Wintertime in Los Angeles: Put On Your Fleece Thong

My weekly post is up over at Kango. This week I was asked to write about wintertime in L.A., which made me laugh because when I sat down to write it was around 70° here. In fact, the only time I put on a sweater last week was just to cover up my pajamas when I dropped the girls off at school.

I ended up writing about a trip we took right before Christmas, where we did see actual snow. Of course, no amount of clothing really ever keeps me warm enough, so my memories of the trip were actually just racing from the car to the indoor heated snack bar, yelling, "I'm cold I'm cold it's too freaking cold" the entire way.

When Kango asked me to make this week’s post about wintertime in Los Angeles, I thought about it for a moment, as I sat outside in my tank top and capris sipping an iced tea. What do Angelenos know about winter anyways? Even a drop of rain has the weatherman on the local news drooling with excitement. Speaking for myself, any day where it drops below 65° is reason to bundle up in a ski parka and thermal underwear.

But there are places where us sun worshippers can get a little taste of what the rest of the country experiences during these winter months. We may point and laugh when we see you on TV, digging out your cars and putting on boots just to get your newspaper, but we secretly want a little of the cold weather – just as long as we can still drive home in our shorts...Read More...

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A Special Kind of Humor

Okay, I admit this may not be funny to some of you, as it falls under the category of 'industry humor' and may have a narrow audience. Sort of like your uncle the accountant who's always cracking those lame sex jokes about "making deposits" and "early withdrawal," maybe it'll cause you to roll your eyes and leave the room.

But for Rigel and I, this represents a knee-slapping good time in the world of design. Especially for Rigel, who makes his living designing movie posters. I'm not telling if any of those posters they show are his.



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tags: movie advertising | one-sheet design | movie posters | trajan is the movie font

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The Traveling Pants

I was recently hired by Kango, a new travel website, to write a weekly post about things to do in L.A. I'm looking forward to this new venture, as there's nothing I enjoy more than going somewhere and then making sure everyone I know finds it as unbelievably fascinating as I do. That trip I took to the recyling plant? Let me tell you about all the different kinds of plastic I saw, and don't try and fool me with that glazed look in your eyes - I know you're mesmerized.

This week was my first post, and being close to Valentine's Day they asked me to write about a last minute romantic getaway. I wrote about the W Hotel, since it was the only truly romantic outing Rigel and I have had recently, unless you count the trip to Costco where he let me put anything I wanted in the cart and then he gallantly paid for it all. Nothing gets me hotter than a man who'll fork over his hard-earned cash for a twelve gallon drum of shampoo for his woman.

My husband and I have never been known as ‘plan ahead’ kind of people. We’re usually the ones who breeze into town without hotel reservations and then try to explain to our kids that we’ll have to keep driving for another two hours because who knew there’d be a Tupperware convention hogging all the rooms?

So Valentine’s Day has always posed a problem – without reservations and some stealth planning skills you’re likely to be stuck spending the night in a truck stop off Highway 5. (I realize that may scream romance to some of you, but try and keep that to yourselves)...
Click here to read more...

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tags: w hotel | celebrity hangouts | romantic getaways | britney stayed here

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I Still Won't Let Them Eat The Burritos, But I'll Consider a Fish Stick

Hey - remember that little tirade I went on last week, about the sick cows and the bad people that cut them up and fed them to our schoolchildren? I mentioned that I had already sent an email to our superintendent voicing my concerns and essentially demanding to know precisely what cow part was in which box of meat and exactly which school's freezer that cheeseburger was sitting in. I wanted to know how soon I needed to break into my local pharmacy and steal all of their anti-salmonella serum.

I'm happy to say that I got a prompt response, and it didn't say "Go away" or "Stop bothering me" like most of my emails do. Instead he acknowledged my concern, thanked me for my support and promised to forward my note to the head of food services for the entire district.

And guess what? He did, and I received a phone call from the deputy food services director that same day, who stayed on the phone with me for a good half hour going over exactly what the district was doing in light of the controversy. He explained that the USDA had put a hold on all food items that were suspected to have come from Westland Meat Co., and that until the hold was lifted all individual school districts couldn't touch any of the products to do individual testing or to begin the process of tracing the meat.

