December 17, 2007

Wrappin' Up the Oh-Seven

It’s been forever since an actual post. I have been frenetically losing my mind over those last-minute-y things that pop up at Christmas / Yule / Hannukah / Holiday Time of One’s Choosing. Why do they put all this shopping and eating at the end of the year? I still have 2007 shit to get through—I don’t even have new planner pages! Hold the year; I haven’t watched Rudolph yet!

I had intended to finish the Christmas shopping on Sunday (rightly figuring that after ten hours of overtime on Saturday, I’d be in no mood to shop ) so I felt no guilt about kicking back with my sister-in-law and shamelessly eviscerating both pound cake and The DaVinci Crap, with exactly the restive results you’d expect. I slept for thirteen hours, all set to shop on Sunday morning, but as you may have noticed (or read; I still have no idea how wide the reach of this affably introverted little blog is) we were hit with the first real snowstorm of the year—the typical Michigan winter crap that “everyone” has been “missing” for the last few years, because a 40-degree Christmas isn’t “pretty” enough and people who don’t like snow are all skinny vegetarian commies who hate babies and dogs.* I got as far as brushing the snow off my car before deciding a pair of gloves and a jug of nog weren’t really worth it, and went back inside to content myself a with pot of coffee and Robert Irvine’s impossibly large ears.

I still have to mail out my laptop, which sold nicely (muchas gracias, high bidder!). The two reasons this hasn’t been done already (sorry I suck so hard, high bidder!): 1. reformatting the drive was a mother, and it would have been even worse without Ian walking me through it over IM (thanks Ian--owe ya a Coke, or some Tae Bo sessions, or some mountain-climbing dragon-eating women—woot!) and 2. the intersection of “open” and “convenient” on the USPS Venn diagram is a teeny-tiny window called 7:30 AM; barring any snow-related transit crises, this will be done tomorrow.

Of course, I could probably get more done it I weren’t spending nights trying to finish the novel, but what’s Christmas without a ridiculous amount of stress? How am I supposed to start rewrites in January if I haven’t finished the first draft? [translation: If we know each other, your scarf will be late.]

They are really pushing those ‘trail of diamonds’ necklaces this year. Last year it was that one horrible commercial with the dude putting it on his lady’s neck while she slept,** but now there’s the one at the stoplight--where no cars honk, but instead change lanes peacefully and quietly in deference to the AWESOME LOVE expressed in the car ahead of them. Yesterday I saw a new one where a lady gives this same piece of mass-marketed crap to her sister, and this one pissed me off the most—not just because any woman who isn’t giving her sister Pinwheel bootlegs obviously doesn’t know her at all, but because the tagline is “don’t give a gift, grant a wish.”

Okay; unless some of the money spent on this garish strand of drool goes to curing cancer, can we even call it granting a wish? Or is that grossly insensitive? Wishes are when you want your parents to be alive, or your child not to have pneumonia, or for friends to come back safely from their tours of duty; a wish is not some tacky spittle diamonds that every other reasonably affluent woman on the planet will be wearing, largely because whoever bought it for her didn’t know that what else to get. It’s like the anti-gift, a gift that means something because it’s sold as meaning something; it comes complete with “journey” sentiment, is widely inoffensive, and pretty. And who doesn’t like pretty things? Hell, I like pretty things, but I don’t wish for them.

It reminds me of the time on my high-school quiz team (shut up, we were awesome) that the opposing team’s members prayed for victory at halftime. That’s some kind of selfish prayer, right there; I know it was the state finals and all, but I hope none of their Grandmas needed surgery later, y’know? Gets on my tits, that one.

They won, though. Poor Gramma.

* Solidarity, comrades.
** Worst way to give jewelry ever (besides maybe the old “choking hazard in the champagne glass” trick). Even if she doesn’t brain you with a table lamp for trying to choke her in the night, that necklace is cold and she is asleep. Don’t be fooled by the ad campaign, guys; those things come in boxes for a reason. Wrap it and wait for morning.


Joy said...

Ah, holiday stress. That bitch. Why won't she just leave us alone?

Anywho... here's a blog post that I thought you'd enjoy:

Ian said...

I'll take the mountain-climbing, dragon-eating women, please.