It's the most wonderful time of the year

I stand in a line of people eight deep at my local Walgreens. My position puts me right in front of the gaping maw of the Christmas aisle, with all its garlands and tinsel and boxes promising light displays heretofore only dreamed of spewing from its shelves. Now, don't get me wrong. I like my Walgreens. It is a convenient locale for all the little expenditures that get me though workaday life. I even recently signed up for a rewards card. But the Walgreens Christmas aisle is not fooling anyone. It is not a nexus of holiday spirit and cheer; it's not even a reasonably fruitful outpost. It is a corridor of grimly set seasonal determination, last-minute light strings and guilty impulse inflatable Santas. This is not your first option for holiday shopping, this is a last line of defense. Oh hell I'm already here for cigarettes and I told myself I'd put up lights this year...might as well grab some now. But forget that noise. I'm already in the damn line. Which is not moving.

I eventually realize the reason for the holdup, or at least the party attached to it. Two mom-types laugh gaily at the checkout counter, their children mulling about somewhere behind them. They do not seem to realize here that the driving force here is quiet desperation tinged with exhaustion. Their carts are littered with Christmas funthings; every sentence ends in an exclamation point. They have just come from the gym. The outfits are tight to optimize silouette. Their bodies are impeccable, despite the surrounding living testimonies that they have housed and expelled unspeakable pounds of flesh. The women laugh again. The blonde one looks around to survey at the line, where we hold our places quietly. My blank stare does not intersect whatever she sees.

"Ohmigosh" she giggles. "...responsible for the longest line in Walgreens ever!" as the cashier hauls another candy cane across the scanner. "Sorry!" she sings out towards us. She does not sound the least bit remorseful, or even embarrassed. "It's Christmas!" Her compatriot, a false brunette, laughs. Her children are fat. They grasp for the plush Rudolph in her hands.

"Ma'am." I hear a low voice from the photo counter. A clerk I recognize. He makes a furtive come here gesture, and I quickly shuffle over, head down.

I murmur some kind of think you and without making eye contact silently implore him not to judge me for my purchases. A large container of store brand moose tracks ice cream, two caramel & marshmallow Russell Stover santa candies, a similar santa with raspberry cream, and a four dollar bottle of merlot. I think about informing him that it has been a long night, but he either already knows or doesn't care, so I don't bother.

I check out, fumbling my rewards card, and hustle out the store clutching my supplies. On my way to my car I pass the holly jolly double family loading their holiday loot into the inevitable SUV. Probably one of the many festive runs of the season. One fix is never enough for these kinds of people. There is a barking dog in the front seat. The fat children are smiling under their buzz cuts. The mothers are smiling under their fake tans.  I wonder if their life is better than mine. I have no conclusion to draw.

Happy holidays let the games begin may the gods & bureaucrats bless us every one.

(Post-) Christmas Hate-ish

So, "Things I Hate" really was supposed to be a serial type deal, because gods know I have enough grievances to make a quasi-infinite list. However, all of my hate-things have been eclipsed these past few days by this really awesome cold. I guess I could have complained some more about that (my boyfriend is certainly tired of hearing about it), but for a while there my typing abilities were reduced to a delirious flail. Any attempt at doing something productive ended in smears of snot and shame. Tried to get some Skyrim time in, but mostly just kept running into walls and setting myself on fire; by the time the talking dog showed up I was pretty much done. Even sleeping was a tough business; the whole breathing things was a tough go, and I kept feeling dehydrated because all of my moisture was seeping in various ways out of my face-holes. It was less pleasant than it sounds.

Oh look, I got some complaining in after all!

Anyways, belated Happy Christmas--


I myself had a fairly lovely Christmas, all snot aside. Did the usual family rigamarole--Boy's Dad's house for breakfast (deer sausage, though-yum!), Boy's Mom's/Grandparents' for lunch, my Mom's for dinner. Went to his other set of grandparents' for Christmas Eve. Got a nice stack of giftcards all around, plus the impression that Boy's Mom's family now thinks I'm a wino? From them, some wineglasses, wine, and electric wine opener. Not that I'm complaining about that. I also really love my Mom's consistently practical-yet-somehow-bizarre choice of stocking stuffer. Last year it was a lint-shaver (sounds dirty, but it's a thing to get those little fuzzies off sweaters); this year it's a can of windshield de-icer, complete with scraper on the end. Keep in mind that this is Louisiana, where we wear tank tops on Christmas Eve. Still, my mom will be damned if her girls aren't prepared for any possible preventable mishaps. That is why I love her.

Now, off to eat some chicken soup (scavenged by wonderful boyfriend from nearby drugstore), and then... maybe something crafty?

Christmas Hate, Part I

In honor of the week of Christmas, which I hate*, I will Grinch-tastically put forth a post (series of posts?) in the spirit of grumbliness...

THINGS I HATE*.

1.) Starting Christmas Way Too Flipping Early.

