if you're feeling frabjous...

it’s not that i’m afraid of him, per se. although, supposedly, he knows when i am sleeping…and he knows when i’m awake…

okay, never mind. i’m officially creeped out.

i admit that i’ve never particularly liked santa.

plus, this moment in “the christmas story” didn’t help:

santa was more of a necessary evil.

a means to an end.

i only got my photo made with the mall santa once, and that was quite enough, thankyouverymuch!

santa was almost as creepy as the mall easter bunny,

so, if i had to walk past santa’s “workshop” (to get to the food court, most likely), i would walk quickly and purposefully, trying not to make eye contact with santa or one of his helpers…

or the animatronic reindeer…

or my mother, for that matter, as i knew she was dying for me to get over my santa hang-ups and take an adorable christmas picture with this total stranger.

another reason santa is on my “shit-list” is the sheer humiliation that i suffered throughout elementary school, as i defended his very existence from those kids whose parents or older siblings had shown the decency to set them straight…

i distinctly remember a conversation i had during brownie scouts with my jewish (and santa-enlightened christian) friends as we drank juice boxes and ate trailmix while listening to a girl scout mix tape that included such classics as “he’s got the whole world in his hands” and “make new friends, but keep the old” (sung in round). and, like most of my childhood memories, food was involved.

the conversation went something like this:

santa-denier: there’s no such thing as santa. your parents are santa.

me: nuh-uh! santa is real. i heard him on my roof and i heard jingle bells from the reindeers!!   *(yes, my parents did this)

santa-denier: well, my dad told me that santa is not real.

me: well, i asked my parents, and they told me that there is a santa. and, plus, the weatherman tracks him on his radar on christmas eve! if it’s on tv, it must be true.

ha! there was the proof. i was like a young, female matlock, setting them free with the truth about santa. once and for all!

but it was not to be.

and that’s where santa really effed things up, in my opinion.

so, when i was the last one to come to terms with the **great big santa conspiracy**, after confronting my parents with their persistent twelve-year lie (yes, 12 damn years.), i began exploring my anti-santa feelings in greater depth. now, dear reader, i realize that i said twelve years.  near the end of this time period, i’ll admit that i did have my doubts. but, honestly, i was too worried about a significant drop in presents, should i deny his existence publicly. like pascal’s wager, i had nothing to lose by playing along with the charade. i am a greedy only child, after all!

once i “came out” about my santa denial, i was free. forget the naughty list! forget the lump of coal and empty threats of nothing but socks!  forget leaving cookies on plate! (more for me!)

knowing the santa secret was very powerful.  it was like being part of an exclusive adults-only club…

i knew something that my younger cousins didn’t!  i could make up wild and crazy tales about santa and how he punishes naughty children…and not get in trouble.

but, in spite of all these benefits, christmas never was the same.

thus began my loathing and avoidance of all things santa.

so, you may be wondering if i’ll subject my future child(ren) to the horrors of mall santa pictures. will i perpetuate the myth of the jolly white man who watches you all year long like a peeping tom??

ABSO-FREAKIN-LUTELY!!

i’m just gonna say that being poor is not fun. being poor at christmas is especially not fun and is downright embarrassing. 

especially when our culture places so much importance on the gift , itself, and tends to gloss over the relationship between the giver and the receiver.  in many cases, giving becomes more of an obligation.

you gave me a present, so let me go get your present, which is in my trunk. cut to a trunk full of wrapped wine bottles that were purchased last year at the post-christmas sales especially for awkward moments such as this.

the gift exchange is often an indicator of the quality of a given relationship.  oooh - i thought our friendship had moved beyond the fruitcake level…

just for the record, though, fruitcake is delicious.

and, of course, let us not forget the fail-safe refuge of all thoughtless, yet organized, gift-givers - the gift closet!

have you ever listened to music?

i mean really listened to it?  like been so immersed in the moment that you feel like you are diving into a huge puddle of delicious, velvety music.

as you start sinking into the puddle (which turns out to be deeper than you had thought), you find yourself enveloped by the music - surrounded in a musical cocoon of sound, color, energy, and emotions.  you sink deeper into the song and lose sight of the world above you.

you drink in the music like greedy gulps of water.

gradually, you start to let go of “the real,” as the thoughts and worries of your mundane existence slip from your grateful fingertips.

the possibility of drowning happily crosses your mind.

but for that brief moment in time, you are bliss.

content to be part of the music, no matter how sad the song.

part of the singer.

part of the real.

part of something bigger than yourself.

an homage to one of my favorite websites, cakewrecks.

dew people are my kind of people. don’t hate on this, y’all:

this one is actually kinda pretty, and it occupies prime display real estate!