He did assure me though, that the district has it's very own state-of-the-art testing lab (who knew?) and that rigorous testing is done on a sampling of school cafeteria food every day. Since nothing unusual had ever come up in any of Westland's products in the past, it was highly unlikely that contaminated meat was being passed on to our kids. But he assured me that all meat products were being pulled from school menus and that all contracts with Westland had been suspended indefinitely. Unfortunately I didn't get a chance to ask him why some of the cafeteria ladies wear hair nets and some wear shower caps, but it didn't seem too urgent at the time.

While I'm sure there's a certain amount of spin involved in his information, I did feel better after talking to him and not so ready to check my kids into the local ER for a full-body scan. And I do give the school administration some props for responding to my inquiry, and not just forwarding my number to the LAPD for a background check and a psych evaluation request.

But I'm still not letting my kids eat in the cafeteria, at least not until the hold is lifted and I see some test results. Okay, maybe a fish stick. But wait a minute - ARE THOSE DOLPHIN SAFE AND MERCURY-FREE?

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tags: meat recall | ground beef recall | westland/hallmark meat company | usda beef recall

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Don't Eat The Burritos

A few nights ago I was watching the evening news, and sandwiched in between the stories about Britney Spears' current meltdown and the latest fad diet (it's tea!) was a hidden-camera report about a California slaughterhouse being investigated for using inhumane methods to get sick cattle past inspectors. (Aside from being carriers of E. coli and salmonella, downed cattle may signal the presence of bovine spongiform encephalopathy, commonly known as mad cow disease.) The footage was horrible to watch: electric prods being used to get ailing animals on their feet, cattle being pulled by chains and being poked and dragged by forklifts.

But the part of the story that freaked me out the most was the little snippet at the end that said the operation under investigation, Westland Meat Co., was a major supplier of meat to school cafeterias across the country.

Who knew it would take a story on the 11 o'clock news to get me off my lazy behind and vow to make my kids lunches everyday for here on out?

I've confessed before about my aversion to the tedium that is the brown bag lunch. The making of the sandwiches! The filling of the snack bags with grapes and pretzels! Add to that the careful consideration of the protein/carb balance, that daily dilemma of whether or not to include fruit along with a juice box, and do Cheez-Its count as a serving of dairy?

For only a dollar, the lure of the school lunch is just too good to pass up, not to mention the extra twelve minutes of sleep it buys me in the morning.

But now? I have forbid my girls from buying any food items from the school cafeteria, unless it's so highly processed and artificial that it couldn't possibly contain any actual food substance from Westland Meat Co. Which means the only times they're allowed to buy anything is if the cafeteria is serving Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, which everyone knows is made out of styrofoam and orange crayons.

The thing that I find slightly alarming is that no formal announcement has been made by our school district or by the U.S. Dept of Education about the crisis, or what the risk is to our children. What toxins were lurking in that cup of spaghetti? And along with being completely dried-out and tasteless, could that hamburger my kid ate last week make her sick?

Seeing as my girls have probably eaten their weight in corn dogs from the school cafeteria, you can understand my concern.

Aside from three short paragraphs on the state education department's website, I haven't seen a statement from our local superintendent of schools or any flyers or brochures distributed to parents addressing the subject. It also seems to have slipped under the parent-grapevine radar, which is interesting considering that a head lice infestation in a single child usually triggers a panic in every school within a twenty-mile radius.

The alert issued from the California Department of Education says they "recommend that agencies not use any processed end-products containing beef pending further instructions." It doesn't mention how much of the meat they believe was from these "downer" cows, or exactly which school menu items may have been affected.

Although, oddly enough, an article in the L.A. Times reveals that the ban doesn't include breakfast burritos.

Because as we all know, wrapping infected meat inside a tortilla makes it totally safe to eat.

So, this is what I'm doing. I've already fired off a letter to my local superintendent asking for some answers. But I'm also going to send a letter to Margaret Spellings, the U.S. Secretary of Education and I'm going to cc it to some other appropriate education officials. I'd like them to take a break from "No Child Left Behind" and move on to "No Meatball Left Unturned."

I'm trying to add as many names of concerned parents as I can to the letter, so if you want to be a part of it, please leave your name and whether you're a parent, teacher or administrator, along with your school district in the comments. If you don't want to leave it there, then email me here. There's strength in numbers, and maybe it'll get us some answers. Because I'm tired of laying awake at night wondering, "Where's The Beef?"

