Bah Humblog!

December 12, 2010

This morning I woke up to find that the bipolar weather fairy of St. Louis has given us our first real snow. It’s gorgeous, of course, and I found myself singing, “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas…” against my will. And then I realized that it is only my conditioning that makes me resent having carols stuck in my head. You see, I have been surrounded by grinches ever since I became a card-carrying member of the adult community. And it’s, like, bringin’ me down, man.

When I was a little girl, Christmas was fantabulous. I was an only child and I was not afraid to make a Christmas list…unlike my son who has this ego-shrinking opinion that we have everything we need. I always made out every Christmas, but it isn’t the gluttony satisfied that I remember fondly. It was the tradition that went along with it.

On Christmas Eve we would usually have people over for dinner, and then we would sit by the fire and open a single present. We had bubble lights on the tree, and the animals would by this point already have tinsel in their poop. A big, natural wreath would be over the mantel and the whole house had that calming woodsy smell.

On Christmas morning, I would wake at 12:01am (okay not really, but close) and go and wake the parental units who would gamely rouse themselves to deal with the enthusiasm of a redheaded child on Christmas morn.

The first thing that would happen would be that I was sent to my room…grounded until everything downstairs had been set up just so. My dad would turn on all the Christmas lights (giving the old bubble lights a chance to percolate prettily) and he would light a fire. There would be homemade hot chocolate for me and the nut bread that Marjorie always made for Christmas morning would be sliced and waiting.

The presents would be fluffed up to achieve maximum wow factor and the stockings were usually so obese and heavy that they had their own seats on the couch. Marjorie would put on some classical Christmas music and at this point, I was allowed to stop my pacing and yelling, “Is it ready yet?” and come downstairs to gorge on Christmas.

Now you may think that it was cruel to make me wait like that. But I loved it. I was certainly able to go downstairs before waking the adults and snoop all I wanted. But it was pure magic to come downstairs to the whole Christmas setting…I wouldn’t have changed anything. I’ve always loved tradition, I’ve always loved drawing out wonderful feelings and events. It was pure magic and I pretended to believe in Santa a lot longer than I actually did because I wanted everything to stay the same…I enjoyed putting out cookies and milk for my dad, and I’m sure it didn’t bother him, so who did it hurt?

Then….I got older. My parents no longer felt it necessary to make me wait while the scene was set. It could have something to do with the fact that as a teenager, I slept until noon on Christmas anyway. Eventually, I turned into an adult and Christmas lost some of its sparkle. Suddenly, Christmas was costing me money (and I never really had any) and wrapping presents became an arse pain, as did finding that perfect Christmas card out of the crap supply that was left on Christmas Eve.

Then came Eben. Suddenly Christmas was magic again. His first Christmas involved him sleeping through most of it, and it took us 40 hours to unwrap presents that might as well have been given to him in August. He didn’t care. But I did! Christmas was back!

So I have gamely tried to restore the magic of Christmas for my son ever since. I have tried to recreate the setting my parents laid out for me, and I was lucky enough to have a fireplace available to me. I bought him way too many presents and fluffed them out. As a result, I’m stuck with a kid who insists that he doesn’t want to be “so spoiled” at Christmas anymore. Argh. And I mean “argh” in a “I love my old-soul child” sort of way. The cool thing is that he still likes the rest of it…the lights, the carols, the opening of a single present on Christmas Eve. Spending time with family, having cheese and crackers laid out, giving hugs and kisses and thanks for even tiny stocking stuffer presents. This will be the first year that my dad won’t have an animal to adorn with leftover bows and ribbons, but I’m keeping this upbeat, damnit.

Anyway…my friends seem to want to be grinches. Eric was the biggest Scrooge I have ever met in my life and it took all of my power not to want to hang myself with garland when he was around. To be fair, he was in vet school for a lot of it, and finals were happening around the same time that the “must buy presents” pressure was put on everyone. I don’t blame him for being resentful. But stop scowling when Christmas carols come on! Stop boycotting Christmas lights! For me! But, no, he was unwavering in his hatred for all things Christmas. He even wrote a letter to Stop and Shop complaining about their decorations being put up too early (and they are, really, but still…)

This year, Eben being gone has thawed out Ericneezer. On our upcoming visit to the Cape, he will have a tree and he will  even decorate his house with Christmas lights! Talk about the magic of Christmas! I’m so excited!

