It was just like any other Monday. I got into work, signed online, checked my personal email... and then was greeted by me and three of my closest friends dressed in elf costumes breaking it down to a holiday tune.
If you haven't tried this yet, you're missing out!
http://www.elfyourself.com/?id=9615545374
Friday, November 30, 2007
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
The Party Formally Known as NYE
The last remaining bits of Thanksgiving dinner are being re-heated for the final time and the chaos of "Black Friday" and "Cyber Monday" are just mere memories of terror and retail havoc. The holidays are officially in full swing, but gone are the days of obsessively talking about decorations and gifts as the current hot topic is, "What are YOU doing for New Year's Eve?!"
To me, this discussion seems pre-mature, but then again I'm no expert because I don't even know the "lingo" that surrounds the festive, booze drenched night. Need an example of my novice status? A high school friend recently emailed me and the subject line of the note was, "NYE". My first thought? She must be traveling to New York City and mistyped. I'm not even kidding. Once I was able to decipher the mysterious code, we had a conversation about our plans and she "gasped" in disgust via email with the infamous and always mocking ":-O", as I told her I had not really thought about...
Ah, the ever popular New Year's Eve party. For the past few weeks hotels, bars and other venues that can accommodate hundreds of drunk, sweaty gropers, have been soliciting "all you can drink and eat" party tickets starting at about $100 a pop. Based on my previous experience, these NYE (see, I'm hip with the lingo now) hot spots seem to have taken it upon themselves to redefine the term "ALL" as they serve watered down drinks and remnants of what used to be appetizers. You stand in a line for the bar to get the most of your 100 bucks along with 526 people, 3 of whom you actually recognize and 523 of whom you hope won't engage you in drunk conversation, just to get in front of an overworked bartender instructed to keep the booze light and the mixers heavy.
As you chug 12 sequential cocktails, in hopes that the combined 2 shots of liquor in them will somehow go straight to your head so "THAT clingy girl" or "THAT sweat stained guy" doesn't annoy you as much, you find yourself hungry and see what looks like a battle ground with the remains of defenseless cheap appetizers, pillaged by aggressive, drunk gluttons. There, laying on hot turned room temperature serving trays, are a few pigs without their blankets and some stray, browning garnish - yum.
Now it's approaching midnight - you're tired from standing for hours on end in the drink line only to be served what tastes like a vodka tonic without vodka... your stomach is growling after being beaten by the masses to the food and that stray, browning garnish is sadly starting to look appetizing... you have been groped by a multitude of strangers wearing those "2008" sunglasses with the "00" for the eyes... then you realize that you lost your "group". The people you came with are lost in a sea of sparkly top hats, party horns and noise makers. You don't recognize anyone and begin to wonder how these strangers became so drunk if you were all being served the same drinks. [SIDE NOTE: A crucial part of going to one of these NYE parties, and something that these venues rely on, is PRE-drinking, so that when you arrive to the destination, you are so blitzed that you don't even know what year it is or what year its going to be, making you less likely to be annoyed by the masses and in turn, less likely to complain about the weak drinks and blanket-less pigs.]
And then... 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1... HAPPY... "who's that touching my butt?!", "no, I won't kiss you, creep!", "where is my boyfriend?!", "is that him kissing that blond bimbo in the corner?!" What a night.
I realize this is a very biased opinion and I'm not trying to insult those loyal NYE party goers as I know that if you mix the right friends with the right place at the right price, you'll have a blast no matter what. I believe it was Prince who said it best, "We're running out of time, so tonight I'm gonna party like its 1999". So make like it's 1999 and enjoy the festivities whether you're at a bar, a hotel, a back alley or face down, passed out on your lawn because to each its own for the party formally known as NYE.
To me, this discussion seems pre-mature, but then again I'm no expert because I don't even know the "lingo" that surrounds the festive, booze drenched night. Need an example of my novice status? A high school friend recently emailed me and the subject line of the note was, "NYE". My first thought? She must be traveling to New York City and mistyped. I'm not even kidding. Once I was able to decipher the mysterious code, we had a conversation about our plans and she "gasped" in disgust via email with the infamous and always mocking ":-O", as I told her I had not really thought about...
