Arrive at Airport
Wait in Airport
Fly from Nashville to Cincinnati
Wait in Airport
Fly from Cincinnati to Newark
Drive to Garfield
Sleep
Drive to Erie
Drive to Nana and Papa’s
Drive to Uncle Clark’s
Drive to Jennifer’s
Drive to Kimberly’s
Drive back to Nana and Papa’s
Drive to Aunt Linda’s
Drive back to Garfield
Sleep
Drive to Newark
Wait in Airport
Fly from Newark to Cincinnati
Wait in Airport
Fly from Cincinnati to Nashville
Drive
Sleep
Okay, so that’s not representative of my ENTIRE Christmas holiday but, man, it sure felt like it! Despite my overwhelming (some might say annoying) enthusiasm for the Christmas season, the actual "day-of" holiday rituals just leave me bone-weary and stressed. For as long as I can remember, Christmas Eve and Christmas Day have been all about traveling and bustling around in an insane effort to see as many familiar (and sometimes not-so-familiar) faces as humanly possible. This ridiculous phenomenon has only become more pronounced the older and farther away I get. I cannot even imagine what it would be like to enjoy a relaxing Christmas holiday on my own schedule; to celebrate how I want, when I want and with the people I want. I know that sounds selfishly Scroogey, but after reading Joanna’s blog, I felt a fierce wave of envy over her simple and lovely Christmas celebration.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my families and my friends AND I like being able to see them and spend time with them…I’m just not sure anymore if Christmas is the time to do that. I mean, in reality, I got to see everyone for about 20 minutes each – and that’s an incredibly generous estimate. So, not only did I NOT get to spend any quality time with anyone (except for Bethany – and thank god for that or else you would currently find me wallowing in the depths of despair instead of in this shallow tide-pool of self-pity), but I completely wore myself out doing it! It’s a lose-lose situation, people! And instead of those warm, fuzzy Christmas feelings of peace on earth and goodwill towards Man, I ended up with soggy feelings of vague guilt and unspoken obligations. NOT a very satisfying culmination to six weeks worth of Christmas-inspired joy and delight. Anti-climactic, one might say. I realize Christmastime is all about tradition, but when those traditions are unhealthy and unfulfilling, something has got to change.
Thus, I have committed to doing things a little differently next year. I haven’t figured out all of the details yet (or any of the details really), I just know that I cannot keep celebrating Christmas in this crazy head-less chicken way. Enough is enough I say!
How awesome would it be to relish the Christmas season; the decorating and the shopping and the baking; the watching of the Christmas specials, and the admiring of the Christmas lights; the holiday parties and general festivities…and then, instead of dreading and commencing upon my normal whirlwind Christmas schedule, boarding a plane to meet Bethany at some relaxing vacation destination? Or how equally awesome would it be to bask in the aforementioned holiday delights and actually decorate my apartment and have a tree for once, and spend Christmas cooking a meal and enjoying it in front of my fireplace with Bethany and my cats? Like I said, details need to be worked out, but I can come up with many alternate scenarios that do not involve the stress and guilt of my historically stressful Christmas traditions.
So, if next year, you receive your Christmas gift in the mail along with my sincere regrets at not being able to personally deliver it, please understand that my decision to utilize the US Postal Service is not a personal attack or a lack of desire to see you over the holidays, but merely my own efforts to preserve some degree of sanity and to treat myself and Christmas with the gentleness I feel we deserve.
12.27.2007
12.21.2007
ONE Gift
You know how every Christmas there’s that ONE gift? That ONE gift that outshines all other gifts? That ONE gift you weren’t expecting but is so fantastic you can hardly contain yourself? You know the gift I’m talking about. It’s the gift that embodies the spirit of the Red Rider BB Gun.
Even though it’s not quite Christmas yet, I am pretty sure I have already received that ONE gift.
I thought I had received it last week when I was given a framed copy of the cover of the magazine where some of my words had recently been put in print for the first time. I was told it was a little reminder to write more and to write often. (awwwww…) At that moment, I was convinced that incredibly thoughtful and supportive gift was my ONE gift of the season. I mean, really, how could it get any better than that?...
