Bah Humbug

Dear Mr. Santa Claus:

Excuse me, but I’m writing this letter to inform you that I’m skipping Christmas this year, and I’m plugging up the chimney so there’s no need for you to try and stuff your big old butt down there. 

What?

You heard me.  I don’t have time for this Yule tide crap and putting up the pesky tree and baking sugar cookies shaped like, well, you.  Who made you up anyway?  You aren’t very attractive, and I’d venture to say, you, sir, are no fashion plate.  I mean, seriously, that jacket and those suspenders are vintage something from the weird ages.    I usually don’t mind people dressing casually when they come into my home, but red pajamas?  Really?  

So, excuse me while I try to find another way to celebrate the holidays.   Santa Claus…less.   I know it can be done.   The Jewish folks manage just fine, quite beautifully actually. And who wouldn’t like a present everyday for Hanukkah.   I’m all about the presents.  I just don’t want to work too hard for them.  If I work the system through you, Santa, I have to bust my ass with all the yuletide and jingle-belly traditions, scary distant relatives and the dreaded deluge of Jell-O molds. 

Mistletoe for example.  Really?  What were you thinking with the mistletoe, Santa?  Don’t you get enough loving from Mrs. Santa during the off-season?    In all my days of celebrating the holidays, no one has ever been under that mistletoe with me that I would actually want to kiss.  Can you imagine the germs?  The bad breath?  Uncle Harold’s brown false teeth?  Great Auntie Marjorie’s snuff spittle?   No thank you.  I’ll pass on the mistletoe.  I don’t’ brush my teeth and use mouthwash to get spit-washed by Cousin James’ 12 inch tongue.  His wife might enjoy “all that” and more power to her.

Oh and Santa?  One of my readers recently called me Ms. Scrooge, and I would like to officially take issue with that.  When it comes to Christmas, the ONE thing I truly love is to give presents.  If I have money (or any room on my dozens of credit cards), my family and friends are going to be spoiled rotten with goodies.  I don’t like shopping, but I can push, paw and purchase with the best of them when it comes to getting a good deal.  And shopping online?   Oh baby.  For me it’s better than internet porn.  Not that I would know of such things.  But still…

Maybe what I need to do is just invent my own celebration.  Take you completely out of it, Santa boy.  Leave the Christmas ham in.  Take the mistletoe out.   Leave the hot cocktail waitress dressed up like Santa’s helper in.  Take the egg nog out.  Leave all the rest of the alcohol in. 

What?  I live in Vegas.  You celebrate your way.  I’ll celebrate mine.

Yes, Santa, this could work.  Except I have a bone to pick with you.    I just hate it when I get presents that I don’t want.   I remember my Aunt Loraine (bless her heart and may she still be resting in peace after I call her out like this) bringing over presents to our house for me and my sister.  Every year, I would get so excited with anticipation and then every year I would open up Aunt Loraine’s gift and it would be underwear.  Every freaking year.  What’s up with that business, Santa?  Couldn’t you have intervened at some point and stopped all the knickers-madness?  Seriously.

Isn’t that the definition of insanity?  “Doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting different results”.   Every year I had new hope for Auntie’s gift, and every year my hopes were dashed by the bloomers.   Sad.

Anyway, Santa, we were discussing the awful gifts?  You know, the ones like the seven-days-of-the-week panties pack,  the 50 cent box of chocolate covered cherries,  the costume jewelry, the fruitcake and the lava lamp?   I could go on and on.  Something needs to be done about awful gifts, Santa Claus.  I think I can help you out here, as I have a business degree and  I’m all about project management.  So, what you should do is, put together a sub-committee to research and discuss awful gifting, then have them report to you on a bi-weekly basis until they come up with a solution  Why bi-weekly?   I just like saying Bi.  (snort). 

One solution to this awful gifting dilemma might be to go into a store and put your gift preferences into a computer, like brides do when they register.  I sure as hell wouldn’t be listing knickers, either, so Auntie would be having a fit.  But she’s not here, so this just might work!  Have your sub-committee look into it, Santa, will ya?  If I receive one more jingle-bells singing fish I’m going to scream.  

