The most wonderful time of the year.

Or not.

I had to go to the PX to pick up a couple of things today. It's a Saturday and since I know that the PX is a happening spot on the weekends (why, I don't know, but whatever) I get there right at opening.

Well, I forgot about Christmas.

Holy shit. Between the Christmas carols at full volume (note: country musicians should not be allowed to put out Christmas albums EVER. I am going to make sure it ends up on a ballot at some point), the bright holiday decorations, and every single PX employee opening their mouth into a AAFES-approved smile as they wished me a Merry Christmas, I thought I had died and gone to Stepford.

What's worse is that they didn't have what I needed -- vacuum bags -- but when I asked if there might be any in the back, I was informed that they did have a large and lovely toyland set up in back instead. Well, that's nice and all but it ain't going to get the Cheerios off my floor. Guess Munchkin will just have to keep on eating duty for a few days more.

Remind me not to step foot into the PX until well after the new year. I don't think my nerves can take it.

Jonesing for Harry.

I am a Harry Potter fan. There. I said it. I AM A GROWN WOMAN AND I LOVE HARRY POTTER. I'm not ashamed.

I think JK Rowling's tales of the boy wizard are fantastic and I wait impatiently for each book and movie to be released. So impatiently, in fact, that I once made my husband drive me across state lines so I could pick up a copy of "The Order of the Phoenix" one day earlier. Like I said, I'm a fan. Maybe even a slightly kooky one at that.

But this Christmas there is nothing to look forward to. No movie release. No book. Just months and months of anticipation to bear until next summer. I'm not sure how to cope. I've already read and reread each book in the series. I have the movies on DVD and frequently get my Potter fix on. I've gotten on the forums and talked about where I think the story is going and cast my vote on whether Dumbledore is really dead and gone. But these actions are empty. They only remind me of what I won't have in my hand for some time to come. And that's the next book. I am beginning to really worry about what is going to happen to poor Harry. And I have enough to worry about as it is.

It may be time to start sending Ms. Rowling a few emails to remind her to write faster.

Please cover the coochie.

The Gallery of the Absurd has an awesome artistic work of Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan and Paris Hilton called the "Three Disgraces." Absolutely priceless.

Of course, what I can't understand is why these women are so happy to flash the coochie day in and day out. Don't they know that they could get good money for that shit (not to mention "tasteful" artistic shots) if they just sold out to Playboy? Heck, I think Hustler would make them look more innocent than the paparazzi do.

In any case, ladies, if you are reading this, please cover up. I'm a mother now and completely terrified that you might all catch cold.

Bush is "not happy" about Bolton's resignation.

Oh well. I, for one, am doing a happy dance. And I'm sure that quite a few others will join me.

And if Gonzales resigns in the next few weeks, I'll even do the Macarena. In public. Naked.

Read about it on CNN.

The mantle has been passed.

At a hail and farewell a few months back, I had a little too much to drink. One might say I was drunk. More accurately, I was seriously, out-of-my-frickin-mind obliterated by alcohol. It might have been the fact that I sort of dislike these mandatory fun events, that I was tired and stressed from too many deadlines, or that I hadn't had more than a glass or two of wine since I weaned my son. Alternatively, it could have been the half bottle of whiskey I consumed as a bunch of young soldiers cheered me on. Who can tell?

In any case, I was smashed. And somewhere after my fifth glass of wine and fourth shot of tequila (with a Jameson chaser), I lost track of what I was saying and doing. By all accounts, the drunk me was a hit. I brought sexy back. But CPT Dick was a little embarrassed by my behavior. One of the other CPTs consoled him by saying, "They all do it. At one time or another they all do it and we have to watch. It's just your turn tonight."

Well, last night, it was everyone else's turn. Several of us from the unit had to attend a division formal. And since these things tend to be long and drawn out (and the bar lines exceptionally long), the more industrious members of our group brought their own hooch.

Not only did they bring their own, but several wives walked over to the Class Six (a fair jaunt) during the formal portion of the evening -- in full formal regalia and pointy heeled shoes -- to buy more when the tables ran out. And let me tell you, between the booze there, the booze brought and the traditional "punch" served, the ladies were flying high.

I think it is fairly safe to say that I have passed my mantle as "Most Drunken Wife at a Military Function." I'll just have to try harder and see if I can't up the ante at the next ball.