So, it’s that time of year when the big toy catalogs start showing up at our doorstep. The other night, my stepson began flipping through one of them, marking pages and copying titles onto what will eventually become his finalized letter to Santa.

I always loved looking through those things, no matter what age I was, and still do to this day. When I was little, just the pictures made me happy - just the hope of one day having the pretty new Barbie or My Little Pony. Staring at the pages, my imagination would take off full force and it almost didn’t even matter to me if I received the real thing or not. I said almost!

Now, looking through the Toys ‘R’ Us Christmas catalog, I am more frightened than anything. Can you believe they actually make a CSI kit for kids! I’m not kidding. Here’s the official product description:

Collect, examine and record fingerprints with Grissom’s CSI Team! Fingerprints are unique to every person on earth, because no two prints are alike, they are a very important tool in the science of identification. Learn to use one of the oldest crime solving methods by using step by step instruction from the activity book. The tools that are included with the kit will allow you to perform procedures similar to those conducted by law enforcement both on real crime scenes and in the CSI laboratories. A fun and exciting challenge for anyone interested in being a crime scene investigator, each activity exemplifies the importance of using science to solve crimes. Remember, “The Evidence Never Lies!”

Please tell me I’m not the only one who finds this extremely disturbing. But, what’s even more scary is the “Baby Alive Doll” that (no joke!) actually shits out of her ass! “Here you go, honey, you better start learning how to change diapers. After all, you are 6 years old! Merry Christmas, now go burp your baby!” (And we wonder why our country has a problem with teenage pregnancy!)

Ahh, to be back in the ’80’s, when toys didn’t secretly send a message to grow up!

Popples: As I recall, they were small, rodent-type stuffed animals that rolled up inside themselves and then unrolled to reveal their furry little faces! Mine was purple and pink.

Lite Brite: My grandma kept one at her house for when me and my brother visited. D.T. wasn’t really that into it (I don’t think he had the patience), but I was! I spent hours poking those tiny, colorful pegs into the illuminated screen, thinking each creation was absolutely the best thing that ever was!

Cooties: I’m not sure why I enjoyed playing with these, but I did. Cooties were plastic bugs with removable legs (see sidebar).

Garbage Pail Kids: Modeled after the much more innocent and angelic Cabbage Patch Kids, these trading cards featured their demented counterparts, and depicted dolls like Mick Dagger and Scary Carrie. They were gross and I loved them!

Hmmm, I wonder if I could find some of those on Ebay…

I have to say, amidst all the hype revolving Britney Spears’ dissolution of marriage, I feel sorry for the gal. I feel sorry for everyone, actually - the whole Brit-Kevin clan. It really doesn’t matter to me who’s right or wrong. Britney is going to be a single mom, the kids are going to see even less of their father and the paparazzi won’t rest for a moment. Whichever way you want to look at it, it’s a sad situation.

I recently came across a photo in People Magazine of Kevin and Britney on a beach in Malibu. I know, so what’s the big deal, right? Tons of those pictures surface everyday. Only, this one was different. It was taken from the perspective of an onlooker, not from that of a stalking photographer. In other words, it showed not only the pop princess in her bikini, but the hoards of men hovering over her with big, black cameras.

It was eerie. It was scary. It was nauseating. It made me see Britney in a whole new light. Can you imagine going through life each and every day like that? They’re around when you want to laugh, when you want to cry, when you’re calling your mom or breaking down on the freeway.

No wonder all these high-profile Hollywood marriages fail! Shanna Moakler and Travis Barker, Reese Witherspoon and Ryan Phillipe, Jen and Brad, Jessica and Nick. It just goes on and on. Imagine your every move chronicled and illustrated on a day to day basis. You have a booger in your nose and you’re reaching for a Kleenex. Snap! You put the Kleenex up to your nostril. Snap! You slip your finger in to wipe it away. Snap! There’s 3 shots right there of you digging into your nose to remove snot, guaranteed to grace at least a few magazine covers the following week! The pressure would be too much for even the strongest couple to bear.

Britney may be filthy rich; she may have several nannies, a huge house (or three) and all the servants for which any star could hope. But would you trade shoes with the girl?

Did you vote this morning? If you haven’t, do it, please. Think your vote doesn’t make a difference? Well, it probably doesn’t, but at least you get a cool sticker on your way out. Seriously, though, I’m not so sure my vote did count this morning. As I handed my ballot to the administrator at the local Mr. Rooter, where I do all my important governmental tasks, the machine which reads and processes the ballots had a minor malfunction.

“Is this how you meant to vote?” the man appointed with the extremely grueling job of sliding paper into a machine asked me.

“Come again?” I mean, is it really appropriate to ask that question at a poling booth? I don’t think so.

After standing there for 5 minutes, watching three people try to override the error, pushing buttons on the angry machine, I’d had it.

“Well, so much for being a good citizen!” I turned to my husband and said.

I thought, This is great. If anyone asks me if I voted, I’ll just say:

I think so.
Uh, maybe.
The jury’s still out on that one.
It’s anyone’s guess.
Could be.
You tell me.

Finally, my ballot received the validating “BEEP” as it slid through, and I was graciously dismissed.

Now, I’ve never been one to push my political beliefs, but if I could urge anyone to vote a certain way, it would be to vote yes on Prop 83. There have been a lot of arguments against the Proposition, mainly stating that it would cost taxpayers 500 million dollars, but would not ensure children’s safety against sex offenders. However, this is how I look at it: Any initiative that aims to protect children and anyone else against sex offenders by increasing jail time, restricting them from living in areas where children play and requiring them to wear tracking devices, is an initiative I support. Maybe it won’t do a damn thing, but maybe it will, and if by passing this Proposition we save ONE child, that one child is worth the 500 million dollars.

