what would that report say?

“We were sideswiped by a gray cart, we didn’t get a plate number but it appeared
to be a male driving. They pushed us into this display and then fled the scene.
No medical assistance was necessary at the time. No property damage was
sustained (we put it all back… wrong, I’m sure, but we tried) and the cart seems
to be running fine, despite the accident”

I guess you had to be there.

Ah, I love being married.

Things I Hate: Being Bald

Have I mentioned before how much I hate Mondays?

Know what else I hate? Being bald.

See that? (Look away from the rat for a second, look to the right…) A bald patch. One of many.

I don’t even know where to start here….

First of all, I’m sorry about the quality of the picture. We did finally find the digital camera connector cord thing, but I still took this with my phone. Old habits die hard I guess.

Second, I’m sorry I look like I just woke up. I did. This was taken at about 4:57AM. This is the beautiful swamp monster (er, wife) that LT Fromage gets to wake up to every morning. (No wonder he’s gone so often! Hm…)

Lastly, because I know this is what you’re most confused about, pardon the rat on my head. Ok, it’s just weird, I know. I don’t feel like I could defend myself if I tried. That’s Howie. At any given time I have at least one rodent crawling on some part of my body. (For anyone keeping count, we’re up to 7 now) As I write this post (at work), I have Ruger snuggled in my pocket. Crazy rat lady? Perhaps. If I’m not yet, I’m well on my way to earning that title. Stay tuned.

Anyway, now that we’ve cleared all that up, did you notice it? The bald spot? I have 3 more, but frankly, I think subjecting you to this one picture was enough. You can just take my word on the others.

Why can’t the hair on my legs fall off? Or my upper lip? Or my chin? Or my…. Ehm, lady parts (because God knows, I guess you all know now too, how much waxing there hurts!).

Really? When I lose weight it’s always in my boobs (and I don’t have much to spare there!) and when I lose hair, it’s from my head. So unfair. Why can’t this stuff work in my favor?

Maybe I’ll just start covering my head in rats. Like one of those coonskin hats, you know? I might get some weird looks, but at least they would distract from my balding.

Winner Winner, Chicken Dinner!

Congratulations to citymouse for winning the very first Lady Fromage give away! Get in touch with me so I can get your copy of The Rebel Housewife Rules out to you, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!

(click her comment to visit her blog)

A consolation prize, to everyone who didn’t win: some yummy festive snacks. Some assembly required. (Pictures of the finished product can be found on this post)

Cranberry, Pistachio, Chocolate Cookies
Yummy to my tummy!

I’m actually not going to share the sugar cookie recipe I used, because it sucked. Use one you know and trust, or, go buy a roll at the grocery store. I promise it will be better than what I ended up with.

Oh so easy from here:

½ cup pistachios
½ cup dried cranberries
1/3 cup chocolate chips

Bake, and then gobble up with a cold glass of milk!

White Chocolate Peppermint Truffles

Now, you’ll have to bear with me again. I didn’t measure (This is why I cook, not bake)

Melt approximately 1 cup of white chocolate in a double boiler (Don’t have one? No biggie. Boil a small amount of water, and set another pot inside. You’re just keeping this treat off of direct heat).

Add a few crushed candy canes (I used a mortar and pestle, but a rolling pin and ziplock bag works nicely, too) and a half cup (or so...) of mini marshmallows.

Stir continually until the mix has set enough to scoop with a melon baller, shake some red sprinkles and enjoy!

Using the same theme, you can melt milk chocolate and add any of the following:

-Andes mints, sprinkle on imperials and dried mint as a finishing touch.
-Cinnamon and cyan pepper for a bit of bite!
-Orange extract (find it near the vanilla, and many more flavors are available) and zest fresh orange rind over the tops.

I also tried making eggnog truffles, but the ‘nog made them a little too sticky, more like a taffy. I would suggest skipping the liquid (unless you don't mind the mess!) and simply adding all spice to your white chocolate/marshmallow mix if you care to try them (they were pretty freakin’ dee-lish!)

Thanks to everyone who participated in the very first Lady Fromage give away! I had fun, I hope you did too, and we’ll be sure to do this again soon (And no, I don’t mean that the way a guy does after a mediocre date!)

TMI?

Remember, you only have until tomorrow to leave a comment about your favorite holiday tradition to be in the drawing for The Rebel Housewife Rules!

We’re all friends here, right? I feel like I can share this story with you. As you'll see, I shared much more with many I knew much less.



I get a certain area of my body waxed. I won’t tell you which area I’m talking about, but I’m sure you can use your imagination (I’ll give you a hint – it’s not my under arms).