And in the meantime? Don't let them eat the burritos.

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tags: meat recall | ground beef recall | westland/hallmark meat company | usda beef recall

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Our Milkshake Brings All The Toys To The Yard

Meet Milkshake, our new kitten.

Ever since Mookie, our ornery, cranky 16-year old cat died a little over a year ago, we'd been promising the girls a new kitten. When I say 'we' I really mean 'me' on behalf of 'us,' since Rigel wasn't too anxious to get a new cat. Come to find out that those big balls of cat hair clinging to his bass amp weren't really helping his sound any, and he always only pretended to like scooping those clumps of poop out of the catbox, because he loved me so much.

We'd been looking for a kitten since right after Christmas, but turns out there aren't many available right now because it isn't "kitten season." Who knew kittens had a season? When someone first told me this I thought they were kidding, and I made a little joke about how if Trader Joes could find strawberries year round I didn't see how finding an off-season kitten would be so hard.

That person didn't laugh, because apparently making jokes about cats is not very funny to some people, people who look down on you if you don't have a subscription to Cat Fancy magazine or a license plate that reads 'TabbyLuvr.' But that's a whole other post in itself, a story about my encounters with some of these Cat People who didn't want to adopt a cat to me because I had kids who might pull the kitten's tail, and judged me for not knowing what the best cat food was, and were totally appalled that I would even dream of making a joke comparing kitties to produce.

Where was I?

Kitty!

We got Milkshake at our local animal shelter, and we can't help but feel that fate brought us together. To make a long story short, we had gone to the shelter after a long day of kitty-searching. We found Milkshake in a cage on the reception counter, and after we adopted him we found out he had been brought in by his owner only 35 minutes before we had gotten there. And just in time, since Rigel had started mumbling about how after all the hours looking for a cat maybe the Pet Gods were trying to tell us we should just give up and head on over to BestBuy and adopt a flat screen plasma.

We had a hard time deciding on a name so Rigel came up with a very elaborate balloting system where we all wrote down suggestions and then he had us each vote for our favorites, repeating the process until there was only one left. It took twenty hours and was very impressive - I can't help but think that if Rigel were in charge of the 2000 election there would have been no way that Gore would have lost by a hanging chad.

In the end the name that was left was Milkshake, only narrowly beating out SouljaBoy, which was Kiyomi's idea and Kira swore she could never bring herself to use. Nobody voted for my entries, Cheeseburger or Tofu.

The most amazing thing is Rigel has actually admitted that he likes this cat. I guess he couldn't resist Milkshake's big, round kitty eyes staring up at him saying, "There's no one else I'd rather have clean up my poop."

Meow.

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Oh, Brother.

I was so excited when Kristen, Cathy and motherbumper invited me to a virtual baby shower for Julie, aka mothergoosemouse who is expecting her third child - her first boy! I've been away from the blogosphere for awhile and didn't even know Julie was pregnant, but I was honored to contribute by doing a post on raising sons.

And then it hit me: I have two daughters.

But I thought about it and seeing as I have three brothers, I realized that I could give out some valuable advice to Julie's two daughters on surviving life with a sibling of the opposite sex. So it's to them that I write this post, what I like to call:

Sweatpantsmom's Top Five Tips For Surviving Life With Brothers

1) Don't let them near your Barbies, or your Brats, or your Hollywood Hookers or whatever dolls are in vogue at the time. Trust me, they'll think it's high comedy to put Barbies panties on Ken's head. They never seem to understand that it's really not funny to have your friends walk into your room and find Raggedy Andy sitting next to Raggedy Ann with his hand down her pinafore.

2) They will always drink directly out of the milk carton and the orange juice bottle. This odd behavior dates back to the caveman days, where it's believed that the male would drink the woolly mammoth milk straight out of the sacred stone vessels and the cavewomen would go apeshit. There is no way to untrain this unfortunate behavior that seems to be an integral part of the Y chromosome. Do not even try. My advice to you is to stop drinking milk and orange juice.

3) Expect much more farting. I'm not talking about the occasional, accidental passing of gas that is usually followed by girly giggles and an 'oops' like you're used to, but all-out gleeful, devil-may-care farting that is performed proudly as if they were playing the cello at Madison Square Garden. Do not scream or pretend to faint after these displays - this only encourages them.