Ah, the ever popular New Year's Eve party. For the past few weeks hotels, bars and other venues that can accommodate hundreds of drunk, sweaty gropers, have been soliciting "all you can drink and eat" party tickets starting at about $100 a pop. Based on my previous experience, these NYE (see, I'm hip with the lingo now) hot spots seem to have taken it upon themselves to redefine the term "ALL" as they serve watered down drinks and remnants of what used to be appetizers. You stand in a line for the bar to get the most of your 100 bucks along with 526 people, 3 of whom you actually recognize and 523 of whom you hope won't engage you in drunk conversation, just to get in front of an overworked bartender instructed to keep the booze light and the mixers heavy.
As you chug 12 sequential cocktails, in hopes that the combined 2 shots of liquor in them will somehow go straight to your head so "THAT clingy girl" or "THAT sweat stained guy" doesn't annoy you as much, you find yourself hungry and see what looks like a battle ground with the remains of defenseless cheap appetizers, pillaged by aggressive, drunk gluttons. There, laying on hot turned room temperature serving trays, are a few pigs without their blankets and some stray, browning garnish - yum.
Now it's approaching midnight - you're tired from standing for hours on end in the drink line only to be served what tastes like a vodka tonic without vodka... your stomach is growling after being beaten by the masses to the food and that stray, browning garnish is sadly starting to look appetizing... you have been groped by a multitude of strangers wearing those "2008" sunglasses with the "00" for the eyes... then you realize that you lost your "group". The people you came with are lost in a sea of sparkly top hats, party horns and noise makers. You don't recognize anyone and begin to wonder how these strangers became so drunk if you were all being served the same drinks. [SIDE NOTE: A crucial part of going to one of these NYE parties, and something that these venues rely on, is PRE-drinking, so that when you arrive to the destination, you are so blitzed that you don't even know what year it is or what year its going to be, making you less likely to be annoyed by the masses and in turn, less likely to complain about the weak drinks and blanket-less pigs.]
And then... 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1... HAPPY... "who's that touching my butt?!", "no, I won't kiss you, creep!", "where is my boyfriend?!", "is that him kissing that blond bimbo in the corner?!" What a night.
I realize this is a very biased opinion and I'm not trying to insult those loyal NYE party goers as I know that if you mix the right friends with the right place at the right price, you'll have a blast no matter what. I believe it was Prince who said it best, "We're running out of time, so tonight I'm gonna party like its 1999". So make like it's 1999 and enjoy the festivities whether you're at a bar, a hotel, a back alley or face down, passed out on your lawn because to each its own for the party formally known as NYE.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Granddaughter by Choice, Not Force
As I sit in my office chair doing my daily "clenches" (i.e. flexing my cheeks and sucking in my stomach) to work off the calories from the holiday weekend (I think this is a proven method of exercise that I will write a book about in the near future, "Clenching at Your Desk: Flexing Equals Burning"), I would like to acknowledge those grandparents in my life who have "adopted" me over the years as I had a full weekend of both happiness and tragedy.
I grew up with a limited amount of "old people" in my life. I used to refer to the aging population in such a politically incorrect way only because by the time I was born, two out of my four blood grandparents had passed away and another when I was only four years old. My remaining biological grandparent was a wonderful woman, but somewhat distant from our family and has also since passed, so as a young child, I didn't really understand what it was to have a grandma or grandpa, thus "old people" were often thought of as scary and unfamiliar in my pig tail-sporting head. However, as the years passed and my pig tails turned into highlighted, chemically straightening locks, very special, "mature" individuals, opened their hearts and gave me the chance to be something that I otherwise would never get the chance to be - a granddaughter.
Growing up with a short supply of blood relatives, my parents have made a commendable effort to grow our immediate family with the love and support of close friends. I have some wonderful "aunts" and "uncles" who are actually just my parents' dear companions who have so graciously taken me in as a niece, no questions asked. These "relatives" are so close to me and have been in my life for so long, that I often forget that I'm not actually in their bloodline and find myself commenting on how I look like a "cousin", when in reality, I'm just as related to Angelina Jolie as I am to them (unfortunately, I did not get "Cousin Angelina's" lips and hot bod - damn).
With my parents' friends come their own parents, who over the years, have filled the grandpa/grandma void in my life. I also have been blessed and been adopted by my boyfriend's grandma who is the youngest 90 year old woman I have ever met and has truly redefined what it means to age. Its people like her that make me realize that it doesn't matter who you're related to; its the people who make the effort to love you who deserve the title "family" regardless of blood ties, and I feel so blessed to be considered a "granddaughter" to people who truly don't NEED to love me, but do anyway out of the goodness of their heart.
