A Crummy Commercial? Son of a Bitch.

The presents are wrapped; tomorrow's brunch casseroles are prepped; the Christmas Eve spaghetti dinner has been consumed; the dining room table is covered in desserts, and A Christmas Story is rounding out its fourth hour of the glorious 24-hour rotation.

(Extended Time out. We are that family. The marathon-watching-since-the-TNT-days-had-trouble-adjusting-to-the-TBS-switch-but-got-over-it-soon-enough family. I don't care if we have the DVD. Or if we've already watched it twice this lovely holiday season. All of our TVs will be tuned into Ralphie and Ol' Blue until the Old Man screams "Sons of Bitches! Bumpuses!" for the twelfth time. We may currently be taking a break for a quick Family Man screening, but that doesn't weaken the fact that, in a pinch, each of us Bassetts could step in to play narrator in any community theater production with practically zero prep time. Our yearly marathon is a participatory event. We talk along. We don't just know the lines. No, no. We don't just quote. We've got the timing. The cadence. The inflection. We're hardcore. And that's all there is to it. Time in.)

Like the song says, folks: It's the most wonderful time of the year.

And to celebrate the most wonderful time of the year... I decorate. But not until after Thanksgiving. Because that's just the way it's done. Thanksgiving deserves the cornucopias and various gourd centerpieces without holly and reindeer getting in the way. But after the leftover turkey sandwiches are consumed...it's no holds barred.

My name is Mellie and I steal ideas from Sips n Stokes to make my own Christmas decor. And I'm not ashamed to admit it.

Perhaps the best Big Lots deal in the history of all Big Lots deals. $20 for a 6 foot pre-lit tree? Merry Christmas to me.

The tablescape. No, I never actually ate off of the snowman plates, but they provided a lovely ambiance.

One soup can. Thee boxes of candy canes. Five glue sticks. One giant Martha Stewart moment. It's a good thing.

And so as this holiday season comes to a close, I want to wish you all out in Blogosphere Land a very Merry Christmas! Now go turn off your computer and turn on your TV. Ralphie's about to beat up Scut Farkus and it's gonna be epic.

Oh, Jack says Merry Merry, too.

I was soo right...

Ah yes, the Biddy returns to your Google Reader. After much pestering and constant reminders that I've yet to blog anything in over a month from the lovely Sister...I'm back to keep her happy and passive. Because Christmas is coming. And she's been present teasing for months now, and I'm pretty sure if I didn't post in the next few days she'd withhold all gift-giving, and instead present me with a lump of coal and a "you know what you did" scowl come Christmas morning.

To explain my absence: I do my best blogging at work. Now, let's not say that I'm neglecting my job to entertain thousands if not four faithful readers; let's just say that I'm so productive I occasionally have pockets of time that I can devote to social-media-fueled snarkery. The past month has had very few of those pockets. Crazy busy. That's all the excuse you're gonna get from me.

And this morning I return with a air of self-righteous told-you-so-ness fueled by the Biggest Loser finale. I made my predictions and, yep, I win.

Meet Brendan. Now stick him in flannel and a backwards baseball cap. Why, is that Gilmore Girls' Luke Danes? Why, yes, I do believe it is. Winner.

And this is Jessica. Ok, no she's not knocked up like I predicted. Yet. But hot, right? Too pretty for her own good? I do believe so. Winner.


And finally, this little mother-loving dear heart is Adam. Wowza and hubba hubba. I cannot be alone in this opinion. I want to fry egg substitute and turkey bacon off those rock-hard-sizzling abs. Mmmm. Win-ner.

And folks, the time for another changing of the guard here at the ol' blogstead has arrived. As of last Friday I've been working for seven months. Seven. Feels a lot longer. Point being, I'm no longer "newly employed." From henceforth-on-out-forever-and-ever-amen-until-I-change-my-mind, I shall be: Just a Biddy.

In the upcoming weeks I promise the following blog posts:

A Tour Through Mellie's Winter Wonderland

Mad Men: From Ignorance to Obsession. The Untold Love Story of Biddy Mellie and John Hamm.

