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Date archive for: December 2007

It's Almost Christmas!

Pssst. Hi blog, what’s up? What’s new with you? How come you never write me? It’s always me talking about my day. You don’t bring much to the table, do you? You’re just a platform.

When I was little, I used to think my stuffed animals were alive and had personalities of their own – they just weren’t allowed to let me know. I know I wasn’t alone. That’s why all kids like stuffed animals – we think they’re alive. Otherwise we’d play with soft hairballs.

“Uh, thinking toys are really alive is creepy,” you say.

“Uh, playing with hairballs is creepy,” I counter.

In other news blog, my trip to the mall yesterday was highly successful. It was quick, I found the things I needed, and I discovered a new store. There was some drama in the new store. I had picked out the article of clothing I wanted to purchase, and the retailer asked me, “Would you like some socks? We have a special – three for ten dollars.”

I began to say, “No thank you, I won’t be duped into…” and then I stopped and raised my eyebrows, “Did you say socks?” As the proud owner of many, many socks, I’ve recently decided that having plain white cotton socks isn’t sufficent. I should have them in different colors and sizes. I’ve noticed that on days where I wear argyle socks or colorful knee socks, I am more smug and confident. So, I’ve begun exploring different types of socks. Socks are tricky however, because it is imperative that they be comfortable.

“Yes, socks” she said, and pointed me towards the socks. So over I went, to the sock section, and picked out three pairs after careful review. I returned to the counter, only to find that my cashier wasn’t there. Instead, by the counter, stood a woman I presume was her manager because she was holding a clipboard authoritatively and was wearing a headset.

I really enjoy it when people in clothing stores wear headsets, because when I am asking for a sweater in a size small, I like that the salesperson can whisper into his earpiece to tell another person, persumably waiting in the back next to all the small sweaters, to bring me a small immediately. This is a marked step up from the past, when I would ask for a size, and the salesperson would start going through the same pile I had just searched through for my size. I’m often tempted to say, “Sir, I’m not asking for your help because I can’t read, I’m asking for your help because the size is not here. You must summon your man in the back.”

Anyway, the manager starts talking into her headset, presumably to my cashier lady, while I’m standing there, looking around, ready to buy. “Have you gone on your break? It’s not your break time.” During all of this, I decide the socks would be itchy, and I put them back. The cashier returned, realizing that in her time away I had changed my mind. The manager smirked, as if to say, “It’s your fault this customer changed her mind about the socks.” I stared at her confused, as if to say, “What is your problem? _You_ could have rung me up. Plus I really didn’t want those socks.”

Quite the drama!

Tomorrow is a corporate holiday event, and I’m quite nervous. I don’t know what to wear, really, and what to say, and what to drink and eat. Surely many of my co-workers will be looking to me to see how to act, so I’m under a lot of pressure providing that kind of unspoken guidance.

In other news, dear blog, my reign as Time’s Person of the Year is over. The crown has been passed on to Vladimir Putin.

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How I Stole Christmas

Twas the 24th of December, and in the living room
Were boxes of presents, wrapped beautifully in maroon.

The tree was lit up, full of tinsel and light
And there were glittering ornaments of silver and white.

Everyone was happy; music played in the air.
The merriest of songs were coming from our tape player.

We began opening gifts; I was quite excited to see
What Santa, or my mom, had bought for me.
I unwrapped the ribbon, with thoughtful care,
And peeled off the wrapping tape, so the paper wouldn’t tear.

I pushed off the paper to find a clothing department store box!
I giggled, I smiled, “Clothing from my mom always rocks!”

See I had been away at school, and didn’t have time to shop
Instead of going to the mall we would make midnight food runs to IHOP.

Plus, I needed new clothes, my old ones looked lame
Compared to those of my peers, who dressed less tame.

So I opened the box, and peered inside,
And gasped in horror, for what did I find?

A baby blue velour track suit, the whole matching set –
There were velour pants, a shirt, a jacket, all things I didn’t want to get.

It was hideous, and tacky, and why would she buy it?
I didn’t want to wear it; I didn’t even want to try it!

Velour track suits are for people who feel heavy; was she saying I got fat?
Maybe I gained a couple pounds, but I was fine with that!