One of those special people who loved me because they wanted to and not because they "had" to, and who I affectionately referred to as "grandma", passed away this weekend, leaving a void in so many people's hearts. Her passing did not come as a surprise only because she suffered from failing health, but like any death, its still a tragedy and I have lost yet another grandparent.
The same day this specific grandma passed away, I spent the evening enjoying holiday lights with an 80 something who is a close family friend of my boyfriend and who has quickly become another person who treats me like a grandchild. It was a bittersweet moment because as I spent the evening enjoying her company, I was mourning the loss of someone who meant a lot to my family and it made my realize that although I technically do not have grandparents, I'm surrounded by so many people who I can affectionately give the title to, which at times, seems almost more special than plain biologcial bonds.
So as the holiday season rolls on and I celebrate the time of year with one less person, I'm reminded that I have been blessed to have been chosen by so many remarkable people who I can proudly call family.
R.I.P Grandma Grace.
I grew up with a limited amount of "old people" in my life. I used to refer to the aging population in such a politically incorrect way only because by the time I was born, two out of my four blood grandparents had passed away and another when I was only four years old. My remaining biological grandparent was a wonderful woman, but somewhat distant from our family and has also since passed, so as a young child, I didn't really understand what it was to have a grandma or grandpa, thus "old people" were often thought of as scary and unfamiliar in my pig tail-sporting head. However, as the years passed and my pig tails turned into highlighted, chemically straightening locks, very special, "mature" individuals, opened their hearts and gave me the chance to be something that I otherwise would never get the chance to be - a granddaughter.
Growing up with a short supply of blood relatives, my parents have made a commendable effort to grow our immediate family with the love and support of close friends. I have some wonderful "aunts" and "uncles" who are actually just my parents' dear companions who have so graciously taken me in as a niece, no questions asked. These "relatives" are so close to me and have been in my life for so long, that I often forget that I'm not actually in their bloodline and find myself commenting on how I look like a "cousin", when in reality, I'm just as related to Angelina Jolie as I am to them (unfortunately, I did not get "Cousin Angelina's" lips and hot bod - damn).
With my parents' friends come their own parents, who over the years, have filled the grandpa/grandma void in my life. I also have been blessed and been adopted by my boyfriend's grandma who is the youngest 90 year old woman I have ever met and has truly redefined what it means to age. Its people like her that make me realize that it doesn't matter who you're related to; its the people who make the effort to love you who deserve the title "family" regardless of blood ties, and I feel so blessed to be considered a "granddaughter" to people who truly don't NEED to love me, but do anyway out of the goodness of their heart.
One of those special people who loved me because they wanted to and not because they "had" to, and who I affectionately referred to as "grandma", passed away this weekend, leaving a void in so many people's hearts. Her passing did not come as a surprise only because she suffered from failing health, but like any death, its still a tragedy and I have lost yet another grandparent.
The same day this specific grandma passed away, I spent the evening enjoying holiday lights with an 80 something who is a close family friend of my boyfriend and who has quickly become another person who treats me like a grandchild. It was a bittersweet moment because as I spent the evening enjoying her company, I was mourning the loss of someone who meant a lot to my family and it made my realize that although I technically do not have grandparents, I'm surrounded by so many people who I can affectionately give the title to, which at times, seems almost more special than plain biologcial bonds.
So as the holiday season rolls on and I celebrate the time of year with one less person, I'm reminded that I have been blessed to have been chosen by so many remarkable people who I can proudly call family.
R.I.P Grandma Grace.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
The Soundtrack to Your Life: "Who's that Girl?"
If you could have a boom box follow you around in your day to day life, what song would be blasting from the speakers? If you could pick a soundtrack to represent your life, what would it be?
A very dear, close, crazy friend of mine would always ask me this question when we were in college and we would laugh about the various tunes that would represent our lives. She said that her life's anthem would revolve around Eve's "Who's That Girl" and envisioned Flavor Flav following her down campus streets, with a 1981 boom box perched on his shoulder blasting THE song that represented her life. She always blared it through her headphones whenever she dominated an exam and in some cases, even when she didn't do so well, just to remind her that she's DA GIRL and nothing could break her stride.
These late night conversations about the soundtrack to our lives with my dear, close, crazy friend are some of my favorite college memories, and at the time, I found the concept to be kind of bizarre and just truly a funny thing to think about with a glass a wine. At the risk of sounding cliche, my college experience was truly the best four years of my life (so far) and if I had to pick a song that would represent those years it would be difficult. Was it Prince who wrote, "My Life is Really Great and I Don't Want to Graduate"? No? I didn't think so either.