As for me, I am taking Eben on a tour of Christmas lights in St. Louis (another family tradition that really didn’t work out once on Cape Cod), and I will be putting Christmas lights up outside even though I will only be here for a week and Jamie is against it. I will fight against the tyranny of grinchdom! I will play Christmas carols in the car…even when Misha is there! I will throw snowballs at anyone who tries to stop me (at least until next week when it goes up to 80* or whatever)! I will throw snowballs at my dog just because he likes it. And I will put “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas” in everyone’s head this year. Without shame.

I still have no money. I’ve crafted almost every present I will give this year. And I don’t care if I get a damn thing. I’m going to be with family and my kid will be glowing with happiness just to be around the people that he loves that will put up Christmas lights they morally disagree with…just to make him smile.

I have more blessings this year than presents. Christmas isn’t just about commercialism, so turn off your TV and squeeze the ones you love. Or blast them with a snowball. Whatever. Merry Christmas!


Hard tellin’, not knowin’.

December 12, 2010

And so I’m back…from outer space. Well, actually, I’m back from Cape Cod. I finally moved and I’m finally blogging again. So much has changed in my life since I last blogged. I don’t have any clue how to catch everyone up so I’ll try to come up with this synopsis:

  1. I got divorced. It was a major ass pain, but pretty quick as far as marriage ending things go.
  2. I got involved with a fuck wad guy named Mike and moved in with him for awhile, until that went to hell, too.
  3. Simultaneously moved in with one of my very best friends, Eric, and had a mental breakdown. Seriously, it started on moving day. But enough about that…I’m sure that’ll come back up (like bile) in future posts.
  4. The mental breakdown caused me to do something very drastic…move back to my hometown of St. Louis.
  5. I reunited with old friends and there was much merriment and rejoicing. Eben has been loving St. Louis and even my dog seems to be happy here. Hey, what can I say? His happiness is important to me.
  6. I met my current boyfriend, Jamie, on June 9th (one day before what would have been my wedding anniversary) and despite my horrific track record, we seem to be doing really well together.
  7. I have become addicted to quilting/sewing and this blog is a way for me to ween myself off of my own personal sweat shop.

So there you go. I left out gigantic chunks o’ stuph, obviously, and perhaps I’ll be able to get back to that stuff or maybe I’ll just let everything rot in the past and concentrate on my fresh new present. As they say on Cape Cod, “It’s hard tellin’, not knowin’.”

In a week, I’ll be heading back to the Cape with Eben for Christmas. I’m actually really excited to go, which is a great sign of healing because I couldn’t think about going back without PTSD-like symptoms kicking my ass as little as a few months ago. It’s a testament to how well things are going in my life. It’s also a testament to how much I love and miss Eric and my parents. Eric especially. He’s been a constant part of my life and Eben’s for so long that it just feels weird not having him around. I thought I would miss him less as time went on but actually the opposite has happened. At any rate, I plan on spending a significant amount of time just drinking beer with him at the house while the dogs give us reasons to mock them.

That’s all for now. I have to ease into this. Oh, and since I last wrote an entry here, I’ve started smoking again. I blame the fuck wad Mike.

“Hold your nose ’cause here goes the cold water…”

May 30, 2009

See what happens when I don’t blog? My life explodes.

I used to blog a lot on Myspace, but since I’ve dropped Myspace and moved on to the wacky world of Facebook (which is blog-free) I haven’t written anything more than a grocery list in forever. Actually, I haven’t even written a grocery list. Shit, I’m not even returning e-mails these days. I’ve had a weird weekend and found myself craving some blog-therapy. It’s like a diary only not nearly as easy to hide. But frankly, I’m getting massively sick of hiding things anyway.

So I have no idea who reads this blog. I can’t remember if anyone subscribed to it way back when and who will be alerted by a misleadingly cheerful envelope announcing my return to Blogdom. Some of you may not like this post, or think that it’s in pretty poor taste. If so, mea culpa, you’re probably right. But I continue to type anyway.

So George and I coming up on our 2 year wedding anniversary. I’m not sure how long we were actually a couple before we got hitched, because we were friends awhile before that but I think we’re looking at a ball park of 3 years as a couple, 5 years of being friends. Anyway, we’re celebrating it by getting a divorce.

Uhg. I started this blog meaning to organize my thoughts but now I’m just suddenly overwhelmed. There’s so much that I want to say and I just can’t. Not allowed. Permission denied. I really HATE that. I’ve never been good at being censored…

Wildlife webcam

January 15, 2007

This is a really cool live webcame of a watering hold in Africa. Often it’s just a shot of a pond with zero going on, but it’s worth checking back occasionally. I’ve seen some nifty stuff there.

