Dear Santa Claus,

First off, I'd like to sincerely apologize for writing to you at this time of year. I mean, seriously, who writes Santa in April? Everyone knows how hard you work during the winter and that the rest of the year is reserved for a well-deserved bit of hiatus. To bother a mythical being on hiatus is simply not done.

And I assure you; it is not at all like me to do that which is simply not done. (Well, sometimes it is… You know, now that I think about it, I generally do a lot of things that are simply not done. But never ever when it comes to mythical beings. Well, until this very moment that is…)

However, due to some rather harrowing recent events, I felt that I had no other alternative but to contact you- hiatus or no.

You see, The Other Boleyn Girl sucked.

You're probably reading this and thinking, WTF? (You do say fuck, don't you? I mean, even mythical beings gotta keep it real, right? No? Oh, sorry about that, dude. It's just an acronym, you know. The 'F' could stand for something a little less abrasive like fudge or frog or  foreigner or  firehouse or  fat chubby… Your choice. Now where were we? Oh, yes…)

You're probably reading this and thinking, What the fudge? What in all that is candy canes and holly does The Other Boleyn Girl have to do with me? Or even Christmas for that matter?

Well, Santa, there's a long and a short answer to that question; and for the sake of sanity (and your obvious aversion to profanity), we're going to try to Cliff Note it all down to a few paragraphs and a trackback or two.

As I was saying, Santa, The Other Boleyn Girl sucked.

Maybe I should clarify that- The Other Boleyn Girl, the movie, sucked. Not the book. The book was actually rather fantastic and drew you in in less time than it takes a toddler to Picasso the hallway (His name is The Middle One by the way. He's on that list of yours somewhere. Bring coal.). Ms. Gregory did a beautiful job of creating characters that the reader loved to hate and  hated to love. She built us a new window into an old tale- a story into a history book. So, no. Not the book. Never the book.

So how is it that a movie titled and based off of such a book lead me to such desperate measures as writing Father Christmas in the middle of spring?

Simple.

They fucked fudged it all up.

Yes, I know you're thinking, Well, duh, Judith. Those book to movie projects never work out. Just look at Gone with the Wind.

And while I agree to some extent, there are the occasional flashes of light in the dark which continue to give me hope. Plus, you've got to give me a little credit here, in no way was I expecting it to come close to the brilliance of the book. Not at all.

But, damn darn it, if Gone with the Wind (the movie) can keep the Civil War, then the freaking Tudors can keep the Pope.  C'mon, two measly lines about the split from Rome and not a damn bleep about religion whatsoever. Might as well have made Scarlett go hungry simply because she was a picky eater.

Perhaps they were trying to keep the focus on the personal relationships rather than the politics?

Good call, Santa.

But you know what? They fucked fudged that up as well.

There were no personal relationships! The movie left out every ounce of feeling, every ounce of emotion. With the exception of the Boleyn mother (whose character was definitely the most developed and intriguing although nothing at all like the mother from the novel), none of the characters were allowed to take hold of the audience or even their fellow characters. Where was the relationship between the siblings? The relationship between Henry and Anne?

Perhaps they were implied?

Really, Santa, if you continue to insist on interrupting this letter, I'm afraid that you'll only prolong my rambling- which is never a good idea. Just ask the tooth fairy.

But to answer your interruption question, no. Nothing was implied. The movie was two hours of blatant lust, manipulation, rivalry, ambition, and… Well, nothing important. We were told that Anne was bad. Henry (with the exception of a brief thirty-second scene) was good.

And that was that-

Which would be fine and dandy if that were what the book was about.

Oh? And Santa? Did I mention that I drove five hours TWICE to see this film? Barefoot, in the snow, and uphill both ways too.

So now we're back to the point where you're probably reading this and thinking, What the fudge? What in all that is candy canes and holly does The Other Boleyn Girl have to do with me? Or even Christmas for that matter?

The fact is, it doesn't.

But it was a great build-up to me asking for a bow-topped Jonathan Rhys-Meyers for my stocking this year, now wasn't it?

Have a happy period hiatus!

