By Laurie Notaro
IT’S LAURIE NOTARO’S vacation instruction manual.
PREPARE TO snicker YOUR TINSEL OFF.
It’s the main wonderful–and so much dreadful–season of the yr, while bins of muffins assault your thighs, drunken vacation revelers remain gone their welcome, and your grandmother has conniptions on the division shop over the cost of hand lotion. Welcome to Laurie Notaro’s Christmastime.
In ten brand-new tales and 3 formerly released favorites, Notaro stocks the sidesplitting day-by-day mess ups of the vacations, like discovering herself on emergency female product recon in the dead of night on Christmas Eve; surrendering to the inevitable terrible reward Parade via easily requesting vacation dish towels and immense white underpants from Sears; scuffling with the morons in line on the 7th Circle of Hell, in a different way referred to as the home made craft shop; and attempting to reside down her acceptance because the so much Unfun Christmas celebration visitor Ever, because of an unlucky false impression regarding a faux overdose and emergency paramedics.
So no matter if you end up on the uninteresting and clever celebration or the Raucous and silly get together this vacation season, you’ll constantly recognize the place to discover Laurie–just persist with the chocolate path over to the cheese platter. She’ll be the single dialing the law enforcement officials.
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Extra resources for An Idiot Girl's Christmas: True Tales from the Top of the Naughty List
Leonard complied and pulled the car over to the side of the dimly lit street. Cecil exited the car with his string art. Almost immediately, a car rolled up behind us with its headlights off. The bright lights came on just as the car came to a stop, only inches away from our bumper. Instantly the headlights of the car parked in front of us came on as well. Both of the cars’ headlights were on their brightest beams, illuminating the inside of Leonard’s car. The four of us sat there like sitting ducks in a shooting gallery.
I was three years old and standing in the street, watching the taxi roll away. My mom sat in the backseat of the cab, yelling at me through the window to get back in the yard. I heard Glen Campbell singing “Rhinestone Cowboy” on the taxi’s dashboard radio as I stepped back on the grass and the car pulled out of the trailer park where we lived. I stood there alone, silently calling out for Mama to come back. It wasn’t the first time she had left, and it would not be the last time I would experience a similar scenario during my early childhood.
It took several hours for the firemen to extinguish the blaze, finishing the job before the flames fanned out to the wood-frame mill houses nearby. I never squealed on Carver, but when Mama heard he was a troublemaker and probably the one who had started the fire in the field, she told me to stay away from him. That was easier said than done. indd 32 7/18/14 12:08 PM Vance Street Vice, Mayhem, and Murder 33 Carver I couldn’t be his friend anymore made me just one more person in his life who rejected him.