Christmas is sneaky

Yup, I’m calling it like I see it. Every damned year I plan and plan. I have grand designs on how the holidays will be and what I can do to make everyone’s dreams come true. It will cross my mind every now and again, sparking a plan. Then due to some brain abnormality or hidden psychosis, on or about the beginning of the school year, I gradually start forgetting that Christmas even exists.

Is this some form of survival instinct? Some primeval brain function that keeps me from decorating in October and making dozens of fruitcakes? Have we genetically progressed to the point where we do not feel forced to wear snowman embroidered sweatshirts everyday paired with dangly bells hanging from our earlobes?

Or is it that I am missing some fundamental gene that makes me able to have my shopping done by November first and thus allowing myself time to bake homemade cookies frosted with red and green sprinkles to hand out to one and all? Am I missing the festivity gene?

Assuming that there is nothing wrong with me (I always assume this), then the logical conclusion would be that there is something wrong with Christmas. There is a flaw in the scheduling or some sort of magical holiday hypnosis that occurs that causes me to whistle my way through fall until Thanksgiving lands right in my lap. Suddenly there’s talk of Black Friday and everyone is fighting over the sale ads in the newspaper. There is a sudden onslaught of phone calls to schedule family dinners, company parties, drinks out with friends and school Christmas plays.

Once again, Christmas has gotten all ninja on my ass and it’s game on, bitch. Damn

For my friends

I have two dear friends that are struggling with an illness in their family right now and my heart goes out to them. Everyone should have the priviledge of knowing people like these two. One is a bestest friend ever from waaaay back and the other is her brother. (They have another brother also that I love more than Prada purses, but I'm closer emotionally to these two.)



Several times each day something crosses my mind that reminds me of one or the other. The smile of a friend, a terribly, horribly tacky joke, my kids laughing about some bone-head thing their mother did AGAIN...



I have something in common with these two. Each of us, at some point in our lives, has had to teach ourselves to be happy. Each of us has battled our own personal hell and emerged from the other side scarred and wiser. We have learned to laugh again by leaning on each other.



My shall-remain-anonymous girl friend is an art teacher for elementary school children. Egad, that alone should qualify her for sainthood. Can you imagine a billion nasal-y grade-schoolers all screaming for a red crayon at once. I just threw up in my mouth a little.



The other shall-remain-anonymous friend is a student, and care-giver, and all around truly funny, funny guy. His brain worked in mysteriously twisted ways. Top in his class of cleverness. He has an outlook on life that is inspiring.



It hurts me to see them struggle with this. No, that doesn't explain it just right. I want to wish away their problems, because wonderful people should only have wonderful lives filled with joy and uncorns and pixies and chocolate covered joy. Granted, that sounds a tad unrealistic, but what the hell, it's my wish and I can wish whatever I want.



In real life, I can listen to them, and occasionally make them laugh. I can tell silly stories and make fart noises with my arm-pit. (It's a family trait.) I can offer any lame advice that I may come up with and use any relevant experiences from my past to ease their fears. I can pray for their sick family member. I can distract and entertain and love them. I can be a friend. Just like they have been to me.

Ya git what ya git and ya don't throw a fit

I've been thinking alot lately about what I want this blog to be about. I am having a hard time deciding what I do want, but I definitely know what I do not want it to be about.

I do not want to write about high tech devices or the state of the economy. There are people way smarter than me to address these topics. Unless I get something very cool, then I will have to go on and on about it, until I'm sick of it.

I do not want to write about recipes, laundry spot removal, or where to find the best coupons. That just ain't me folks. I make a lousy soccer mom. Unless I have a brilliant momma day, then everyone will simply have to know.

I'm not gonna write about my sex life. My vajiminy and what ever parlour tricks it performs are none of your bees wax. Unless it's funny, then I will totally tell. Honest.

I ain't writing about work. Ok, maybe occasionally I will write about whatever stupidity I have to endure, because I'm all about sharing. You understand, right?

I'm not writing about my kids and family. Wait...I've already done that, so nevermind. Whatever.

So see? I'm completely out of ideas.