 

 

 

 

In closing, Santa, maybe I won’t plug up my chimney after all.  I don’t want to go against tradition.  I like popcorn in those giant tins as much as the next girl.  Just please bring something cool this year, like an iPhone or a Corvette……….or a redhead.  I promise you I have been a very good girl.

What? Santa?  No, my fingers are not crossed behind my back!

(How’d he know?)

Sincerely,

Terri

 (Images from Google Images)

I Need an Overhaul for Christmas

My toenails are jagged.

My eyebrows are now one.

I’m too broke for the Spa.

And that ain’t no fun.

    *

My options are limited.

My hair has split ends.

I’ve gained a few pounds.

And broke a few winds.

   *

 I misplaced my self-confidence.

And found an extra chin.

I seriously need a die job.

I just can’t freaking win.

   *

So Santa if you’re watching.

And don’t like what you’re seeing.

I could sure use an overhaul.

For my mental well-being.

*

I’d like a new wardrobe.

And body wrap to renew.

A wonder bra and a face lift.

Would make me smile, too.

  *

You could send a personal trainer.

To help shape up my hiney.

And then provide a masseuse.

To rub sore places when I get whiney.

    *

You could send me to London.

For some rest and relaxation.        

And I’ll need a lovely redhead.

For the hot sex while on vacation.

      *

I’d like a watch from Cartier

And a bag from Louis Vuitton

And this year’s Superbowl?

Be nice if the Broncos finally won.

      *

I’d like a box of wine for Rachel.

And some Belgian chocolate for Nan.

A ticket to Vegas for Vidya.

And for my sister?   A new man.

    *

My list has been lengthy.

So I think that will do.

Thank you Santa and don’t forget.

To pick up a little something for you!

****************************

(Image by Google Images)

Day-after-Christmas-itis or Something else?

It begins the day after Christmas, every year.  I get this itch to clean and clear and move things and throw things away.   This year’s no exception just because I had a quiet Christmas alone.  I still want all that crap gone, and today.   So I got up this morning, took meds for my hangover, rolled up my sleeves (so to speak) and dug in.  With my cup of coffee in hand, I made the bed, sorted laundry, cleaned off the computer desk, threw away bills I didn’t want to pay (just kidding), and then had breakfast.  After that, second cup of coffee in hand, I cleaned the kitchen.   And if you think it’s easy doing all this with a death-grip on your coffee cup, then you try it.   I have talents the world does not know about.  I’m a clutter-ridding legend in my own mind.

So the plan for the rest of the day is to clean out the cupboards where all the Tupperware and other plastic containers live.   Someone or something has had a party in there because everything is either on its side, upside down or without a lid, and every time I open the cabinet door, they all try to escape.   It’s a mess and I honestly don’t know how it gets that way.   OK I may have opened the door and tossed in a few containers now and then, without looking at where they were supposed to go.  I may do that every single time, but who’s counting. And I may have thrown away a lid or two (or most of them) when I didn’t want to scrub the gucky stuff off them (hence rendering the lonely containers completely useless).   I used to be such a neat and tidy freak person, but thank god I got over that, and learned how to make-do with a little less cleanliness and tidiness OCD behavior.  Oh I still own my OCD, just not in the kitchen.   Or the bathroom.  Or the living room.  Or my car.   But my bedroom is pretty clean because I always make that bed, and I’m a freak quite attentive at picking my clothes up off the floor.

But back to my clutter-freeing day.   Once I finish with the cabinets, I plan on packing away all the Christmas crap and shoving it back in the closet.  Of course, the closet is a total mess and needs attention, but I absolutely draw the line at the closet.   I came out of the closet 22 years ago and I am not going back in!  And besides, it is the day after Christmas, and that’s way too close to Christmas to break a sweat.  I wouldn’t want to lose any of those couple (dozen) pounds I must have gained over the past three piggy days (but afraid to get on the scale!).   Yes, with Joan in Ohio for the holidays, I’ve lived a bachelor’s life……one of gluttony, no make-up and drunken texting.  It’s been glorious, except for the hangovers, and the extra weight, and the heartburn, and the stains on the floor.