Apparently, the best time to visit is from 11pm to 4pm Eastern time.


January 11, 2007

So this is a picture my son decided to draw tonight:


In case you can’t tell, that’s the Statue of Liberty doing the King Kong on a building that, I’m told, is George Washington’s house. There are fireworks and flags and two really cool eagles flanking the whole shibang and man, I love my kid.

The whole George Bush fiasco made me forget that saying you’re patriotic doesn’t always mean you’re insane. There was a time when being patriotic was pretty nice.

This picture is what that feels like.

Six Degrees of Describulation (and other news)

January 11, 2007

Any of you ambling (ha–funny) over from Myspace will probably know what I’m talking about. I was doing 6 degrees of separation. You know…click on a friend and click on one of their friends and so on and see who you end up with.

It’s scary. Sometimes in a good way sometimes not. It’s heartening to know that people really do have as motley a crew as I do, though (or at least have friends who do).

[ Sorry, I really needed brackets right here. I forgot to post the warning. You know, the one where I say I’m exhausted and coming off of a horrible flu that involved SYMPTOMS if you know what I mean and therefore will probably ramble and not make much sense. If you’re a first time reader, this warning may give you the hopeful sensation that the next entry you read might actually be worth the click it took you to get here. Hope’s so misleading, isn’t it? So, carry on, warned-ones.] I so love brackets.

OY! I actually have to scroll up to find where I was. Oh yeah! So I was on a friend of my friend Joe’s site. This guy had used his blog space as kind of a platform for showing some photos he’s taken which were all wonderful. The odd thing was that in the midst of all of the arresting photos, there were some of Cape Cod. Now, I live on Cape Cod so I was familiar with these locales. There was something about the way he shot the images though, that really made me homesick. For the Cape. It’s a difficult sensation to describe (I accidentally wrote “describle.” I should have left it!) but it was kind of cool, kind of miserable.

Through these photos, I saw the Cape the way I saw it when I first came up here at age 19. It was so soothing. Now, it’s…cluttered.

And while it really has become sort of cluttered in the 3 years since I was 19 (!) it’s not thatbad. Those photos were recently taken, actually. I guess I just miss something being new. A place being full of possiblility.

The Cape has gotten pretty stale to me. It’s been good to me for sure, it just keeps on givin’, really, but feeling like you’ve nothing new to explore in a place makes you feel old.

So, humph, now I want to move. All because of a picture of some guy I’ve never met.


It appears that I have the only dog that dreams about drinking water. It’s really funky to watch…he does it a lot. This is the same dog that gets hiccups every other hour so I guess it makes a certain amount of sense.

I can’t believe it’s not budder.

January 7, 2007

Something weird is happening. I’m writing things in odd ways. For example, “wonce” instead of “once.” Is it because I’ve been reading a lot of Eben’s “dedly” writing?

Or could it be…a brain tumor? No, no. Let’s talk about something else.

In other news, I just found out that a little pat of butter contains 100 calories! 100 calories!!! Pass the crack, I think it’s better for me.

When I smoked, the most precious time for me and my little nics was in the morning, over coffee. That was all I had for breakfast. I know, I know…ew. But who hasn’t been in a bad relationship? 

Since I’ve given up cigarettes, I’ve taken up breakfast and what I’ve really come to enjoy is a bagel with butter that I dunked in my sweet, oh so sweet, coffee. It was great! Simple pleasures, right? Yeah, me and Paris Hilton.

But now I just discovered that my little ritual is costing me 400-500 calories, not counting (why was I just suddenly convinced that the word counting had an apostrophe in it? I’m dying.) the calories in the massive amounts of sugar I put in my coffee. This means, God’s children, that all of my exercising…my sweat, my toil…doesn’t even undo the damage I’ve done eating a breakfast I wasn’t even hungry for in the first place! How did I miss this butter thing? During my short stint modelling, I had an anorexic’s awareness of calories, but I don’t remember this butter nightmare. I must have avoided butter altogether.

So I’m getting fat on butter-saturated crumbs. Meanwhile, I have two runner friends who seem to be able to put anything into their perfectly sculpted faces and it turns into beautiful, marble-like flesh, whereas I put rice cakes in my maw only to have it turn into marshmallow fluff on my thighs.

I hate runners, I hate the butter industry, I hate mornings.

 I still like coffee though, and I’m working really hard to convince myself that some Pollander’s Allfruit is just the yummy goodness I need to greet the day.

Oh, PS- My neck is better! Yay me!!