It wasn't until I graduated and started my full-time job that my life's soundtrack unfolded and for the past 1.5 years, I have been compiling "My Life's Greatest Hits: 1.5". Just like Jock Jams and Now That's What I Call Music, this soundtrack is just one of many editions to come, because unlike my dear, close, crazy friend, who was able to nail down THE song that represented her life, I have found that my life requires many tunes - some accompanied by Flavor Flav holding a boom box, whiles others need to be paired with Celine Dion and a sold out crowd.
Below is what version "1.5" looks like for me (with the holidays approaching, this soundtrack would make a great stocking stuffer):
A very dear, close, crazy friend of mine would always ask me this question when we were in college and we would laugh about the various tunes that would represent our lives. She said that her life's anthem would revolve around Eve's "Who's That Girl" and envisioned Flavor Flav following her down campus streets, with a 1981 boom box perched on his shoulder blasting THE song that represented her life. She always blared it through her headphones whenever she dominated an exam and in some cases, even when she didn't do so well, just to remind her that she's DA GIRL and nothing could break her stride.
These late night conversations about the soundtrack to our lives with my dear, close, crazy friend are some of my favorite college memories, and at the time, I found the concept to be kind of bizarre and just truly a funny thing to think about with a glass a wine. At the risk of sounding cliche, my college experience was truly the best four years of my life (so far) and if I had to pick a song that would represent those years it would be difficult. Was it Prince who wrote, "My Life is Really Great and I Don't Want to Graduate"? No? I didn't think so either.
It wasn't until I graduated and started my full-time job that my life's soundtrack unfolded and for the past 1.5 years, I have been compiling "My Life's Greatest Hits: 1.5". Just like Jock Jams and Now That's What I Call Music, this soundtrack is just one of many editions to come, because unlike my dear, close, crazy friend, who was able to nail down THE song that represented her life, I have found that my life requires many tunes - some accompanied by Flavor Flav holding a boom box, whiles others need to be paired with Celine Dion and a sold out crowd.
Below is what version "1.5" looks like for me (with the holidays approaching, this soundtrack would make a great stocking stuffer):
- Say it Ain't So by Weezer - "WHAT?! So you're saying I have to graduate and get a job?!" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YU7LZts87Zg)
- Gotta Get Thru This by David Bedingfield - This was my pump up song to shake off the post graduation blues and its techno beat would inspire me during my 6 am commute.(http://homepage.ntlworld.com/gary.hart/lyricsb/bedingfield.html)
- Bad Day by Daniel Powter - Um, yeah. This song was my anthem for a while; I was missing my college friends and I was trying to get used to the real world. If you couldn't find me in the phone book it was because I was going by "Debbie Downer" at the time. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oIcFgl6zf3A)
- Crazy by Gnarls Barkley - I think I just lost my damn mind for a moment or two. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bd2B6SjMh_w)
- Ain't No Mountain High Enough preformed by Diana Ross - I was finally coming to terms with life after college and succeeding at my career; the fact that I had a "career" was an accomplishment and I started to get a little skip in my step knowing that I could really beat the odds. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ain)
- Home by Michael Buble - I was traveling a lot for while and I would listen to this song as I looked out the airplane window - I kid you not. I know, I'm lame. But it was when I was listening to this song, missing home, that I realized that my life truly had a soundtrack. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fDQnkYwfNfk)
- Suddenly I See by KT Tunstall - Call it breakthrough. Call it breakdown. Call it whatever you want. I suddenly saw that life goes on after college and actually can be just as great. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e-At6avvY_4)
- SexyBack by Justin Timberlake - Oh, yeah - my Sexy was Back! Well, I don't know if it ever actually left... but I just felt the need to include JT in my compilation. (http://www.completealbumlyrics.com/lyric/130587/Justin+Timberlake+-+Sexyback.html)
- Glamorous by Fergie - I was finding ways to spice up my life,and have been living G-L-A-M-O-R-O-U-S life every since, or at least trying to! (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NOQvcMLll4E)
- Who's That Girl by Eve - In honor of my dear, close, crazy friend, the last song on the soundtrack to my life, edition 1.5, is dedicated to her for making me realize that no matter how down you can be, you can't help but to smile if you think of Flavor Flav following you with a boom box, playing THE song that represents your life.(http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/eve/whosthatgirl.html)
So, what's YOUR life's soundtrack?
Monday, November 19, 2007
Maybe it was the post. Maybe it was the Baileys in her coffee. Maybe it was the Giving Tree.