Before I begin my story you must know that I am a cheapskate. Also, at that time in my life, I was broke, making money saving a must, not a hobby. I found an aesthetician school that would wax off my unwanted hair for, get this, twenty bucks, which was significantly less than the $80 (plus tip) I was paying elsewhere.

Of course I made an appointment right away. Duh. (Who's said that in the last 10 years?)

Normally, this sort of thing takes, oh, twenty or thirty minutes. I allowed an hour, since it would be a supervised student instead of a pro. But a little extra time was no big deal; I was saving $60+!

Boy, were they happy to see me come in the door! As I signed in, this question was proposed:

“We don’t get a lot of people requesting this particular treatment…. Would you mind if we were to let a few students observe?”

My answer should have been H3LL no. But, caught off guard, I sort of, well, said yes! As long as my ______ (fill in the blank) was on display anyway, might as well make it a learning experience!

As it turns out, it’s pretty awkward for your lady bits to be discussed in detail to a room of a dozen students (oops, I gave it away!). Also, the process will take a minimum of two hours, and will hurt worse than a blow torch up your @$$. They weren’t kidding when they told me those students didn’t get much practice down there. I could tell.

Basically, I cried in pain for the longest 120 minutes of my life in front of a dozen barely-out-of-high schoolers who poked, prodded and inspected my nether region. All to save a few bucks.

Lesson learned: Sometimes, it’s worth spending the extra money. In this case, I’m pretty sure they should have paid me. Isn’t that normally how it works when you want to see someone else’s bits and pieces?

What's Your Favorite Holiday Tradition?

Just a reminder to leave a comment with your favorite holiday tradition to be entered to win the give away!

I’d like to share a little excerpt from The Rebel Housewife Rules (the book that you could win!), something I found especially noteworthy, since this was, as a matter of fact, a discussion (er, argument) that LT Fromage and I had early in our marriage…

From the chapter, “Happily Ever After”

The Myth: Combining two separate lives will be a snap

My new husband will be so thoughtful, so in love with me. He
won’t care when I borrow his things, like his razor. I’m always out of blades,
and I love the foaming bubbles his shaving cream makes – oh those gloriously
smooth legs! Sleeping in his dress shirt feels so good; it will keep me close to
him when he’s out of town. Somehow I never have any socks, but not to worry,
I’ll just wear his.

The Reality: His and mine don’t always make ours

After I used his shaving kit, he emerged from the bathroom looking like
a doctor had just removed shrapnel from his face. I felt bad, but I pretended
not to notice.

“Where’s my new dress shirt? I need it for an interview
tomorrow.”

“Ummm…. Is this the one?” I tried to look especially sexy as I pointed
to what I was wearing to bed.

“Vik, come on! I have no socks, no razors, no shaving cream…. I have to
be manly on a fluffy, pink, flowered couch and now I have nothing to wear to
work!”

I still do use LT Fromage’s razor (with permission. He got a new one), but I did stop borrowing his socks.

Be sure to leave a comment (You have until FRIDAY) with your favorite holiday tradition to be entered to win a copy of The Rebel Housewife Rules: To Heck With Domestic Bliss.

Lady Fromage Give Away!

Drumroll please…

Get ready for....

The very first Lady Fromage give away!

Rebel Housewife Rules: To Heck With Domestic Bliss [Paperback]

by Sherri Caldwell and Vicki Todd

Here's what Amazon.com has to say:

“The Rebel Housewife Rules is a whole new set of rules for today’s housewives. The book contains 38 short chapters—four pages each—because that is about all that a mom can read locked in the bathroom with a three-year-old while the dog vomits outside the door.
Each chapter:

• Exposes a myth about being a housewife: "Compared to an outside career, taking care of a house and family—and myself—will be a breeze."

• Reveals the reality behind the myth: "My husband comes home to a disheveled wife, a disaster of a house, and laundry all over the stairs."

• Lays down a new rule: "Your day will never go as planned."

• And offers a rule Rx, a prescription for real domestic happiness: "Be proud of your most important accomplishments every day."

Following the often hilarious adventures and advice of Rebel Housewives Sherri Caldwell and Vicki Todd, readers learn to be themselves, get what they want, and love in new and deeper ways. Sherri and Vicki share their hard-won wisdom in this "survivors’ guide" to momhood, housecleaning, budgets, self-care, and love after kids and babies. Bottom line? Happiness is more important than passing the white-glove test.

In The Rebel Housewife Rules, the recently engaged, new brides, or long-married wives find the courage to live by the greatest housewife rule of all: "Live, Love, and Laugh, one day at a time, baby."