Well, last night we exchanged gifts and tore open carefully selected DVDs and books and picture frames, and it was good and it was fun and the room reeked with fuzzy Christmas spirit! Then Dan handed me a big box tied with green ribbon and my eyes lit up. I ripped it open and found (to my supreme delight) a piece of the Christmas In The City Christmas Village. (The Artist’s Studio and Art Gallery!).
Now, before you roll your eyes…know that I have ALWAYS been utterly enchanted with Christmas Village displays. Hopelessly enamored with the little lights and the miniature buildings in all their architectural glory…the Christmas trees and the carriages and the lamp posts…the ponds with their ice skaters and the hills with their sledders…I love it all! Brett’s mom has THE GREATEST Christmas Village collection and when I would help her set it up, along with the gleeful excitement inherent in designing and planning out a Christmas Village, there would also be a covetous gleam in my eye. So, naturally, when I tore open my very first Christmas Village building, I thought, “okay, THIS is my ONE gift for the Christmas season!”
But then, Dan said, “there’s one more thing…it’s upstairs”. So, even though I wasn’t ready to relinquish the minute and wondrous inspection of my miniature building, I scrambled up the stairs to discover a long mailing tube propped against the wall in the empty spare bedroom. I tore open the tube with a little kitchen knife assistance and lo & behold, out slides an unfamiliar looking long black tubular thing about 3 feet long. Wha-the-!? I looked to the proudly beaming tubular gift-giver with a giant question mark embedded on my forehead. ??? What is this? I politely inquired.
Wait for it…
Wait for it…
“It’s a blow gun!!”
Fuck. Yeah.
Now, as you may remember from a previous post, I have received some bizarre Christmas gifts in my day. A stun gun. Mosquito netting. Waterproof matches. Snakebite kit. Car window smasher-outter-thing. A knife (and no, NOT a kitchen knife). So you see, I am no stranger to the bizarre Christmas gift. But a BLOW GUN is just awesomely, supremely, outrageously bizarre.
After recovering from my open-mouthed gape of astonishment followed by hysterical laughter, we put together the wicked looking 4” dart thingys and loaded the sucker up! First, let me explain the warnings this thing came with: This weapon can cause death. Do not point this weapon at anything you do not intend to kill. Do not inhale dart. This weapon is illegal in many states (fortunately not in Tennessee). Use leather gloves to assemble dart.
The warnings were extensive and severe but they did not stop us from rigging up a “target” (actually a large comforter doubled over and suspended from the ceiling with a shirt hung on the front – clever, no?) Standing at the farthest end of the hallway, I blew my first blow gun. And it was good.
This is not yo mamma’s blow gun! This blow gun is fast and vicious! Dan was enthusiastically listing off the specs, the maximum velocities and forces and gauges and all that stuff, but I was too enthralled with the satisfying “thunk” sound the dart made as it pierced through the target! Hee. We entertained ourselves with this weaponry for quite some time. I think I’m going to have to get myself a dart board to practice my aim…and make sure my cats are secured in my bedroom before any such target practice occurs in my apartment!
Seriously, how can anything top a BLOW GUN as the ONE Christmas gift?! In the tradition of my obsessively and acutely prepared female family members, this weapon will hold a place of honor right next to my bed…loaded up and ready to go!
Even though it’s not quite Christmas yet, I am pretty sure I have already received that ONE gift.
I thought I had received it last week when I was given a framed copy of the cover of the magazine where some of my words had recently been put in print for the first time. I was told it was a little reminder to write more and to write often. (awwwww…) At that moment, I was convinced that incredibly thoughtful and supportive gift was my ONE gift of the season. I mean, really, how could it get any better than that?...
Well, last night we exchanged gifts and tore open carefully selected DVDs and books and picture frames, and it was good and it was fun and the room reeked with fuzzy Christmas spirit! Then Dan handed me a big box tied with green ribbon and my eyes lit up. I ripped it open and found (to my supreme delight) a piece of the Christmas In The City Christmas Village. (The Artist’s Studio and Art Gallery!).