How to Survive the No Glee til February Slump

Plateful of Thankful

Necessity is indeed the mother of invention. I have no real food in the house because I refuse to go grocery shopping when I'm going to be away all weekend. I'm not going to let milk and bread get three days closer to sour and stale while I'm gone. We don't waste when we're on a budget. I wasn't feeling anything in my go-to frozen dinner arsenal. And the weather turned on me today by getting in the high 70s, so I'm boycotting my cans of soup until my cool air returns.

But that's all OK. Because that led me to these bad boys.



It all started with the idea of pancakes. I have Bisquick, the wunderkind of all flour based products, and it must be put to use. But. My sugar-free syrup blows; I don't have a griddle, and pancakes out of a wok just aren't as good. Then I remembered I had canned pumpkin left over from my delicious gnocchi dinner from a while ago and dum da da dummmm. Pumpkin pancakes. And I decided to make it an even lazier process by making them in my Xpress 101. So they turned out more like pumpkin cakes...delicious pumpkin cakes. And I made them even delicious-er by the addition of Nutella. Num.

So, my friends, in one fell swoop we've hit 8 wonderful things I give much danke.

*Pumpkin-cinnamon-nutmeg flavored anything
*Bisquick
*Xpress 101
*Nutella
*Powdered Sugar

*Faux baked goods
*No-dishes-to-do paper plates
*Breakfast for dinner

Until next time, don't forget your thank you's, danke's, gracias's and your merci's. It's a good world, kiddos. A good pumpkin-flavored, cinnamon-scented world.

Gracias to Glee

What am I thankful for today, you ask?

It's a little something called Darren Criss singing the crap out of Teenage Dream.

No, I haven't pretty much watched this on loop since around 8:23 last night. Nope, not at all.

Oh, and I'm possibly even more thankful for this delightfully dreamily adorable interchange. Ah Kurt, how my inner teenage gay boy loves thee. (You too, Darren Criss.)

Swoon.

A Weekend Chock Full of Danke

Did you think I'd forgotten about prepping for our favorite glutenous holiday of the year by remembering all the things besides the upcoming gluttony that I'm thankful for? Ah, I think not. I've just been too busy being really thankful, to write about being thankful. Anywhoo, let's get to it, shall we?

*Two Sister Weekends (and an upcoming third, but that'll be another post) in a row. This one in particular because I didn't even have to drive to get to her.

*The best chicken tikka masala in the world alongside caramel sundaes with homemade brownies (ok, so I'm still thankful for gluttony leading up to the gluttony. Sue me.)

*The arrival of my new slouchy boots, and the return of tights to my wardrobe.

*I am not thankful for my heat not working. But I am thankful for my crazy low power bill and the right to snuggle in flannel and sleep sweaters.

*Dawson's Creek, Season 2

*A sister that loves musicals as much as I do. Even four hour productions of Fiddler on the Roof.

*Speaking of Fiddler...I give danke for the skat version of If I Were a Rich Man as performed by me and Sister. If I were a rich man, scoo ba dee bop bop scoo dee da waa waa...

*I am also not thankful for the new outlet mall in Leeds which brought out the worst in the Sisters. And made us angry Sisters. But I am thankful an adorable pup named Roxie and Surin sushi in panang curry sauce, as well as our immense Sister lub, lahv and lurv to help us get over it. *hugs*

Until next time, danke, universe!

Happy Birthday!

My little blog is one year old today. It's kind of hard to believe that I've been peddling snark for a whole year now...And it's even stranger to think how much (and how little) my life has changed over the past year.

A year ago I was unemployed, living at home in Troy and making pumpkin pancakes. I had a Farmville. I was tearing through the Sookie Stackhouse books and watching True Blood bootleg online because my family doesn't believe in paying extra for movie channels. And because our house lacked DVR as well, I watched live TV. And used a VCR. I stayed up til 3 and slept til noon. I wore a lot of sweat pants. I visited Sister as often as possible.