Judith

P.S. If you do happen to come across the people responsible for all of this, would you mind letting them know that they left a really important little bit of a line out of the film? You know, the one that says that Mary's first husband is dead? That way, the people who haven't read the book (really, go out and get it now, NOW) won't be sitting around more confused than necessary. Thanks.

P.S.S. Oh, yeah! The bow thing is completely optional. if you don't have time to dress wrap him, no biggie. I'm sure I can deal.

So it's been two days since I've cleaned up a pile of puke… Two whole days! I'm actually rather excited about that, kind of feels like Christmas in an odd sort of disgusting way. Of course, as my luck would have it, I've probably totally just jinxed myself in a major way- much like that time that I laughed at that friend for getting knocked-up so quickly after having her last baby… Only to find myself pissing on plastic stick myself a week later.

And yes, I know the meaning of the word 'karma'. Just as I know the meaning of the word 'bitch'. I also can write-up an extensive list of applications for both.

Anyhow, instead of regaling you all with a vomit-fueled post detailing all of the most memorable moments of the past couple of weeks spent waist-deep in the trenches of HELL; I'd thought I'd simply share with you a few of the impressively random odd thoughts that have flitted through my mind.

We'll call it the "Butterflies on Crack" list… Because I'm pretty sure that they flit as well.

Always keep foods that tastes equally good coming up as well as going down in stock. If one must vomit, one should always vomit chocolate ice cream. Orange sherbet isn't so bad either (although it does burn the nose a bit).

When I finally have enough and run over my husband with my car, I'm pleading insanity due to the unavoidable stress brought on by his never-ending insistence on buying grape juice for toddlers. GRAPE JUICE FOR TODDLERS. What parent in their right mind buys GRAPE JUICE FOR TODDLERS?

Starbucks is trying to kill me. And I'm okay with that.

Starbucks is trying to kill me. Yes, I just said that… but I thought it several times during the week. Matter of fact, I'm thinking it right now as I type with one hand and pop a chocolate espresso truffle in my mouth.

One day I shall write a novel about a forgotten load of laundry in the washer that suddenly comes to life to walk the Earth in search of sacrificial children. It will be auto-biographical.

One day I follow-up the above novel with a story about how,a couple of years ago, pouring half a bottle of detergent into the washer would have been enough to vanquish the beast ; but now, thanks to the nifty "fifty times more concentrated" theme flowing through the household cleaning industry, it only serves to make for a very messy floor… and soapy children.

I just used both 'nify' and 'fifty' in that last sentence. And that makes me happy.

Okay… which one of you sadists painted the bulls-eye on my chest? Because I'm seriously tired of little people yakking down my shirt.

Bribery = Happy Mom. I'll give you $100 to puke on your dad this time. Okay, fine, I'll give you $10 and a new Power Ranger. Here, have some spaghetti.

Dust will not kill you. But it'll drive you INSANE.

No, I do not want to have sex. Although I can see how that green tinge about my face is appealing…

"I'd rather be shopping." is officially the understatement of the year.

Rapacious is a great word, I'll give you that. But I really think that using it five times per page is a bit excessive even in a romance novel, don't you?

Watching Super Nanny makes me appreciate my children more. Watching Wife Swap makes them appreciate me more. Watching Extreme Makeover: The Home Edition makes me want to cut off Peter's leg then make him cry for the camera.

It's definitely possible to sleep with five people in a full-sized bed. Although I wouldn't recommend it.

It's definitely possible to walk around with three children and a husband all up your ass. Although I wouldn't recommend that either.

Oh! And Starbucks is trying to kill me. And, yep, I'm still okay with that.

***Now… if the above list wasn't quite "enlightening" enough for you, feel free to ask me a question- ANY QUESTION- in the little "Ask Judith" box in my FAQ section. You just may learn things about me that you could have gone your whole life without. I'm too broke to blackmail, but it may be interesting nonetheless.

Dear Maria,

Have I told you how very happy you have made me? We've created so many beautiful memories together that I can't even begin to list them all… rendezvous on the sidewalk, nights in front of the telly, erotic jaunts in the bookstore, and I'll never ever forget all of those simply fantastic hours that we spent naked in bed while singing Beatles' songs at the tops of our lungs.

This relationship- this romance- has been nothing short of magical, and I thank the universe every day for bringing you into my life.