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when i was little, i remember sitting at the dining room table with the toys ‘r’ us catalogue, pencil in hand, as i neatly wrote the names of all the toys that had been bombarding my senses during every saturday morning cartoon-fest for the past year.

i remember going through the list one more time to see if i had left anything off, then handing it to mom, who looked at me as if i had handed her a live turtle - a mixture of puzzlement, amusement, and frustration.

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i decided to go “stag” to this reunion thing, since, honestly, i am a horrible date at large social functions. as soon as i walk in the door, i develop the attention span of a fruit fly on crack and dart back and forth through the crowd like a game of red-rover after a whole case of otter pops. i’m hard to manage and i’m crap at remembering to make proper introductions.  since i knew that d. wouldn’t know anyone, i decided to spare him the boredom and inevitable frustration of accompanying me.

good choice.

after all, i am the lone wolf. aroooooooo, bitches!:

and (as i meditated in the car) a hollow reed:

i arrived at the venue (workplay) about 30 min after it began, which is more fashionable than late on my part…yay for my time management skills!

the first person i saw was one of those peripherals…you know the type. i know he graduated with us, but that’s about it. extracurriculars: unknown. grades: adequate. looks: average. personality: ranging from bland to “nice” to unknown. if he were an ice cream flavor, he would be sugar-free vanilla ice milk - like in those econo-size tubs people buy for 3-year-old birthday parties because young children can’t really differentiate ice cream quality, and, hell, let’s save some bucks…tried to start some small talk. meh.

i couldn’t find a picture of the unmarked tub-o-ice-cream, but this is pretty effing cute:

so, basically, i thought this was going to be a quite painful evening.

but

in spite of my jaded outlook,

i was pleasantly surprised! dare i say, thrilled??

i even found that the most enjoyable conversations of the evening were with people i had never really gotten to know in high school…

people i wish that i had hung out with a long time ago. people who got me.  but people whom, due to my inability to see past my own angst-filled bubble, i missed along the way.

i learned that we all had our insecurities and our own bag of ”issues,” and we all felt alone, at times. i learned that a lot of us had moved back to “the ham” for one reason or another, and that moving back to your old stomping ground is not necessarily a shameful thing.

we are all just trying to make it - still trying to figure out who and what we want to be when we grow up - lawyer, accountant, broker, doctor, chemist, fashion designer, actor…or professional gambler.  and that’s okay.

some of most interesting people i know still don’t know what they want to be when they grow up. and we’re all toys ‘r’ us kids.

i learned that everyone has been through an “ugly duckling” phase, to varying degrees.

i also realized that i wasn’t that lame in high school. if high school were a parker bros. monopoly game, i wouldn’t have been boardwalk or park place. but i sure wouldn’t have been oriental avenue, either!

(most likely, i was that bastard that buys up all the railroads and the utility companies. i may even have had a house or two on the red and yellow properties, for good measure…just to piss you off as you round the corner of free parking.)

i definitely had my own ‘romy and michelle’ moment at one point. complete with the ‘most changed classmate,’ who might as well have been sandy frink from the film:

watch this for the best dance scene ever: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wPTUpn9ait8

yeah. it was like that. revenge of the m-effing nerds!

droppin’ it like it was hot. and it was glorious.

however, it goes without saying that there will always be bitches and assholes in this world.  some people are just lost causes, and no amount of time will ever change that.

instead of internalizing the cold reception i received from a handful of vapid, worthless bitches, i felt like quoting the great michelle (of ‘romy and michelle’): “You’re a bad person with an ugly heart, and we don’t give a flying fuck what you think!”

with that said, most people had gotten over their snobbery and ridiculous hang-ups. college, grad school, travel, marriage, and kids had changed them for the better. i breathed a sigh of relief.

we had grown up. and i like who we have become.

so, like any self-respecting late twenty-something still (begrudgingly) living in her hometown, i was looking forward to my 10-year high school reunion with a mixture of fear, dread, and morbid curiosity.

don’t get me wrong—freaks and geeks are cool as all hell. i don’t think i was a total loser in high school, but i do identify more with “josie grossy” and denise from “can’t hardly wait” than any of the “mean girls.”

i was completely insecure and definitely carried a figurative chip on my shoulder about growing up in the most affluent and socio-economically and racially homogeneous suburb of birmingham (also known as “the tiny kingdom).

yep. that’s me. and the car needs a wash.

my high school had sororities. and debutante balls. and beauty pageants. and birmingham belles, for god’s sake:

(no, that’s not me. was not a part of this insanity.)

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