Fast forward a year and I've made the move to Birmingham. I have a real job. In a field that I went to school for. I have health insurance. I've been to the doctor when I've had nothing wrong with me. I have a dentist. And a scheduled 6 month cleaning. I have an apartment chock full of furniture that's never belonged to anyone else. I still wear a lot of sweat pants and schlep to Atlanta to see Sister as often as possible. However, I do take my Sookie in audio book form now and am in bed well in the P.M. hours of the night. I don't know why the hell I'm not making pumpkin pancakes right now.

Geez, the amount of adulthood you can achieve in a year. Cray cray. Although, apparently I'm not that adult yet because I say stuff like "cray cray."

On a separate note, my life as it is has become The Office. I was roped into the Party Planning Committee (not to be confused with the Committee to Plan Parties) for the annual ECA Halloween shindig. I, Joan Holloway, along with Helga the Beer Maid, Wilma Flintstone and ol' standby witch decked out the conference room in streamers, spider webs and skeletons. I played the part of All Hallows Eve DJ. And decorated cupcakes. I felt like Pam, Darryl and Angela all rolled into one.

My baked good contribution actually turned out pretty adorable. Not as adorable as the ones in Woman's Day that I stole them from...but kind of precious none the less.










Now that I've primed your palates with buttercream...Here comes the question of the afternoon: Does my little blog deserve a cake for surviving its first year? Hrm? I vote yes. This is the only election that really matters people. Do your civic duty. Tell me yes, I should celebrate this momentous occasion with cake. It's all in your hands, folks.

A Time to Give Danke

Well kids, can we believe it's November 2nd? Halloween has passed, and hopefully everyone took advantage and dressed to show off their creativity, witticism or boobs. It's what the holiday is all about. For those who didn't take advantage and made poor choices, National Untagging Day has also flown right by. And despite what the department stores and Wal-Marts are telling you, Christmas isn't the next major holiday. Lest us forget Thanksgiving: the one day of the year dedicated solely to love and gluttony. (Except for a single girl's Valentine's Day. Don't tell me you've never bought a giant box of chocolates "for your mom.")

So over here at Biddy Corner, I want to take some time whenever the mood strikes to say a big danke to some of the things I'm most grateful for in my life/biddyhood.

Today I am grateful for (the first time in a long time) a full week of no highs over 70 degrees. Fall has arrived, and if she knows what's good for her, she'll stick around for a while. I'm not rearranging the closet yet, because let's face it: If I do it now, I'm destined to be jinxed and spend Christmas in shorts.

You know what this is? If you guessed glorious, you are correct.

I...Buh..Wha? No.

I got nothin.

Seriously. Nothing.

There was a "reunion." Not only did they not tar and feather Ivy for being a complete C U Next Tuesday, we didn't even get a Lord Gunn vocabulary montage. Therefore, I paid no attention. In a nutshell: The gays love Peaches. No one likes Gretchen. April's going through a Bitter Betty Princess Leia phase.


Valerie has had marriage proposals and celebrates by dressing like a referee.


Runway day has zero drama.

Andy wears his Jackie O pants.


Gretchen has an affinity for granny panties and decided to pair them with April's resortwear.




Country as corn pone Jessica Yee-Haw Simpson chewed her cud while disguised as a bedazzled flying squirrel. She liked them there dresses on that there runway.


Andy sent down a doldrums of a collection in shades of grey and pea green taffeta.

Funny like a monkey Mondo showed a fun and unique array of Mondoisms that was an obvious (ahrm) winner.

Gretchen made some stuff that I didn't totally hate in shades of dirt and thunder (apparently).

In possibly the longest judges session ever, after immediately knocking Andy from the running for the title (because, um. It blew.), Michael Kors and Nina Garcia changed the name of the show to Project Ready to Wear and decided Gretchenstein should be the winner. At least she has some cash now, and won't have to peddle her wares on the street out of a shopping cart.

