I'll be honest. I do get excited about presents...I really do. But I get exponentially more excitement from the food that is splayed out for hours and hours to snack on and cause immense regret approximately 4 days later, when the glow of the holiday has tarnished a bit and the button on my jeans digs just a enough into my skin to make me feel uncomfortable.
For this haiku assignment, let's talk holiday food...any way you want to present it. What do you tend to overeat this time of year? Do you have a strange holiday food tradition? Who makes the food for your family? Are you a feaster or a scavenger? Haiku it, because it's time to start craving (and doing some extra workouts and self-talk to prepare for the guilt that will soon follow).
I'll get the ball rolling:
stab them with toothpicks
oooh, spread it on a cracker
i'll pop a hundred
or...
yes, i do believe
a better friend there is not
than this plate of cheese
...now YOU.








Oh, sweet heavens and a bag of Cheetos, I'm starting to think this girl would make out with her grandmother in the back seat of a car just to get into another news day. Honestly, I don't want to imply that she doesn't have the right to her nervous breakdown, or that because she is a celebrity she should be more perfect than the rest of us, but I just wish that her people would DO something to shield our eyes from the burning - DEAR GOD MY EYES, THEY ARE MELTING INTO MY FACE. Aren't you all asking the same question I am - How early is too early to get those babies into therapy?
technorati tags: 








Awww, what a cute picture of me and my little sister, yes? Well, I suppose. But how incredibly, unfathomably cute we are has absolutely nothing to do with why I chose to use this picture in this week's haiku. The true story, my friends, is in the wall behind us to the right of the refrigerator. Where you see a calendar/pegboard hanging. Below which sat a trash can. A trash can above which I stood the day I decided to take scissors to my glorious head of hair (which my mother says she had waited and waited to see finally grow in) at the tender young age of 4 (about 4 years before this picture was taken), all because I had seen a little girl with some kind of 80's shag/mullet/multi-layered cut (whichever it was, I'm sure it was quite enviable *ahem*) and was quite sure I could duplicate the look myself. Needless to say, I did not. My mom walked in, caught me, shrieked in horror at what I had done to myself, and promptly took me to a professional. And that is how I went from this (Pre-Hair Massacre):