Since it is now in fact appropriate to celebrate Christmas, I thought I'd start with this now-belated gripe. We've all noticed that Christmas is creeping up ever earlier each year. Thanksgiving has long since been tinseled into oblivion in the frenzy to begin inflating your Santa and playing "Sleigh Ride" as soon as humanly possible. But a countdown to your Christmas countdown is really getting a bit much (I'm looking at you, ABC Family)--and now the sinister jingling of Santa's minions can be heard all the way back in October. Now, buying Christmas tree-shaped candy to hand out to trick-or-treaters is one thing. Natchitoches, Louisiana, takes this holiday territory infringement to a whole 'nother level.

Personal story. I thoroughly enjoy celebrating Halloween. I like spooky things, excessive amounts of candy, fog machines, and slutty costumes as much as the next person. In fact, having been an employee of the 13th Gate Haunted House for several years running, one could make the argument that I enjoyed these things significantly more than the next person. Now, this Halloween was the the first Halloween in four years that I had off (due to aforementioned haunted house), and for boy-friend related reasons, I spent this Weekend of Halloween Freedom in... Natchitoches. I'm the first person to admit that Baton Rouge is lacking in some respects, but it does know how to throw a helluva block party on Halloween. Even if you choose to avoid the boobs-and-vomit allure of Carlotta St., chances are you have some friends in the city somewhere dressed up for drinking and generally a pagan-eqse good time.

This sort of thing is conspicuously missing in Natchitoches.  Approximately two houses in the whole town (a pretty decent percentage, I'll admit) made any attempt at Halloween decoration. There were a few (decidedly uncarved) pumpkins lying around public areas. But overall, Halloween is swept under the rug, probably because Natchitochieans fear immediate possession of the entire town by evil spirits. To avoid such a problem, they skip straight to Christmas. When I arrived the weekend of October 29 - 31, the damn lights were already decking the quaint tableaux of Front Street. Look, I know how exciting Christmas must be for the "City of Lights". But at least throw some plastic skeletons out there for a weekend.



Halloween in Baton Rouge

Approximation of Halloween in Natchitoches. Notice the lack of rave.

2.) Really Aggressive Acorns

This isn't so much of a nationwide issue as the Christmas/Halloween thing above, but it is definitely a more constant source of annoyance in my life. 

Apparently, there are oak or oak-ish trees on the property where I (and several other victims) live. These trees are generally benign. They provide us shade and some contribution of oxygen and a nice earth-toned balance to the horrific salmon-color paint of our house. In return, we do not generally mess with them or pay them much attention at all, really.This relationship holds well for about 3/4 of the year, but then somewhere around what would be considered autumn in states that actually have season, these trees get unaccountably angry and initiate a sort of guerrilla warfare with our roofs and our sanity. At random intervals, they pelt our houses (and cars, and cats) with tiny, high-speed missiles--any time, anywhere. 

"But," one might say, "those are just acorns, which naturally drop from trees at that time of year." Yes, I hear that does happen. But "drop" is not really a verb that can explain the explosive landing force of these death-nuts. "Hurl" or "sling" or "launch"  comes closer, but really, gravity alone will not account for these suckers. I'm not sure if the squirrels have launched some crazed campaign against us, or if the acorns themselves have gained vindictive sentience, but they are relentless. 

Imagine: You're spending a relaxing evening alone and vulnerable in your house, maybe just about to doze off, when

RAT A TAT BAM BAM

sounds not unlike gunfire erupt somewhere very close to your head. Oh no! Is it burglar-rapists? Increasingly negative negotiations spilling over from the nearby ghetto? The Krampus, finally come with punishment in full? Nope, it's just the freaking acorns, propelling themselves full-force at your roof, or walls (somehow?) or, even better, the acoustic amplifier that is your air-conditioner. You finally manage to convince your adrenaline rush to release its grip and begin to doze off again, when

KAPOW CRACKA BOOM

repeat...



Well, that's all the impotent ranting I can muster up for now but there are oh so many things on this list. Updates on hate-worthy things throughout the week, until Christmas finally comes with presents to assuage my awful rage.



*Yes, I know that "hate" is a strong word, and no, I don't hate Christmas or the items discussed above. The feeling is more akin to a disgruntled-frustration-and-annoyance (to varying degrees). I just really didn't want to type that out every time.

Lazy resolutions

Winter Break To-Do:

1. Make office into usable room

1a. Get a floor lamp

2. Hit up after-Christmas candy sales

3. Make shepherd's pie (Mmm.)

4. Play with Sculpey

5. Help sister with college applications

6. Produce at least one piece of writing, goddammit!

As with all of my to-dos, who knows what will be accomplished from this, but I've tried to set the bar low enough to actually tempt me to step over it.

Also--Christmas is way less fun as a grown-up. However, despite yesterdays failures and frustrations, I did manage to produce a couple pans of reasonably festive red velvet cupcakes, which were only a tiny bit burnt on the bottom. After burning the crap out of my hand trying to relight the oven, of course. No pain, no gain.