Proposition 83, also known as Jessica’s Law, was created after 9-year-old Jessica Lunsford was kidnapped, raped and buried alive by a convicted sex offender who had failed to register his address. Prop 83 would keep track of an offender’s every move so that the whereabouts of criminals like John Couey wouldn’t slip under the radar.

So, that’s it. There’s my beef. Do with it what you may. In any case, find out how many registered sex offenders are in your area by visiting this link. The bastards’ names, photos, addresses and nature of crimes are available free of charge to anyone and everyone interested. Do it for your kids.

Thanks, fussy, for the idea of the virtual pet. As for my real-life pets: Buzz, Joey, Chateaubriand, Snorlax, Scooter, Grandpa Fraidy Cat and Cookie, they can all just take a hike. Alright, that’s a little cruel. I love ‘em truly, I do.

Buzz, the 80-year-old pug, got something stuck in his paw the other day and has been limping around pathetically all weekend. It’s funny, though, how he’s magically healed when bacon is being cooked in the kitchen. Weird.

Joey is a cattle dog. Need I say more?

Chateaubriand is a fierce, fat thing that terrorizes Snorlax.

Snorlax is a mildly retarded tabby with permanent petrified poop on his ass.

Scooter is a Siamese Fighting Fish who lives on the mantle.

Grandpa Fraidy, or just plain Fraidy, is a tough, old grey feral rescued from my husband like 25 years ago. Ok, fourteen.

Cookie is my little girl, a frisky black and white biatch I adopted in 2001.

And the newest addition: Me llamo llama! My perfect, hassle-free, obedient llama. He’s from Bolivia, I just decided. Click on “MORE” to feed him or just click him to make him jump. Trust me, he likes it.

It’s finally feeling like the holiday season and I couldn’t be happier. I’m a little nutty when it comes to Christmas. I absolutely insist on buying a tree the day after Thanksgiving, so I have an entire month to enjoy it. I could live inside the boxes and boxes of Christmas ornaments, candles, wrapping paper, garland and tissue paper stuffed inside our shed. I put lights up everywhere - in the bathroom, even. I play Elvis. I bust out my Chipmunks Christmas album and sit by the turntable staring at its jacket. And I watch Christmas-themed movies. Lots and lots of them. Here are my favorites:

Home Alone - It’s number one on my list for a reason. ‘Nuff said.

A Christmas Story - Christmas just isn’t the same without remembering what the inner turmoil of being a child sounds like.

The Muppet Christmas Carol - You don’t have to have kids to want to watch this over and over. And over.

Scrooged - How could a movie so funny give you the warm and fuzzies?

The Santa Clause - I’m not even ashamed to love it.

NL’s Christmas Vacation - Pretty much a holiday must.

Planes, Trains and Automobiles - Thanksgiving isn’t complete without John Candy.

The Ice Harvest - All the makings of a perfect Christmas Eve - snowfall, presents, strippers and murder.

I know what you’re thinking: where’s It’s a Wonderful Life and Miracle on 34th Street? Well, all I can say is, to each his own!

Last night marked the very first Halloween I spent alone. It also marked the first Halloween I didn’t dress up, the first one I spent sitting on the couch, the first one sans drunken party! These days, I’m all about rationalizing. Do I want to go out, get even more sick, be tired and cranky the next morning? Do I want to risk keeping Squid up past his bedtime, only to have him break down in an exhausted rage?

Mmmm…nope.

So, instead, I rented a bunch of scary movies and settled in for the night while my husband drove across the Bay to take my stepson trick-or-treating. However, being as I’m a total wimp, I chickened out on the horror-fest (American Haunting without a soul to protect me?!? No, thanks!) and watched E.T. instead.

E.T., as it turns out, is the perfect Halloween movie. And thanks to that little, squishy, greenish alien, last night not only marked the first Halloween spent alone, but the first Halloween I spent wiping tears from my face! Wait as sec., that’s not entirely true. I cried on Halloween in 1990 when I got my period for the first time around lap 2 of the annual costume parade at my elementary school. Luckily, I was dressed as a clown and sporting huge plaid balloon pants held up by suspenders. You know that saying about clowns: smiling on the outside, crying on the inside? Not that year.

But, back to E.T. Why, why, why hadn’t I ever seen this movie before? When I told my husband, he almost stopped traffic. “You what?!? You’ve NEVER seen E.T.? How is that even possible?”

“I don’t know.”

“Wow, you are gonna ccccrrrrryyyyyy!”

“No, I won’t.”

To that, he smiled and said, “Okay.”

Now, on most days, I’d do anything to prove him wrong. And yet, I shamelessly surrendered to that freaking Martian last night, and even the blanket I put over my head couldn’t muffle the choking sobs. Oh. My. God. When Henry Thomas says goodbye…the part when they all think E.T. is dead….you know what I’m talking about. When he says, “You must be dead because I don’t know how to feel; I can’t feel anything anymore” - that’s pretty much where I began to lose it. But, when he says, “I’ll believe in you all my life, everyday,” that’s when the whimpering basket case status really kicked in. Then, to top it off, he has to go and say, “I love you!” I mean , c’mon! Who in the world could hold it back?

On that note, please indulge me: which movie(s) have made you turn into a cryin’ fool?