Now, before you roll your eyes…know that I have ALWAYS been utterly enchanted with Christmas Village displays. Hopelessly enamored with the little lights and the miniature buildings in all their architectural glory…the Christmas trees and the carriages and the lamp posts…the ponds with their ice skaters and the hills with their sledders…I love it all! Brett’s mom has THE GREATEST Christmas Village collection and when I would help her set it up, along with the gleeful excitement inherent in designing and planning out a Christmas Village, there would also be a covetous gleam in my eye. So, naturally, when I tore open my very first Christmas Village building, I thought, “okay, THIS is my ONE gift for the Christmas season!”
But then, Dan said, “there’s one more thing…it’s upstairs”. So, even though I wasn’t ready to relinquish the minute and wondrous inspection of my miniature building, I scrambled up the stairs to discover a long mailing tube propped against the wall in the empty spare bedroom. I tore open the tube with a little kitchen knife assistance and lo & behold, out slides an unfamiliar looking long black tubular thing about 3 feet long. Wha-the-!? I looked to the proudly beaming tubular gift-giver with a giant question mark embedded on my forehead. ??? What is this? I politely inquired.
Wait for it…
Wait for it…
“It’s a blow gun!!”
Fuck. Yeah.
Now, as you may remember from a previous post, I have received some bizarre Christmas gifts in my day. A stun gun. Mosquito netting. Waterproof matches. Snakebite kit. Car window smasher-outter-thing. A knife (and no, NOT a kitchen knife). So you see, I am no stranger to the bizarre Christmas gift. But a BLOW GUN is just awesomely, supremely, outrageously bizarre.
After recovering from my open-mouthed gape of astonishment followed by hysterical laughter, we put together the wicked looking 4” dart thingys and loaded the sucker up! First, let me explain the warnings this thing came with: This weapon can cause death. Do not point this weapon at anything you do not intend to kill. Do not inhale dart. This weapon is illegal in many states (fortunately not in Tennessee). Use leather gloves to assemble dart.
The warnings were extensive and severe but they did not stop us from rigging up a “target” (actually a large comforter doubled over and suspended from the ceiling with a shirt hung on the front – clever, no?) Standing at the farthest end of the hallway, I blew my first blow gun. And it was good.
This is not yo mamma’s blow gun! This blow gun is fast and vicious! Dan was enthusiastically listing off the specs, the maximum velocities and forces and gauges and all that stuff, but I was too enthralled with the satisfying “thunk” sound the dart made as it pierced through the target! Hee. We entertained ourselves with this weaponry for quite some time. I think I’m going to have to get myself a dart board to practice my aim…and make sure my cats are secured in my bedroom before any such target practice occurs in my apartment!
Seriously, how can anything top a BLOW GUN as the ONE Christmas gift?! In the tradition of my obsessively and acutely prepared female family members, this weapon will hold a place of honor right next to my bed…loaded up and ready to go!
12.19.2007
The Magical Picture Taking Box
I really need to learn how to work my camera.
I have this digital camera. It’s a Canon Powershot A410. Which means nothing to me. I didn’t buy this camera. In fact, until I got it last year I was still relying on my trusty old Pentax circa 1994. Yeah see, I’m just really not a gadgety type of person. I hate trying to figure out technological gadgetry. I know, you’re probably thinking, “get a grip! it’s just a freakin’ digital camera – my 80 year grandmother has one!” right? It’s not like it’s some really high-tech doo-hickey…like an iPhone…or…a…spectrometer! (yeah that's right, you heard me...a spectrometer)
It’s not even one of those really slick digital cameras with all kinds of bells and whistles (lord knows something like that would send me over the edge!). It appears to be a simple enough gadget. However, this has proven to be untrue. There are many confusing options regarding flashes and zooming and foreground/background and who-knows-what-else. Combine these mysterious settings with my complete lack of knowledge in the area of photography and one ends up with photos like those below.