Alas, this love, like all things wonderful, must come to an end. It's not you… No, never ever you. You are all things perfect and immoral. It's me.

You see… I've found someone else. Her name is Judith. She's pasty and freckled and incredibly geeky, but she has these fabulous tattoos in the most interesting places, can drink me under the table, and makes the best Gumbo that I've ever tasted.  (Plus it doesn't hurt that she's quite limber.)

And she rocks my socks off.

I am so sorry that things had to end this way, especially on a blog post of all things… (I wanted to text you, but Judith said that at least this way, you'd get some linky love. Isn't she sweet? How could I not worship her?)

I will always look back on the time we spent together fondly and hope that you will too.

With the utmost respect,

Jonathan

—————————————————————————————————————

To all of my readers who think that I've finally split my lid (or finally caught that magical band of Vicodin fairies that live under my bed), worry not! It's just a little friendly "get your hands off of my man or I will CUT you" banter between two friends (be sure to catch us on Jerry next week).

I swear I'm just as sane as I was yesterday. *snicker*

Judith

Patiently waiting
Good book gone must-see movie;
Sure they'll fuck it up.

Don't really care though-
Even if it's terrible,
Still great blog fodder.

Small towns suck big balls.
Dude? Two and a half hour drive?
You're so shitting me.

Off to the city…
Ten o'clock feature it is.
Can't get worse, can it?

Never ever say
"Can't get worse, can it?"
You'll so look stupid:

All Great Stories Have a Preface. So Do the Bad Ones:

So the Cynical Sister and I have been waiting for months for The Other Boleyn Girl to hit the theaters. We both really enjoyed the book and were excited once the previews started flashing by between the "Please Don't Put Your Feet on the Seats" and the "This Film Has Been Rated Q for Whatever Reason" screens during our weekly Get Out of Jail Free escapes to the local theater.

So excited, in fact, that we'd remind each other on a weekly basis to "not forget about the movies on the 29th" as that was the release date according to the poster hung above the bathroom door at the local cinema and the trailer and the website and IMDB and the lips of every other  grown-up with no other form of excitement in their life other than the release of a new movie and the upcoming season premiere of The Tudors (I so less than three Jonathan Rhys-Meyers, don't you?).

Don't forget about the movies on the 29th.

Chapter I
Why Someone Would Include the Line "Small Towns Suck Big Balls" in a Friday Haiku (Now with Stage Cues!):

"I'm bringing a bag and am just going to sleep at your house tonight after the movie since I've got to work tomorrow morning," the Cynical Sister says over the phone on the morning of the 29th.

"Great. We'll just catch the late show then… Less sixteen-year-olds in  blue eyeshadow and  sparkles,"  I reply.

[Fast-forward four hours. Our players now find themselves at the ticket counter of the local theater. They are not happy.]

"What do you mean you only play what they send you? See that poster? Yeah, that one RIGHT THERE HANGING ABOVE THE VERY BATHROOM THAT YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO CLEAN BUT DON'T EVERY NIGHT? THAT ONE THAT SAYS, STARTS FEBRUARY 29TH? THAT ONE? It's February 29th. Now, I'd like to see THAT movie- the one from THAT poster. I'll also have a small Dr. Pepper and a box of Jordan Almonds as well," I say, quite certain that all of the people in line behind me are staring at me slack-jawed because they too feel that this poor ticket- counter boy has simply lost his wits.

[Cynical Sister grabs Judith by arm and drags her away. Judith continues to rant about posters and bathrooms. Onlookers turn away in case crazy is contagious. One girl in blue eyeshadow snickers- which in turn causes both Cynical Sister and Judith to stop, point, and laugh. Girl in blue eyeshadow stops snickering but doesn't get it. Cynical Sister and Judith fear that she never will.]

"Small towns suck big balls," we both agree. Call it "synchronized snark"… It's like synchronized swimming, only less boring and bikini-free.

I check the Blackberry for nearest theater which is actually playing the movie and not just hanging its fucking poster above their dirty bathroom door.

I find two.

Two theaters.

Two theaters in one state.

Yep, it's official.

Arkansas sucks big balls.