So out comes Terri (again?) and the real truth.  I don’t have an itch to do anything except sleep and eat even more.  I don’t have OCD (except for making my bed) and I could give a rat’s ass about the Tupperware that lives under the counter.    I have to get this place cleaned up before SHE gets home!  Somebody say a prayer and grab the dustpan.

For My Grandsons

Zachary, or Zac, as you prefer to be called, I can’t believe you are 15, almost grown! The last time I saw you, you were 8 years old and we came to see you in your play at school.  You were amazing.  Your creative side comes from me, I am quite sure…or at least I’m going to stake my claim on it anyway.   You are handsome like your father and beautiful like your mother.  The ladies are going to fall at your feet, if they are not already doing so.  Being your grandmother, and never seeing you or knowing much about you, is hard, as I want to watch you grow and see you discover your strengths and reach for your dreams.  My dream and my hope and yes, my prayer, is that someday we will have a closer relationship, one where we share stories, opinions, hugs.  For now, I will settle for a note from you now and then and a school picture.  I know your mom and dad both love you and want you to be happy, as do I.  Your mother’s love is unconditional and one you can always count on and draw from.  She will always be there for you.  Your father loves you so much, as well, as I have talked to him on many occasions, and he speaks of you with love, hoping your relationship can one day be much more than it is now.  Did you know that your father had to grow up with divorced parents, too?  I can’t begin to imagine what he went through or what you’re going through, but my heart aches for you both.  My advice to you, my dearest, is that you keep an open mind and an open heart for your father, and don’t shut him out.  He is a wonderful man, and he has flaws like we all have flaws, but his love for you is there and it is real.    I am humbly sending kisses and hugs your way and wishing you a very Happy Christmas.  I love you, grandson.

Antonio, or Tono, as we all affectionately call you, how did you get to be 9 years old already? It seems like only yesterday I was holding you in my arms and trying to get you to settle down and go to sleep. My life is so much fuller and sweeter for knowing you.  You are so smart, funny and talented. You take most of that from me, I’m quite sure.  In fact, I believe we are kindred spirits.  Your creative, artsy side will provide a lifetime of fulfillment.  Don’t ever squelch your creativity.  Keep your individualism.  Yes, I know all this advice doesn’t make a lot of sense now, but it will.  I promise it will, someday.  Your dad, although a math nerd and very busy man, has a creative side too.  Did you know that?  I don’t know a lot about your mom, except that she is beautiful and she loves you very much.  Your stepmom-to-be is an amazing young woman who loves you as if you were her own, and wants for you all the good things life has to offer.   That’s one reason she’s studying so hard to be a teacher.  She wants to, along with your dad, provide a happy home for you, where you can play, thrive and learn.  My advice to you is to never stop learning and trying new things.  Always keep a sense of family and continue to be the kind, sweet person you are.    The world needs more kind, sweet men.  You will be one of them.   Happy Christmas, my little man.  Grandma misses you and loves you so very much!

Parker, or Mr. P, as your mom calls you, I wish I could give you a big hug because your pictures are so beautiful.   You are almost 6 years old and I haven’t seen you since you were little-bitty.   I think about you all the time, and also about your mom.  I’m so proud of your mom because she went for her dreams and they are coming true.  I remember when she was only talking about considering a nursing career.  Now she’s flown through nursing school and IS a nurse.   You should be so proud of her, too, as I’m quite sure she does everything with you in mind.  She wants to give you a beautiful life.   My advice to you would be to use your mom as an example and don’t let obstacles deter you from anything you want in life.   I think about your Aspbergers and wonder how you think about things.  I hope you are happy.  I know you are loved, very much so, and I hope you feel that love.   I hope you feel all the joy of the loving family around you and are anticipating the arrival of Santa!   One of my biggest wishes for 2011 is that I am able to see you in person and get that big hug I’ve been waiting for.   Sending you kisses and hugs and wishes for a very Happy Christmas, grandson.