My last blog post was about the early arrival of the holidays and how my mom, aka "the love child of Martha Stewart and Scrooge", so desperately wished that twinkling lights and Christmas sales would postpone their appearance until after Thanksgiving. Fed up with the stress the holidays bring, which is common for so many good hosts, she often found herself resenting the early onset of Christmas carols and decorations instead of embracing them...
... then something happened...
Maybe it was the post. Maybe it was the baileys in her coffee. No matter what it was exactly, my mom oozed Rockette-like Christmas spirit this past weekend as we braved the stores, ignoring the neurotic pre-holiday shoppers and leisurely strolled from shop to shop, getting giddy at the sight of decorations and bargain buys (obviously, we decided to omit the whole kick line thing - I'm not as limber as I used to be) . As we shopped, she continued to impress me by not negatively commenting on the red and green hues that surrounded her and was eager to collaborate on gift ideas, but more importantly, her own red and green aura beamed brightly as we gently combed through the mall's "Giving Tree" and became two of Santa's vertically gifted elves. I wanted to share our experience to continue my recent holiday rant and hopefully inspire some of you to remember the reason for the season.
What's a Giving Tree? Most traditional malls have one. They are Christmas trees covered top to bottom in ornament-like tags that each represent a person in need with their Christmas wish-list attached. Most of the wishes are incredibly modest and range from clothes, gloves and toiletries. Some are from optimistic teenagers hoping for a Play Station or an iPod, and I read one from a 10 year old boy who wanted a puppy, making me realize that these hanging tags were more than Christmas lists on paper, they were people far less fortunate than me putting their dreams on a string, hoping that someone would remember them this holiday season. The young children on this tree probably gave up on Santa years ago and now here I stood determining which lucky one I would choose; however, our family has a tradition that we like to follow - we like to pick all older people because it seems that everyone favors babies and young children and seem to forget that adults have worthy wishes that should be fulfilled too.
So after sorting through the many branches, we chose:
Now, I know I'll soon be instructed to carve butter sticks into Christmas trees and fold napkins into Nativity scenes to alleviate my mom's Martha Stewart Syndrome and even have to face a "bah-humbug" comment or two at the 11th hour before our holiday guests arrive, but no matter what, I know I would not want to be any other place during the holidays than in my home with my Family Tree instead of waiting alone, patiently on a Giving Tree.
So, appreciate your family and friends as the twinkling lights begin to shine, find something exciting to do each day to remind you that this time of year is special and should be savored, and remember to take some time to make the holiday special for someone who has to depend on those more fortunate than them to make one of their wishes come true.
... then something happened...
Maybe it was the post. Maybe it was the baileys in her coffee. No matter what it was exactly, my mom oozed Rockette-like Christmas spirit this past weekend as we braved the stores, ignoring the neurotic pre-holiday shoppers and leisurely strolled from shop to shop, getting giddy at the sight of decorations and bargain buys (obviously, we decided to omit the whole kick line thing - I'm not as limber as I used to be) . As we shopped, she continued to impress me by not negatively commenting on the red and green hues that surrounded her and was eager to collaborate on gift ideas, but more importantly, her own red and green aura beamed brightly as we gently combed through the mall's "Giving Tree" and became two of Santa's vertically gifted elves. I wanted to share our experience to continue my recent holiday rant and hopefully inspire some of you to remember the reason for the season.
What's a Giving Tree? Most traditional malls have one. They are Christmas trees covered top to bottom in ornament-like tags that each represent a person in need with their Christmas wish-list attached. Most of the wishes are incredibly modest and range from clothes, gloves and toiletries. Some are from optimistic teenagers hoping for a Play Station or an iPod, and I read one from a 10 year old boy who wanted a puppy, making me realize that these hanging tags were more than Christmas lists on paper, they were people far less fortunate than me putting their dreams on a string, hoping that someone would remember them this holiday season. The young children on this tree probably gave up on Santa years ago and now here I stood determining which lucky one I would choose; however, our family has a tradition that we like to follow - we like to pick all older people because it seems that everyone favors babies and young children and seem to forget that adults have worthy wishes that should be fulfilled too.