"Fine," CS says with a smile, "We'll just take a drive next week… Two and a half hours ain't so bad- especially if there aren't any kids in the backseat, right?"

There's hope for her yet.

Chapter II
But We Really Really Want to See This Movie…

[We pick-up on our story six days later: Judith has cooked dinner, straightened the house, and double-checked the showtimes. We meet a new character, Peter, who keeps the eye rolls at a minimum while setting the GPS to take Judith and Cynical Sister straight to the theater which is in an area of the city that they've never been to before.]

"C'mon, Kellye, it's seven o'clock! If we're going to make the ten o'clock feature, we have to leave right now."

"But my jeans are in the dryer…"

"Dude, they'll dry on the way. It's a two and a half hour drive. GET IN THE FUCKING CAR."

"Don't fuck at me."

"Fine, I'm sorry. But get in the car, would 'ya? As is, we're not going to get home until after two…"

"I'm coming, but we'll have to point all of the heater vents toward my ass."

"Done. Let's go."

Chapter III
Seriously, We Really Really Really Want to See This Movie…

"Estimated Arrival Time is 9:43 pm," GPS Betty's voice interrupts our conversation about the inherent insanity in driving two and a half hours in the dark to unknown places to see a movie that we're certain is so different from the book that it's sure to piss us off.

[Phone rings. Judith sings along with the Margaritaville ringtone while Cynical Sister answers. It's Dad.]

"Hey hon, what'cha doin'," Judith and Cynical Sister's Dad asks.

"We're driving to Little Rock."

"You're doing WHAT?!?!?!"

"We're driving to Little Rock. We're grown-ups. We can do that. Without asking you. Duh."

"But we're about to get some seriously bad weather… up to eight inches of snow, blizzard-like conditions, sleet, rain… You mean to tell me that every one else in the entire freaking country knows that this weather is coming BUT YOU TWO?"

"Ummmm… yeah?" CS covers the receiver and relays Dad's message to me. I shake my head and insist that the bad weather won't be here until tomorrow.

"But won't it technically be tomorrow in a couple of hours?"

"Shut-up, Kellye, and dry your pants."

[Cynical Sister hangs up with frustrated Dad only to have an equally frustrated Peter call with equally dire warnings.]

"Your husband wants to talk to you."

"Tell him not right now, I'm trying to see through the sleet."

Chapter IV
Did I Mention that We Really Really Want to See This Movie? or May You Rot in Hell GPS Betty

Did you know that you can completely confuse the hell out of GPS Betty just by taking the wrong exit and then keeping parallel to the interstate?

You can.

But she'll catch on again… eventually.

Chapter V
Through Sleet and Snow, We Prevail (Sorta)!

"Dude, is that it on the left?" I ask excitedly. Plus, I can't really see much through the ice at this point, so I need a bit of confirmation.

"Yep. That's it. Thank God."

"And it's not crowded. Woot."

[Phone rings. It's Peter with more dire warnings: it's already started snowing just south of us and the storm should be pretty bad within the hour.]

"Peter says that it's about to be seriously bad out there… What do you want to do?" I ask the Cynical Sister.

"It's up to you… I  mean, we came ALL this way…"

"…And my car handles snow pretty well…"

"…Plus the movie's not going to be that long…"

"… And who knows when we'll have the time to come back…"

"… And you're a good driver…"

"Screw it, " I accept my dumbass moment with a smile, "we are seeing this damn movie."

We both laugh, grab our things, and  bundle-up for the quick jaunt in the freezing rain to the ticket counter… only to find a big white sign taped to the window that says:

CLOSED DUE TO INCLEMENT WEATHER. PLEASE COME BACK TOMORROW.

Chapter VI
…On Your Wedding Day

"Hey honey, we've decided to be smart and skip the movie and head on home… See you soon."

I ku. You ku. We all ku. Click here for more Haiku Friday.

So… you know how a pregnant woman will crave dirt or paint or an insanely large amount of raw fish wrapped in rice and seaweed because she needs a little extra something or another in her system?

Does this mean that I'm not giving the toddler enough Spaghetti Os whenever he WON'T STOP CHEWING ON THE FREAKING DRYER SHEETS?

Because his breath is starting to smell better than my laundry… And I'm kind of resenting that.