I gaped and stared and thought for a while,
And then decided I should fake a pleased smile,

Because my mom was looking at me with a very happy face.
She was hoping I would love it; she expected an embrace.

“I was worried you wouldn’t like it, because it’s different than other clothes you wear,
But I saw it in the store, and I fell in love with the outfit there!
Then I bought it and brought it home for your brother and dad to see,
‘It’s a great outfit! Great color! She’ll love it!’ They reassured me.”

“I love it indeed,” I smiled at my very dear mother.
And then for a split second gave the evil eye to my dumb brother.
He’s my age, he’s young, he should have been aware
That this velour ensemble was not something I could wear.

I pulled him aside later, and gave him a verbal thrashing,
“What were you thinking!? Why did you approve it? I should give you a lashing!”

“What?! I thought it looked nice!” he said in his defense.

“Are you kidding me?! I thought you had taste! You’re making no sense!
It’s VELOUR and it’s baby blue and come on, the shirt has glitter-
Were you mad at me when you approved it? Did something make you bitter?”

“Well if you don’t like it, tell mom so she can return it to the store.
I’m tired of hearing you whine about it; you’re such a bore.”

I glared angrily at my brother, knowing I would take vengeance –
No more Christmas for him! No more cool new presents!

I waited until the summer, when I was home from school,
And said, “Mom and Dad, I’ve been thinking, you know what’d be cool?
If this year for Christmas, we switched things up a tiny bit,
And were together for a fine meal, and then that was it.
No exchange of gifts, presents, or toys for each other.
For example I would get nothing from you and nothing for my brother.
We would focus on the importance of family and being together.
What do you say? Doesn’t that sound lovely, less stressful, and ultimately better?”

I could tell they liked the idea, but they were concerned
“Will your siblings like the idea? It won’t be spurned?”

“Naw they’ll love it! Big Sis will totally agree
And little brother will totally understand, we’ll make him see
That material things are not the things that really matter
It’s bonding, spending time, and eating delicious cake batter.
The holiday season has turned into a consumer celebration
We’re missing out on the feeling of real Christmas elation.”

My parents were delighted, and pleased with how I am so sweet and caring,
And they thought the no presents idea was hip and daring.

And sure enough the following Christmas we did not see
Any giant boxes of presents under our beautiful tree.

Instead we watched a movie after a fine family dinner,
And then we chatted delightfully over dessert, which was truly a winner.

And that velour suit, I kept it and wore it around the house once in a while
Even though it was odd and definitely not my style.
I specifically wore it around my brother to make it very clear
When approving clothes and gifts for me he should be full of fear,
Because if he makes a velour mistake again I will make him pay.

I’ll find another holiday to destroy for him, I’ll find a way.

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Going to the ball!

My brother has a company holiday party coming up, and he’s super single. What does this mean? This means I have a shot at attending an extravagent holiday party where the alcohol flows as freely as the birds fly, and the food tables continue for as far as the eye, especially my weaker one, can see.

Sadly, I apparently am not guaranteed the position as his plus one. “I don’t want to take my sister,” he replied, when I recommended myself. “I don’t want to be the guy that takes his sister every year. Plus the really attractive guys keep hitting on you. It’s so annoying.” I might  have added in that last part.

“But I’m fun,” I countered. “Who could be more fun than me?!” This is a rhetorical question, because the obvious answer is: no one. No one could be more fun than me.

“You’re not coming.” He ended the conversation.

A couple weeks went by, and he was concerned about who to put down as his registered plus one. I saw an opening: “Oh, put my name down. This way, if you get a date, you can say I was your back up when she sees my name. If your date sees another girl’s name, she’ll assume she was the backup. Then you’re in trouble for the night.”

“Good point,” he nodded. And so, step one was complete – yes, I am officially registered.

Last night, he took some ballroom dancing class offered by his company. He had a pretty good time, and he was excited about the dancing and wanted to show me some of his new dances. I knew what I had to do. I had to ballroom dance better than ever before in my life to prove as a formidable dancing partner who could, say, oh I dunno, maybe help him show off his smooth dancing moves during a big party, like, maybe a company holiday party.