Dan and I went to Opryland last night to take in the spectacular Christmas light displays. As I was walking out the door of my apartment I saw my camera sitting there on my desk and in a last minute decision, I snatched it up and stuck it in my bag…just in case. Once we got there, the lights were so incredible and the sparkly festive environments so exciting, that I whipped out my camera determined to capture some of it. I would randomly push a few buttons, click the shutter and get some fuzzy, drunk-looking image. So, then I would push a few other buttons, click the shutter and get some dark shadowy-looking thing. I pushed buttons all evening and ended up with…ZERO decent pictures. How? How is that even possible? Is it the camera? Does the camera suck? Or do I suck?
My goal is to read the manual in the next couple of days. Maybe that will provide some enlightenment…
I’ll let you know how it goes.
I have this digital camera. It’s a Canon Powershot A410. Which means nothing to me. I didn’t buy this camera. In fact, until I got it last year I was still relying on my trusty old Pentax circa 1994. Yeah see, I’m just really not a gadgety type of person. I hate trying to figure out technological gadgetry. I know, you’re probably thinking, “get a grip! it’s just a freakin’ digital camera – my 80 year grandmother has one!” right? It’s not like it’s some really high-tech doo-hickey…like an iPhone…or…a…spectrometer! (yeah that's right, you heard me...a spectrometer)
It’s not even one of those really slick digital cameras with all kinds of bells and whistles (lord knows something like that would send me over the edge!). It appears to be a simple enough gadget. However, this has proven to be untrue. There are many confusing options regarding flashes and zooming and foreground/background and who-knows-what-else. Combine these mysterious settings with my complete lack of knowledge in the area of photography and one ends up with photos like those below.
Dan and I went to Opryland last night to take in the spectacular Christmas light displays. As I was walking out the door of my apartment I saw my camera sitting there on my desk and in a last minute decision, I snatched it up and stuck it in my bag…just in case. Once we got there, the lights were so incredible and the sparkly festive environments so exciting, that I whipped out my camera determined to capture some of it. I would randomly push a few buttons, click the shutter and get some fuzzy, drunk-looking image. So, then I would push a few other buttons, click the shutter and get some dark shadowy-looking thing. I pushed buttons all evening and ended up with…ZERO decent pictures. How? How is that even possible? Is it the camera? Does the camera suck? Or do I suck?
My goal is to read the manual in the next couple of days. Maybe that will provide some enlightenment…
I’ll let you know how it goes.
12.16.2007
Old. And proud of it!
Okay kids, it's official. There are just certain things in life that no longer hold any interest for me. Such as, crowded bars full of drunk 22 year olds. I know, how could that be, you ask? Maybe it's because I'm old. Maybe it's because I'm really a hateful snob at heart. But before you call me a curmudgeon, let me make it clear that I do enjoy going out and spending time with my friends. But when it's so loud that you have to shout into each others' ears, i.e.
Her: "do you think he's cute?"
Me: "what!?"
Her: "I said, do you think he's cute, that guy over there?"
Me: "do I think your foot looks like leather? huh?"
Her: "leather? I don't think it's leather"
Me: "over where?"
Her: "what? no there."
Me: "oh"
and so crowded that you are constantly getting elbowed by aforementioned drunk 22 year olds, that's when my inner bitch emerges and all I want to do is get out of this HELL people call "going out to the bars on a Saturday night". Yep.
It all started innocently enough. The plan was to have some holiday fun at our local tequila bar. We drank mojitos and margaritas and ate salsa and tapas. Met some fun new people, and enjoyed some interesting conversations. M got more drunk than I have ever seen him...and more drunk than I ever care to witness again! R was drunk too, but I can never quite tell HOW drunk he actually is, because I'm pretty sure I've only ever been around him when he's in some state of intoxication. He was talking to A about how the Swedes are a very pornographic people. Mm hm.
Having arrived at Agave at 7, by 10ish, we were ready to move on. So, Jen, Angela and I decided to meet Ted and Kimberly downtown at McFaddens. However, due to the fact that downtown was annoyingly crowded and we didn't feel like paying $15 for parking when we were only going to be down there for an hour or two (yes, we had genuine intentions of not staying out too late and yes we ARE that cheap), we instead went to Dan McGuiness on Demonbreun where we met up with Dy and ran into Doug and some of his friends. I actually like Dan McGuiness...the interior is well done, the space is set up nicely (god, am I a dork or what!?) and I think that with the right crowd it could be a really cool hang-out. Unfortunately, last night, it was not the right crowd. No, in fact, it was just the opposite of the right crowd (um...I guess that would make it the wrong crowd, huh?)
