Monday, Dec. 15, 2008

Some send letters, I send whine

By Teri Citterman, Wine Press Northwest

One of the blessings of this time of year is the chance it gives me to connect with you, my friends and family. I wish I could call you all personally, but really, who has that kind of time. I am so excited to tell you about my amazing life and all the wonderful things that have happened.

That said, I'm just going to settle into the recliner (as if I own a La-Z-Boy, ha!) and sip something wonderful I found sitting around the cellar with a price tag of $350. Only the best for the best, I say!

This year has proven to be bright cherry with a not-too-subtle hint of concrete. Time seems to fly, but luckily for me, I'm healthy and happy and rich. Instead of keeping up on current events, I spend most of my time playing with my precious new Airlie puppy named Nk'Mip (pronounced in-ka-meep). She's a real Buty, but a complete Dumas (pronounced dumb-ass in this case). One day, she broke out of the yard and dug up the neighbors Hedges. This put me in a real Quercus with them, but I think they overreacted. I mean puppies dig, and as extraordinary as mine is, she is still a Sleeping Dog. So she got a little Territorial and dug up their Roots. It's not like they can't plant new ones.

They really showed me when they hired kidnappers to hold her for Ransom. I prayed to the Northstar that my poor dog would be returned, but this time, she was indeed up Panther Creek without a paddle. I had an Adea (synonymous with idea) and hired a Mystic named Medici. She was a clairvoyant, who dressed like a Jezebel, but I didn't care as long as she found my dog. She did a little Gypsy Dancer performance and with a Sleight of Hand, walked away with $100 and a diamond pendant. But Kudos to her because she did manage to predict I'd get my dog back, and I did.

I guess the kidnappers got tired because I found her four days later at the Rivers Edge. It was on Road 13 between Lost River and Lost Mountain. I guess she could have just been lost, but I doubt it! The neighbors deny it to this day, but I know they're no St. Innocent. The weirdest thing is the dog goes crazy every time she hears that Ricky Martin song Livin' La Bella Vida. I think she's traumatized like the dog in that movie Amity-ville Horror.

You'd think that'd be enough commotion, but just a few weeks later, I walked in the door expecting to see my housekeeper, and instead found a man in a Black Cap and Argyle sweater robbing my house. I know, it's true: I could be writing this letter from the grave.

Clearly, I startled him with my shrilling Spanish screams 'Abeja! Abeja! Get the hell out of my house!" He ran out, and I slammed the door. I'm sure it will take years of Therapy to undo the damage, if it's even possible for me to ever Trust again.

It was odd that the thug left a bucket of cleaning supplies and a Swiffer, but even if he was tidy, that breath could have been my last.

Now on to the almost-happier times. While I was decorating the Witness Tree, I slipped and fell into a bucket of Knipprath. It was Arcane that someone had left it there, and I can probably guess who did. Oh you can guess, too? Well, we're both right! It was my awful neighbor. I almost threw a Tantulus but took a deep breath and collected my wits. I will not let them get the best of me. I simply won't.

One thing that does bring me pure Joie is creating my Christmas Ensemble. I am Adamant about what I wear every day from Dec. 1 on.

This year, when I do my holiday decorating, I will be wearing the best Christmas sweater I've found yet! It has Rulo the red-nosed reindeer playing the Va Piano with his Christmas Red Rooster.

Well, I didn't notice until after I bought the sweater that the rooster was Naked, but I attached a few crocheted fig leaves to cover up the spots that needed covering. Who says, I'm not creative. I guess it's a little Eroica, but I'm sure everyone will just love it.

Joy to the World, I say, though tragedy did strike yet again! It's become a holiday tradition to play hide the partridge in the pear tree, kind of like hunting for Easter eggs in wintertime.

This year, however, stores couldn't stock the birds because of rising gas costs or something, so I had to settle for a Lone Canary in a Cuckoo's Nest. The collapsed economy is really inconvenient, and I don't know why it couldn't have waited until AFTER Christmas. I find it to be really un-American.

Well, my driver Beaux Frere is waiting downstairs. He's taking me Christmas shopping so I can ensure I'll get the gifts I really want from the people who aren't as thoughtful as I am. I figure it saves everyone time and most importantly saves me from sheer disappointment.

This year, I ordered a rare bottle of Kalamar from Karachi. They may not like Americans, but they do make wonderful perfume.

Now I'm going to relax into the plush leather of my stretch Escalade with a little Baron's Five playing in the background. I say Four Graces to you and yours.

I'm healthy and happy; I wish the same for you.

Until next year, cheers!

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