So after sorting through the many branches, we chose:
- Emma, an 88 year old woman wishing for any kind of clothing
- Mac, a 63 year old man who wanted a sweater
- Sarah, a 60 something year old woman who wanted a non-stick baking sheet
- Justin, a 19 year old, who unlike his many electronic wishing counterparts, asked for towels and a blanket
Now, I know I'll soon be instructed to carve butter sticks into Christmas trees and fold napkins into Nativity scenes to alleviate my mom's Martha Stewart Syndrome and even have to face a "bah-humbug" comment or two at the 11th hour before our holiday guests arrive, but no matter what, I know I would not want to be any other place during the holidays than in my home with my Family Tree instead of waiting alone, patiently on a Giving Tree.
So, appreciate your family and friends as the twinkling lights begin to shine, find something exciting to do each day to remind you that this time of year is special and should be savored, and remember to take some time to make the holiday special for someone who has to depend on those more fortunate than them to make one of their wishes come true.
Monday, November 12, 2007
On the 60th Day of Christmas, My True Love Gave to Me...
It's mid-November. Trees are changing colors, families are preparing for big Thanksgiving dinners, football season is in full swing, and "White Christmas" blasts from the radio - wait. White Christmas?
Its seems that every year Christmas starts earlier and earlier, and before I've even put on my turkey-eating pants and pilgrim bonnet, I'm rocking out to "Jingle to Bells" on the radio and getting hot flashes in department stores that are swarming with pre-holiday shoppers. I recently read in the Chicago Tribune that due to rising housing costs and gas topping $3 a gallon, retailers have started the winter season "early" to encourage more sales over the longer period of time - as if offering Christmas sales two weeks earlier than normal will make people forget about taxes, energy costs and gas. Or will it? I recently filled up on $3.19/gallon gas just to join all the fruitcakes and nutcrackers at the mall for some great deals, and to celebrate those deals, I treated myself to a $4.50 Starbucks Peppermint Mocha, a holiday edition drink, of course.
With or without troubling economic times, I feel like the winter holiday season makes up 9 out of the 12 months of the year, and as retailers have taken it upon themselves to defy time and nature, I seem to feel like a majority of my life is spent preparing for, then enjoying, then finally recovering from the holiday. I think this feeling is shared by many, especially those who are constantly a holiday host finding themselves cooking, organizing, decorating, wrapping, spending, crying, burning... the list of "-ing"s goes on. The early onset of Jingle Bells leads to one big Jingle HELL as those who find the holidays stressful to begin with, begin to twitch like an anxiety ridden elf as Santa shows up at the mall before the Thanksgiving menu is even planned.
For me to admit that I'm all about officially starting the holiday season after Thanksgiving would be a lie. I will admit that when 93.9 FM started playing Christmas music on November 1st, I tuned in. Gone are the days of Maroon 5, Beyonce and Coldplay - Bing Crosby, Josh Grobin and Nat King Cole now serenade me every morning as I drive my all wheel drive sleigh. So with the support of my radio and the good, money hungry American retailers, Christmas lasts for about 60 days... on the 60th day of Christmas, what do you give your true love?!
For someone like my mom, who seems to be a recurring character in my blog posts (take it as a compliment, Mama P!), you get your love a swift kick in the arse on the 60th day of Christmas and tell them to "get over it". My mom is the perfect example of someone who resents the early arrival of Christmas because to her, the overexposed holiday is beginning to lose all meaning as angry shoppers aggressively push their way through store aisles just to get their grubby hands on gifts that we all know will end up being returned on December 26th, which is an aspect of the holidays that I've grown to detest: "The Day After Christmas Present Return Rush". What's wrong with you people? You so desperately hated that duck sweater you got from Aunt Jean that you must immediately return it or else you'll be naked?! You don't have any other sweaters to cover your cold, ungrateful heart? Oh, I see, you need to make sure you take advantage of all those sales, which just really end up being the returned gifts of strangers who you have no idea where their hands have been.
Present returning aside, what's funny is that, during the holidays, my mom becomes the love child of Scrooge and Martha Stewart. She will host lavish dinners for our close family friends that ooze thought, care and Christmas joy, but during the preparation she is "Sargent Santa" as she instructs her minions to sculpt Christmas trees out of butter sticks and fold napkins into a Nativity scenes as she tirelessly toils over the perfect bow. Throughout the preparation she utters at least a few times that "Christmas comes too early", "Why does it feel that we were just hosting a holiday party?", or my favorite, "You're not sculpting those butter sticks fast enough and are ruining Christmas... again". Okay, the last one is stretch, but my poor mother is so tainted by the early onset of the holidays, that her normal sweet, gracious demeanor turns bitter and raw.