In addition to being packed in like sardines with the "wrong crowd", they were also playing very loud techno music. Now, I LIKE techno and it's many variations. In fact, I had been trying all evening to cajole everyone to go to Play (a gay dance club) for that very reason. However, Dan McGuiness is an Irish Pub. A cozy, wood-trimmed, pints and fireplaces Irish pub. It is not a dance club and does not boast anything remotely resembling a dance floor. Nevertheless, someone in authority thought, "ya know, I just bet blasting techno music would be a great idea!". To that person, I just shake my head sadly.
Dancing was not an option. Conversation was not an option. So, we drank. And after a couple of drinks, I found I had even less tolerance for the wrong crowd. Huh. Who knew!? It was after I snarled, "could you try not to jam your fucking elbow in my spine, douchebag?" to some unsuspecting member of the wrong crowd, that we decided once again it was time to move on. Personally, I was ready to move on out of there and head home to the warm coziness that is my bed. But Ang desperately wanted to go to Tin Roof. The only time Ang ever desperately wants to do anything, the "thing" involves a guy. Last night was no exception. So we went to Tin Roof and met up with her guy and some of his friends.
The Tin Roof is fine. And under the right circumstances, I can enjoy myself at the Tin Roof. Those circumstances of course being completely obliterated by enough vodka in my system to block out any sort of annoyance at the existence of other people. I was not at that point. The one good thing about Tin Roof is that they always have a live band. Usually just corny cover bands, but at least it's something to focus on. At this point, I wasn't even interested in drinking anymore and switched to water. How sad it that?
Sad or not, I don't think this is just a phase I'm going through. I can honestly say I would much rather go to a concert or a dance club than to a bar. I would rather go to the theater or a coffee house than to a bar. I would rather go to a quiet pub or a friend's house than to a bar. It's not that I don't want to be social, I just want a particular kind of social that doesn't involve loud, crowded, annoying bars. For instance, going out to a favorite restaurant with great company and fun conversation and then going to a movie is far more enticing than hanging out with the wrong crowd. I'd like to think this is due to my maturing tastes; my more sophisticated, cultured, discriminating social needs. If this means I'm old, then by god, so be it! I will revel in my oldness and not apologize for my distinct lack of interest in bars! I will embrace my oldness and define fun on my own terms! So there.
Her: "do you think he's cute?"
Me: "what!?"
Her: "I said, do you think he's cute, that guy over there?"
Me: "do I think your foot looks like leather? huh?"
Her: "leather? I don't think it's leather"
Me: "over where?"
Her: "what? no there."
Me: "oh"
and so crowded that you are constantly getting elbowed by aforementioned drunk 22 year olds, that's when my inner bitch emerges and all I want to do is get out of this HELL people call "going out to the bars on a Saturday night". Yep.
It all started innocently enough. The plan was to have some holiday fun at our local tequila bar. We drank mojitos and margaritas and ate salsa and tapas. Met some fun new people, and enjoyed some interesting conversations. M got more drunk than I have ever seen him...and more drunk than I ever care to witness again! R was drunk too, but I can never quite tell HOW drunk he actually is, because I'm pretty sure I've only ever been around him when he's in some state of intoxication. He was talking to A about how the Swedes are a very pornographic people. Mm hm.
Having arrived at Agave at 7, by 10ish, we were ready to move on. So, Jen, Angela and I decided to meet Ted and Kimberly downtown at McFaddens. However, due to the fact that downtown was annoyingly crowded and we didn't feel like paying $15 for parking when we were only going to be down there for an hour or two (yes, we had genuine intentions of not staying out too late and yes we ARE that cheap), we instead went to Dan McGuiness on Demonbreun where we met up with Dy and ran into Doug and some of his friends. I actually like Dan McGuiness...the interior is well done, the space is set up nicely (god, am I a dork or what!?) and I think that with the right crowd it could be a really cool hang-out. Unfortunately, last night, it was not the right crowd. No, in fact, it was just the opposite of the right crowd (um...I guess that would make it the wrong crowd, huh?)