Funny Like A Monkey Mondo will always be the winner to me. Just wanna stick him in my pocket and carry him around for a while. Precious.

That's it. I can't talk about it anymore. Project Runway and I are on a break. We'll see where we stand come next season.

Actually, one last thing:

There's Power in the Velvet

I should have known that Project Runway was going to be an epic fail this week because it broke my DirecTV. Ok, ok, the crummy satellite reception and overall darkened soul of the company in general probably did it, leaving me cable and DRV-less until Monday. (Thank God for the complete second and third season of Mad Men…), but I like to think the trio of bad decision makers and puppy kickers had something to do with it too.


So because of my general annoyance and disappointment, I’m keeping it brief. Let’s get to it.

Tim’s at home visit begins with him not knock, knock, knocking on Andy’s door, which I found surprising. Come to find there was no door to knock, knock, knock on.


We find that Lord of I Prefer Land Mammals has a fear of catfish and Andy has nothing sewn yet. Yikes. Hope those textiles all the way from Laos are worth it.



Michael has tons and tons o outfits. TG thinks he needs to focus, focus, focus and stop designing. Just Michael’s boyfriend fills us in on how craptastic JM’s parents are. Poor lil fella.

Mondo’s house is very Mondo. Colorful and delightfully wackadoo. His collection is Mexican circus meets Dia de los Muertos. He’s so gonna win and everybody knows it, including the proud Papa Gunn.

And then there’s Gretchen. Yes, with a “G,” not a “W.” I actually don’t hate her as much this week. I mean…her life is kind of crumbly. No more relationship, money or house. Bless it. And dear dear Gunny Bear opens up about his disastrous failed relationship that resulted in his moving to New York and becoming the Baron Von Awesome that he is today. I swear that man is chocolate dipped and filled with caramel. Love.

The designers reunite in New York at the “brought to you by Hilton” suite, and the velvet bag makes its valiant return. Ah, but it’s not holding a gremlin of a surprise this week. All the contestants get a trip for two to a Hilton resort. There is much rejoicing and Gretchen wonders how much she can get for it on eBay.


The challenge: Present three looks to the judges, one of which you have to make right now. Go.

Runway day arrives, Gretchen, once again, dresses head to toe in pumpkin flavored crushed velvet. I believe this textile to be the secret of her powers. And the Trail of Tears commences:

Mondo

The clear and obvious winner of the season. I could do without the Pebbles Flintstone-Snookie bumps, but overall...He's Mondolicious. And destined for funny-like-a-monkey greatness.

Gretchen

Michael Jackson takes a Caribbean vacation.

It's working girl Melanie Griffith before she raids Sigourney Weaver's closet. Tell me it's not.

Meh. Crunchy granola jumper. I'd probably wear it with a cardigan.

Andy

Those nimble and swift Laotian fingers may pleat like a mad man, but I don't like it. Color's atrocious. The skirt's a throw away. Whatevs.

Ew.

It's a fancy, silver, day romper. That's a combo that makes no sense and annoys me.

Just Michael

Love this look. Haven't seen JM do pants since his resort wear jumpsuit, and these are a vast improvement. Adore the top.

Mondo and Gretch were the first to receive their tickets to fashion week, and for some reason this little moment made me choke up a little.

Mondo: Good.

Little, petite and packed full of punch. Just like our dear one.

In the end, it was Andy's name called, not Just Michael's. And the heart breaking began. He went from Blair Witch Project...

To full on Terms of Endearment, machine gun tears.

He really doesn't want to have sex with a woman again.

Pretty sure these tears were brought on by the close vicinity of that outfit.

Finally Pappy Tim came in to rock and swaddle little Just Michael to a slow, soft whimper.

He bogarts the tissues and makes his exit.

Just Michael's a precious little thing that should be going to fashion week. I saw all of the collections when they were released months ago, and his was always one of my top faves. He'll find a way to tell his family and if his mom tries to get him to give up fashion and marry another girl, Tim Gunn will come down and kick some ass.

Next week: Mondo wins.