My mom isn't the only one who feels that holidays aren't what they used to be and ends up resenting the early arrival of twinkling lights instead of embracing them. I agree that as I've gotten older, I've come to realize the stress that comes with the season because gone are the days of a $1/week allowance and letters to Santa. Now, as an "adult", my family knows that I spend my days working at a real job, which in turn gives me real money, so noodle necklaces for gifts don't quite cut it any more, and I unfortunately found out last year that Santa does not truly exist, and a piece of holiday magic was forever lost.
Its seems that every year Christmas starts earlier and earlier, and before I've even put on my turkey-eating pants and pilgrim bonnet, I'm rocking out to "Jingle to Bells" on the radio and getting hot flashes in department stores that are swarming with pre-holiday shoppers. I recently read in the Chicago Tribune that due to rising housing costs and gas topping $3 a gallon, retailers have started the winter season "early" to encourage more sales over the longer period of time - as if offering Christmas sales two weeks earlier than normal will make people forget about taxes, energy costs and gas. Or will it? I recently filled up on $3.19/gallon gas just to join all the fruitcakes and nutcrackers at the mall for some great deals, and to celebrate those deals, I treated myself to a $4.50 Starbucks Peppermint Mocha, a holiday edition drink, of course.
With or without troubling economic times, I feel like the winter holiday season makes up 9 out of the 12 months of the year, and as retailers have taken it upon themselves to defy time and nature, I seem to feel like a majority of my life is spent preparing for, then enjoying, then finally recovering from the holiday. I think this feeling is shared by many, especially those who are constantly a holiday host finding themselves cooking, organizing, decorating, wrapping, spending, crying, burning... the list of "-ing"s goes on. The early onset of Jingle Bells leads to one big Jingle HELL as those who find the holidays stressful to begin with, begin to twitch like an anxiety ridden elf as Santa shows up at the mall before the Thanksgiving menu is even planned.
For me to admit that I'm all about officially starting the holiday season after Thanksgiving would be a lie. I will admit that when 93.9 FM started playing Christmas music on November 1st, I tuned in. Gone are the days of Maroon 5, Beyonce and Coldplay - Bing Crosby, Josh Grobin and Nat King Cole now serenade me every morning as I drive my all wheel drive sleigh. So with the support of my radio and the good, money hungry American retailers, Christmas lasts for about 60 days... on the 60th day of Christmas, what do you give your true love?!
For someone like my mom, who seems to be a recurring character in my blog posts (take it as a compliment, Mama P!), you get your love a swift kick in the arse on the 60th day of Christmas and tell them to "get over it". My mom is the perfect example of someone who resents the early arrival of Christmas because to her, the overexposed holiday is beginning to lose all meaning as angry shoppers aggressively push their way through store aisles just to get their grubby hands on gifts that we all know will end up being returned on December 26th, which is an aspect of the holidays that I've grown to detest: "The Day After Christmas Present Return Rush". What's wrong with you people? You so desperately hated that duck sweater you got from Aunt Jean that you must immediately return it or else you'll be naked?! You don't have any other sweaters to cover your cold, ungrateful heart? Oh, I see, you need to make sure you take advantage of all those sales, which just really end up being the returned gifts of strangers who you have no idea where their hands have been.
Present returning aside, what's funny is that, during the holidays, my mom becomes the love child of Scrooge and Martha Stewart. She will host lavish dinners for our close family friends that ooze thought, care and Christmas joy, but during the preparation she is "Sargent Santa" as she instructs her minions to sculpt Christmas trees out of butter sticks and fold napkins into a Nativity scenes as she tirelessly toils over the perfect bow. Throughout the preparation she utters at least a few times that "Christmas comes too early", "Why does it feel that we were just hosting a holiday party?", or my favorite, "You're not sculpting those butter sticks fast enough and are ruining Christmas... again". Okay, the last one is stretch, but my poor mother is so tainted by the early onset of the holidays, that her normal sweet, gracious demeanor turns bitter and raw.
My mom isn't the only one who feels that holidays aren't what they used to be and ends up resenting the early arrival of twinkling lights instead of embracing them. I agree that as I've gotten older, I've come to realize the stress that comes with the season because gone are the days of a $1/week allowance and letters to Santa. Now, as an "adult", my family knows that I spend my days working at a real job, which in turn gives me real money, so noodle necklaces for gifts don't quite cut it any more, and I unfortunately found out last year that Santa does not truly exist, and a piece of holiday magic was forever lost.
