Don't look at the calendar, look in your nightstand.

So, when's it over? All the laziness, and the playing, the parties, the eating? How do you know for sure when the holiday revelry has reached its natural end?

Well, I'll tell you.

It is over when the box of milk chocolate turtles you stashed in your nightstand on or about December 17th, which you have been eating for breakfast each day, before you even get up to pee or insert your contact lenses, is empty.

(Is exactly like when you finally pull the tiny felt Jesus-in-the-manger out of the advent calendar on Christmas Eve, except you get more caramel drool on your white pillowcase.)

This event happened today.

I mean, sure, there are still some mini oreos, a couple snickers bars, and some gummy bears left there in the drawer. I'm not going to starve. (I am acting on the assumption that with gestational diabetes testing, no news is good news.)

But the turtles are GONE.

When I wake up tomorrow, after a night of debauchery that (cross my fingers) includes me repeatedly beating Jake at X-box Trivial Pursuit from the comfort of our own bed, under the big down comforter (that can only be used two months of the year because it it so warm. Usually around Valentine's day I wake in the night, drenched in sweat and cursing, and throw it across the room), while each of us drinks from our own bottle of Meier's Sparkling Pink Catawba (Cold Duck will do, as well), a new year will have dawned (or will be dawning, since I still don't have any curtains on the bedroom window, and the sun is a harsh and early alarm clock. The desert sun is unforgiving. I think I might have permanent retinal damage), there will be no turtles to unwrap and scarf.

Which means it is time to pack up the nativity set, and start brushing my hair before noon.

Is anybody with me?

Happy new year.

Cousin Joe sings. And I ponder making offensive candy.

I'm back from New York.

Are you all busy like me? So much to do, even though no one would ever accuse me of doing too much. All I want to do is wear sweats, shop online, and play Christmas songs on my guitar. I also want to realize my long time dream of making divinity and dark chocolate fudge, one on top of the other, and eating it. I also planned to make some for all my new neighbors, handing over each plate of goodies with a flourish, saying:

"I'd like to give you my fudginity."

But cousin Melanie and sister Jen (among others I polled) made me promise I wouldn't.

I might consider getting out and brushing my hair to go to this, though:

My cousin Joe Whitfield's a capella group is singing with Marvin Goldstein and Kirby Heyborne on Wednesday (December 16th) at the Mesa Arts Center. You can come, too! And you can get a special friends of Beeswax discount (half price!), if you use the promo code "MC6" when you buy tickets online.

I know, I'm so totally hooked up. Joe thinks my blog is famous. I didn't want to disillusion him.

If you can't make it Wednesday, Joe and MC6 are doing their annual concert at the Mesa Temple on Friday (18th), at 7 pm sharp. Tickets are just $50, and you can buy them from me!

Nah. I'm lying. Friday's show is totally free. I'm going early so my kids can see the lights.