4) Be prepared for them to go through your yearbook and label all of your friends as 'Hot' or 'Dogs.' They will of course go gaga over Kelly, the one girl you hate and probably the only seventh grader you know who is on birth control. You can always bring them down to earth by telling them that Ms. Crane, the hot blonde english teacher they're drooling over is actually a lesbian.

5) Be prepared to use physical force to get your way. I don't care what anyone says, boys don't like to listen to girls talk, especially their sisters. Sure, as you get older you'll be able to have those deep heart-to-hearts to sort out your feelings, but until then nothing says "Get out of my room" like the threat of a flying cereal bowl, or the sight of you putting on your big heavy "kicking shoes." Don't let your parents know you heard this from me.

But brothers aren't all bad. They'll also loan you money to start a business, help you ditch school to buy concert tickets, babysit your children, be there through illnesses, walk you down the aisle when you get married, buy unreasonable amounts of candy and wrapping paper from your kids' fundraisers, give heart-wrenching speeches at your weeding and help you take care of your parents when they get older. Just remember that there will come a day when you'll actually enjoy being in the same room with them.

As long as they bring their own milk and some air freshener.


Julie, congratulations on your upcoming bundle of joy!

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Hear from more of Julie's shower guests here.

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Well, At Least It Wasn't "My Humps"

The girls spent the night at their friends' house on Saturday night so that Rigel and I could get away for a whole, blissful 24 hours. We stayed at my favorite hotel and pretended we were rich, spoiled rock stars. Although, I did steal all the toiletries again and this time even tucked one of their beautiful pens into my purse, so I guess that would make us more like tacky, thieving, rock stars.

Kiyomi was a little worried about spending the night away. The last slumber party she went to at a classmate's, she had a hard time getting to sleep and ended up sleeping in her friend's mom's bed, which meant the mom got kicked into the den. This made for an interesting story when the dad, who's an airline pilot, came home in the middle of the night and the unlucky parents had to sleep on the floor in the family room while Kiyomi luxuriated in their comfy, king-sized bed.

So I was relieved when we picked the girls up on Sunday afternoon and Kiyomi said she had no trouble getting to sleep whatsoever. Slept like a baby were her exact words. When I asked her what she did differently, she said she had found the perfect song to listen to as she drifted off, one that made her feel warm and fuzzy inside and sent her floating off on a marshmallow cloud. The song? A breezy little Disney Channel theme song? A lullaby from her infancy?

No, it was Beverly Hills by Weezer. Here's a sample of the lyrics:

Beverly Hills
That's where I want to be
Livin' in Beverly Hills
Beverly Hills
Rolling like a celebrity
Livin' in Beverly Hills

Look at all those movie stars
They're all so beautiful and clean
When the housemaids scrub the floors
They get the spaces in between

I wanna live a life like that
I wanna be just like a king
Take my picture by the pool
'cause I'm the next big thing

Awww...looks like she takes after me. Nothing gets me sawing logs like the vision of housemaids and swimming pools.

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Put Another Candle on The Rum Cake

Today is my birthday. For some reason I've never wanted to reveal the actual date of my birthday on my blog. I think with all the talk about cyberstalking and I.D. theft I got paranoid, and was afraid that some psycho reading my stories would somehow find a way to break into my bank account and steal that forty-nine dollars in there, or harm me for using too many serial commas. So let me just say to all the psychos: Seriously, there is only forty-nine dollars in there, and maybe some change. Your time may be better spent breaking into the DMV database and wiping that jaywalking ticket off your record.

I was born on my dad's birthday. He passed away almost nineteen years ago, but I remember him always saying that I was the best birthday present he ever got. Of course, back then I imagine the gifts may not have been all that spectacular - I'm guessing I only had to compete with a plastic change sorter, or another clip-on bow tie. I'm joking of course, but it makes me remember a woman I knew who was set to have a Wolf 8-burner stove delivered on her birthday, a gift from her husband. She seemed truly concerned that she wouldn't be there since she was set to gift birth on that same day to her second child, and I honestly think she was considering inducing an early delivery so that she'd be home to welcome that shiny new appliance to the family.

I share this birthday with a few other people. Besides my dad there's my sister-in-law's brother, the wife of one of Rigel's friends, and my favorite singer Mary J. Blige. I'd like to point out that not only do her and I share the same birthday, but the same first three letters of our first name, and the same middle initial. Coincidence, or some cosmic force joining us together in spirit? I'm hoping that if I ever meet Mary J. and tell her about all our similarities she'll be so excited she'll invite me back to her mansion and give me a Mercedes.