You can (and should!) check out Sherri's blog here.

This book is freakin’ awesome, ladies (Sorry, any gentleman readers. This may not be up your alley). I’m lovin’ my copy and want to share one with a lucky reader, all you have to do is leave a comment and tell me your favorite Holiday Tradition! (Mine is eating cold pizza on Christmas morning).

A winner will be randomly picked on Friday. Tell your friends, that is, unless you don’t want to lower your odds of winning this great little book!

Tips for a Successful Christmas Party: Army Style

Having a blast at my company's Christmas party in the photo booth on Friday night

Looking just as happy in the car after the Army party. Not because we were having fun. Because it was over.

A sign in roster as you enter the party doesn’t set the vibe “this is a fun, relaxed, enjoyable get together to celebrate the holiday”. It wasn’t a guest book. Don’t try to cover it up; we all knew what it was.

Don’t assign your guests blocks of time. Invitation should not read “Your hour is from 2-3pm”. You’ve got a massive house with plenty of room to accommodate everyone, and while we sure as H3LL didn’t want to stay even a whole hour, it would have been nice to not be kicked out when “our time was up”.

Speaking of invitations; e-vites are ok for, umh, like Girls Night Out or Super Bowl Parties, but not for your formal, brigade Christmas party. Tacky cheap A$$.

You may not want kids there, and hey, that’s ok, I wouldn’t either, but wording it this way: “No kids are allowed” is a little harsh. Especially when your freakin’ rugrats/devil spawn are running around screaming the whole time.

Dress blues (The Army version of a Tux)? Get serious. We had to get all dressed up for a stupid house party (where we could only stay 1 hour) in the middle of a Saturday afternoon? I wouldn’t show up in sweats, but formal wear was a little over the top.

Special note to the Commander’s Wife: Look, I’m face blind but even I don’t make my guests wear identification. You’re just lazy, bee-ach. With your scheduling, you shouldn’t have had more than half a dozen wives there at a time anyway. Instructing the men to “find the name tag that properly identifies your spouse” isn’t polite. On the plus side, at least we weren’t referred to as “dependants” for once.

Thank God for the after party. Casual dress, real food, lots of booze, music, beer pong and stick on mustaches. We did still use name tags, but we were more creative with things like “FUCK!NG Reindeer” or “Chief Elf”. No one was required to “properly identify their spouse” and you didn’t have to leave until you wanted to (which for us, was when I started throwing up in the yard).

These tips brought to you by a bitter Army Wife, who declines to properly identify herself at this time.

(Excuse the bitterness, a little bit of Grinch is emerging, but with the obligatory attendance to that so-called party in the past, my mood should lighten in no time!)

Be sure to check in tomorrow for the very first Lady Fromage GIVE AWAY!

Back in the Saddle Again

After a rough few days, I’m back at work. I prefer to use my sick days when I’m feeling good; D@MN having to use them (plus vacay time! eff!) for when I feel like crap.

In my down time, I did manage to Christmas-fy the Fromage Palace. Or, at least I’m off to a good start! (ETA for the tree is Sunday!)

The stockings are hung on the balcony with care. Except there is some sharing going on. The cats are sharing a big red paw, and all 5 rattinos will find a can of oysters in their community stocking (Otherwise, we’d need a much, much longer balcony!)

The cows are ready for Christmas (Oh, by the way, the dogs ATE ALL OF MY COW COOKIES. And broke my cake display. Notice Erika has a “naughty” stocking with a piece of coal attached.)

My grandfather’s antique box is filled with “snow” covered, cinnamon scented pine cones and LT Fromage’s beer steins are even in the spirt, donning a big red Santa hat.

The doorway is draped with snowflakes and lights,

And once you reach the kitchen, red and white flowers from LT Fromage, next to my Christmas candle sticks set the table for all the yummy snacks like....

White and milk chocolate dipped candy canes and pretzels

Sugar cookies loaded with pistachios, milk chocolate and dried cranberries

Spicy chocolate; white chocolate peppermint; mint chocolate and eggnog candies and truffles piled high on the tabled (and safely removed when we’re away and the dogs are inside!).

Recipes for these goodies to follow. Also, be on the lookout for the very first Lady Fromage give away!

Remember to follow me on Twitter for up to the minute, life shattering updates like “if I hear one more Taylor Swift song I'm going to shoot myself. Just putting that out there." Or the new Question of the day; today’s being: What part of the gingerbread man do you eat first? (Gini, get your mind out of the gutter! *wink wink*)