Did I deliver?! Of COURSE I delivered! One and half years of ballroom dancing was not wasted on me! And sure enough, he said, “Okay if you come with me to the party we should practice a routine for the dance floor; it’ll be really cute.” My eyes lit up.

“IF!” he said.

“BEFORE!” I heard.

Wish me luck, blog. I’ve already picked out my dress.

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Fast Food

Oh blog, the most wretched thing happened today. One of my co-workers bought greasy, fast food, and the smell wafted through the air and arrived at my unsuspecting nostrils. I was at once overcome with the desire to eat french fries and a fried burger. I could no longer focus on work. Instead, I thought about the nearest fast food establishments and mapped the fastest routes to each. I turned my nose up to my yogurt and fruit and longed desperately to have something smothered in mysterious oils, mayonnaise, mustard, and two small pieces of a pickle. Blog, how I yearned for something salty and unwholesome!

Then, blog, I checked my wallet to make sure I had enough cash to make my wishes come true. To my dismay, I had none! I gasped. Okay – I didn’t gasp. I knew my wallet was empty. I knew fate had dealt me a cruel hand, inspiring that co-worker to buy junk food for lunch. I knew my decision to keep my wallet empty so as not to run out on a whim and buy junk food was a stupid one. But did I know the great agony I would feel blog? No! I didn’t. I didn’t know. Avoiding the ATM machine seemed like such a good idea at the time.

So here I am, blog. I had fruit and yogurt for lunch. Was it healthy? Sure. Was it delicious? Absolutely. Did it make me feel good? No. Did it make the day easier to bear? No! Did it fill a void I hadn’t known existed? Obviously not!

In other news, it may snow tomorrow. Also, I got a haircut. However, I have not been able to recreate the style the stylist created for me in the hair salon. She made styling my hair look so easy, but upon trying to actually style it myself, I quickly realized that that woman is an overly tattooed magician with mystical fingers and an eye for head hair brilliance. She has a gift.

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My Guitar Hero Stud

My boyfriend is totally awesome. He is super smart and the best at doing things. For example, he is the best at guitar hero. His fingers are so fast, you don’t even know. He can hit the red, green, AND the yellow at the same time. When I come over, he plays the really hard songs for me. “Hi! Watch me play!” he’ll say, picking up his awesome wireless Guitar Hero guitar.

“Is this song dedicated to me?” I’ll ask, beaming with pride at my Guitar Hero stud.

“Sure.” He responds. He’s such a romantic.

And he just recently got Rock Band. Rock Band is like Guitar Hero, except there are percussion, vocals, and another guitar, so four people can play at the same time. He was obviously the lead guitar, because he’s just so good. He immediately jumped to Expert, while we all struggled with Easy. “Whoa, you’re doing expert?” someone asked.

“Idiot!” I thought. “Of COURSE he’s doing expert. He’s so good. You don’t even know.”

But my boyfriend, he’s just so modest, “Yeah,” he responded.

On Sunday I came over and found out that he had spent the whole day on a Rock Band Solo tour, unlocking all of the songs on Rock Band. That had to have been like 20 songs! I asked him, “How did you unlock ALL of those songs? That had to have been like 20 songs!”

He corrected me: “Actually, it was 67 songs. I spent all day doing it. I didn’t shower or anything.” I was so impressed with his stamina and will to succeed! He continued, “I even got the hardest song of all. You should watch me play it. It’s like a 10 minute song. I did it on expert.”

“We might be late to the concert…” I said worriedly about a concert we had tickets for.

“We should cancel the concert! Who needs live music when you can watch me?!” He had a good point.

He’s just so great. Mastering all the songs at expert level on a solo tour for Rock Band wasn’t the end for him. He told me about this new awesome ability to hook up the microphone to the speaker, so he can play and sing at the same time. “I’m going to be so good,” he said, confidently, like a rock star, of course.

“If you’re going to be doing the solos, will our friends still be able to play? They really loved playing Rock Band,” I said.
“They can watch me play!” he replied. I was relieved he had thought it through, always thinking of others. Not everyone can play Rock Band at the same time, but everyone can watch him play at the same time.

That’s my guy. He’s the best.

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