Update: Nicole Richie just had her baby, so now I share my birthday with her daughter, too. Did I tell you she's a close personal friend of mine?

My awesome husband let me sleep in today while he got the kids up and took them to school, made me breakfast, and then took over all household and child-related duties while I went out to see a movie. He's taking us all out to dinner along with a few friends tonight, and then whisking me away for the weekend. Am I a lucky woman or what? I'm totally going to stop beating him after this weekend, I swear.

I went to see Juno, which is the greatest movie, ever. I know I have a reputation for saying this after every movie I see, but this time I really mean it. It was everything - funny, sad, touching, edgy, biting - and had a great soundtrack on top of everything else. I'd have to say I may even like it more than my other favorite movie Little Miss Sunshine, and definitely more than the last movie I saw - National Treasure: Book of Secrets. I only saw that one because we were on a trip with some friends and it was the only movie playing at the local theater. The kids all liked it though, so we held our tongues until we got home and then the adults all sat around with a bottle of wine talking about all the things in the movie that didn't make sense and all the unnecessary plot twists, and can you believe Jon Voight is Angelina Jolie's dad? My friend Lisa was especially upset about Nicolas Cage's bad toupee, and seemed even more upset that I didn't know he was wearing one. Seriously, I just thought he was using cheap conditioner.

Getting back to today, I'm one of those neurotic, not-evolved people who isn't comfortable discussing my age with strangers, but let's just say I'm younger than Madonna and older than Britney. I look old enough to have kids, but apparently young enough that I got carded last week when I ordered a glass of wine at a steakhouse, and it wasn't because they thought I was eligible for the senior discount. I'm sure I'll divulge my age someday, although with my birthday and my actual age revealed on my blog that psycho who's after me out there will have a better chance or getting my forty nine dollars. I guess I'd better rethink that.

I'm going to go get ready for dinner now - I've got to brush my hair and apply a trowel-full of that new expensive wrinkle cream I bought at the mall last week. My sister sent over the biggest basket of cookies and muffins I've ever seen, so I'll kiss my diet goodbye and have a couple dozen brownies along with my early evening cappuccino. Our friends will be here in a few minutes, and then we'll go out to dinner where I'll have a couple of martinis and say a toast to this wonderful life that I'm so grateful for.

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Christmas Comes But Once a Year, THANK GOD

Happy New Year!

How was your Christmas? I'm sure you're all still warm and fuzzy from the sights, the sounds and the smells of the holiday; the lights on the tree, the sounds of bells chiming, the smell of ham.

I am, too, but for me it was seeing the door slam, the sound of my child sobbing and calling me a liar and the smell of my brain on fire inside my skull as I fervently tried to dig myself out of a hole.

Because this was the Christmas that Kiyomi realized there was no Santa Claus.

Come join me as I relive that joyous morning, won't you?

In hindsight, I should have sensed trouble. She seemed pretty subdued for a Christmas morning. Her and Kira actually took turns opening their presents, like a pair of characters from an Elizabethan novel: I've opened one, now you open one, dear sister! Oh, isn't this splendid! In other words, polite and civilized, nothing resembling a normal human child on Christmas morning.

After the last present had been opened, Rigel and I continued our usual Christmas morning tradition: we went back to bed. This may not be something you practice in your home, but we figure what better way to celebrate Jesus' birth than to sleep like a baby in a manger for a couple of hours. After we woke up and made breakfast, we didn't give much thought to the fact that Kiyomi was at the computer instead of playing with the piles of toys and video games covering the living room floor. I figured she was probably on Craigslist trying to trade in those pajamas I bought her, or emailing one of her friends to complain about the fact that she hadn't gotten that puppy she asked for.

But when we sat down for breakfast I could tell something was wrong, and that's when Kira told me that Kiyomi had been Googling "is Santa Claus real?" all morning, and judging by her mood it was obvious she hadn't found that website called "You Bet He Is!" or that other one that has actual footage of the fat guy coming down the chimney, right next to that YouTube spot of BigFoot.