In addition to being packed in like sardines with the "wrong crowd", they were also playing very loud techno music. Now, I LIKE techno and it's many variations. In fact, I had been trying all evening to cajole everyone to go to Play (a gay dance club) for that very reason. However, Dan McGuiness is an Irish Pub. A cozy, wood-trimmed, pints and fireplaces Irish pub. It is not a dance club and does not boast anything remotely resembling a dance floor. Nevertheless, someone in authority thought, "ya know, I just bet blasting techno music would be a great idea!". To that person, I just shake my head sadly.
Dancing was not an option. Conversation was not an option. So, we drank. And after a couple of drinks, I found I had even less tolerance for the wrong crowd. Huh. Who knew!? It was after I snarled, "could you try not to jam your fucking elbow in my spine, douchebag?" to some unsuspecting member of the wrong crowd, that we decided once again it was time to move on. Personally, I was ready to move on out of there and head home to the warm coziness that is my bed. But Ang desperately wanted to go to Tin Roof. The only time Ang ever desperately wants to do anything, the "thing" involves a guy. Last night was no exception. So we went to Tin Roof and met up with her guy and some of his friends.
The Tin Roof is fine. And under the right circumstances, I can enjoy myself at the Tin Roof. Those circumstances of course being completely obliterated by enough vodka in my system to block out any sort of annoyance at the existence of other people. I was not at that point. The one good thing about Tin Roof is that they always have a live band. Usually just corny cover bands, but at least it's something to focus on. At this point, I wasn't even interested in drinking anymore and switched to water. How sad it that?
Sad or not, I don't think this is just a phase I'm going through. I can honestly say I would much rather go to a concert or a dance club than to a bar. I would rather go to the theater or a coffee house than to a bar. I would rather go to a quiet pub or a friend's house than to a bar. It's not that I don't want to be social, I just want a particular kind of social that doesn't involve loud, crowded, annoying bars. For instance, going out to a favorite restaurant with great company and fun conversation and then going to a movie is far more enticing than hanging out with the wrong crowd. I'd like to think this is due to my maturing tastes; my more sophisticated, cultured, discriminating social needs. If this means I'm old, then by god, so be it! I will revel in my oldness and not apologize for my distinct lack of interest in bars! I will embrace my oldness and define fun on my own terms! So there.
12.14.2007
Deck the Halls!
What does one wear to an office Christmas Party?
A.) an extremely low-cut dress displaying a good 2/3rds of your bra-less ta-ta’s
B.) an extremely high-cut dress displaying a good portion of upper thigh
C.) a santa hat
D.) all of the above
Answer: D
Yes kids, last night was the annual TMP Christmas Party. And while, sadly, there were no shrubbery incidents this year, we were mightily entertained with New Guy’s date. We can pretty safely assume New Guy’s date is/was an employee of Big Jim’s Boobie Bungalow. I’m pretty sure she was blonde, and I suspect she was kinda crossed-eyed, but it’s hard to say because when you’ve got Thelma & Louise staring you down, there is NO WHERE else to look! ‘Nuf said.
A.) an extremely low-cut dress displaying a good 2/3rds of your bra-less ta-ta’s
B.) an extremely high-cut dress displaying a good portion of upper thigh
C.) a santa hat
D.) all of the above
Answer: D
Yes kids, last night was the annual TMP Christmas Party. And while, sadly, there were no shrubbery incidents this year, we were mightily entertained with New Guy’s date. We can pretty safely assume New Guy’s date is/was an employee of Big Jim’s Boobie Bungalow. I’m pretty sure she was blonde, and I suspect she was kinda crossed-eyed, but it’s hard to say because when you’ve got Thelma & Louise staring you down, there is NO WHERE else to look! ‘Nuf said.
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