First let me say that the whole Santa Claus thing has always been my deal, not Rigel's. He never grew up with Santa, or the Tooth Fairy, or anything make-believe for that matter, although I do remember him telling me about tbe time in high school when he smoked that funny cigarette and saw the Easter Bunny chasing Eric Clapton across the desert.

So when the girls were small and we were discussing it, he wasn't in favor of it. In fact, I remember his parents being here at the time and they were trying to talk me out of it, but I insisted that MY KIDS WOULD GROW UP WITH SANTA, DAMMIT. I refused to accept the alternate scenario, telling the girls that all their presents came from Macy's and the only reason Santa was invented was so that the Salvation Army would have someone to ring that bell outside of Walgreens.

That said, I loved growing up with the idea of Santa, and I don't remember any trauma or feelings of deceit when I found out he wasn't real. it was just one of those things that you realize gradually, like the fact that your parents had sex at least a few times, or that Ms. Swain, your sixth grade gym teacher with the fanny pack and all the keychains was probably gay. I had good memories of writing letters to Santa, waking up on Christmas morning to see what he had brought me - I don't remember when I actually found out he wasn't real, although the fact that his handwriting was identical to my mother's should have tipped me off.

Getting back to Christmas morning, when I tried to ask Kiyomi if she wanted to talk about it, she ran crying to her room and slammed the door. What followed was like some script from a bad ABC AfterSchool Special, the one where a young Jodie Foster finds out that Santa isn't real and spends all morning asking, "Why, pa, why? Why'd you and ma lie to me?" only to find out that she's also adopted and her dog is dead. That's when she finds the ax in the barn and the movie ends with her chopping their covered wagon to pieces. It's a good one - you should rent it sometime.

Kiyomi yelled (through the door) for us to go away, that she didn't want to talk to us. That we had lied to her, and how could she ever believe anything else we told her? And what about "all the other children of the world who believe in Santa and their parents are lying to them?" Then there was the speech about how it was never about the presents, it was about the magic, and now the magic was dead, was gone, and it was all our fault, her lying parents. And there was the sobbing about how she had put her heart into those letters, and to now find out that it was her lying parents that were reading them the whole time.

Oh, and did I mention her parents were liars? She made sure to point that out.

And then the kicker. "And I suppose the Tooth Fairy isn't real EITHER??!!"

I thought about that one for a heartbeat, but then figured if we were laying it all out on the table why not go for it? And I remembered all those nights I had to stay up late and tiptoe into their rooms, and all the frantic midnight searches through our wallets for dollar bills, and the one time Kira woke up just as Rigel was sneaking in and he spent a good twenty minutes lying on the floor, trying not to breathe.

"No, honey, she's not real either."

*silence* *silence* *silence*

"Nooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!"

Maybe that wasn't the right answer.

In our defense, our answer to the "Is Santa real?" question has always been, "As long as you want to believe in him, he's real." And we honestly thought she'd figured the whole thing out anyways, since she'd been saying things like, "I can't wait for Santa to come! Or should I say, mom and dad?" and end it with a wink and a nod. During her tirade, we tried to explain to her that we had only done it because we thought that it would bring her joy, and that magic is something that everyone believes in at one time or another. She may have bought it, but at that point I think she was too busy sharpening her ax.

It went on forever, and ended with kind of a whimper, but I was in tears by that point and we were all tired of talking about it. I think she heard at least some of our fifty-thousand reasons why we had done what we did, because she finally opened the door and came out. Rigel went off to calculate how much money we would save next year by not having to buy separate gifts from Santa, and I left to pick up my mom to bring her back for Christmas dinner. By the time I got back, Kiyomi was prancing around, back to her old self, and came up and gave me a hug and thanked me for all her gifts. I'm thinking she may have suddenly come to the realization that there would be fewer gifts under the tree next year and not as many miniature bottles of nail polish in her stocking, and how any tooth lost would only get her a pat on the back and a small wax envelope from here on out.

Would I do it again? In a heartbeat, and I'm pretty sure that when the time comes for my girls to decide whether or not to have Santa in their kids' lives, they'll do it too. In fact, Kiyomi's already mentioned how Christmas may not be as fun next year without Santa (I interjected, "You mean, the FAKER?" just to be mean) and has hinted that she may still write him a letter, if you can believe that.

I think I'll just sign all her presents "From The Tooth Fairy."

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tags: damn you santa | lying liars | yes virginia guitar hero came from target

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