But enough about the stress of the holidays! I'm on a mission to enjoy the early onset of "Jingle Bells" because I figured out that you just can't escape it. I have decided to take the agressive pre-holiday shoppers as a sign to make my Christmas memories last, because unlike my noodle necklace making, Santa believing days, the actual moments of joy don't seem to last like they used to. Do you remember how long you waited for December 25th when you were a kid? I used to make a countdown calendar and I felt like that life was moving in a vat of Jell-O as I waited impaitently for Christmas Eve. Now, as an adult, one day I'm listening to "White Christmas" on the radio and the next I'm boxing up ornaments, wearing my duck sweater (what? Unlike you all, I appreciate Aunt Jean's wacky gifts), wishing I could have enjoyed the season just a bit more.
So remember that YOU make the holidays bright and its up to you to ignore those things that bring a dark cloud over your cheer, be it the early Christmas carols on the radio, expensive gifts for relatives you haven't seen since the last holiday season, the pushy bargain hunters or butter sticks shaped like Christmas trees. Don't want to spend a lot of money this year? Don't. Is it pain to cook? Order some food in. No matter what you do, don't be distracted by retailers because the holidays are a time to celebrate, not commiserate.
And to my mom who gets antsy at the sight of garland before Thanksgiving: I hope you know that you make our family's holiday bright with your attention to detail and thoughtfulness and although I complain about sculpting butter, nothing tastes better than a roll buttered with my masterpiece. This year, let's take those things that make you nuts about the holidays and make one damn good fruitcake!
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Saturn is Heaven on Earth
I'm not talking about the planets. I'm talking about my car.I just recently purchased a 2008 Saturn Vue, my very first car purchase, which consequently led to my very first financially induced heart palpitation. My car loan is worth more than my little life and that worth includes me wearing ever article of clothing and piece of jewelry I own - what can I say? I'm still waiting to make it big and I also don't have any jewels yet.
Anyway, my new, shiny, flawless piece of love on four wheels is currently my pride and joy. I refer to it as its my 2 ton child and require all passengers to either a) remove their shoes before entering or b) wear painting booties which I most conveniently supply free of charge. Hungry? Well, too bad, because no food or drink is allowed in my cool-mobile, which shouldn't be a problem because after 1 minute in my baby you'll be full on the delicious aroma of new car. Sweaty? You better find another sucker to chauffeur your lazy butt around because no one's perspiration is touching my finely crafted, custom made Italian leather seats. (I think the "Made in China" tag means "Luxurious Leather" in Italian.)
However, I recently was startled by an unbecoming sound coming from my steering wheel. This sound had to be a result of a strange automotive virus as I know my precious, one month old car would not produce such a heinous sound on its own accord. So as a worried mother would rush to the ER with a feverish child, I put to the pedal to the metal and drove my ailing baby to the Saturn dealership, where much to my surprise, I experienced heavenly customer service.
First, I arrived to the service center unannounced and unprepared as I wasn't quite sure how to translate my car's disturbing sound into English or luxurious Italian, for that matter. I ended up interpreting the noise as a "weird, winding-like sound". Yes. I'm THAT technical.
In less than 3 minutes, a loyal Saturn "mechanical automotive specialist" (I have decided to refer to the mechanics there as such), was by my side and in my car asking me to drive around so he could hear the "weird, winding-like sound" (see, they even were so kind to speak MY language). And of course, just like when you go to the doctor complaining of pain, when you're on the examining table, lo and behold, you don't hurt anymore. Well, my precious, yet stubborn car (must take after her father), wasn't making her noises. Embarrassed, I practically wanted to turn the wheel as hard as I could just so some kind of noise squeaked out, but the mechanical automotive specialist kindly said, "no, no I believe you - let me take a closer look at the car and see what I can do". 10 lovely minutes later, which were spent in the comfort of the Saturn customer lounge, I was told my car just needed a few tweaks and it was ready to go!
And did you know that when you own a Saturn you get free car washes for life? Monday-Saturday. Any time. My mom drives a BMW and is offered free car washes only on Saturdays at a specified time when the moon is predicted to be full - those Germans sure are tough.
So after my car was examined and gently tweaked, a kind man took my car through the wash and as I get back into my car I notice two remarkable things - 1) there are fresh flowers on my dashboard - I kid you not. Either that's just Saturn etiquette or the car washer liked my over sized sweatshirt and smile and found some flowers laying around in the back of the service shop 2) my seat was just as I had left it - meaning both the mechanical automotive specialist and car washer had their knees up to their chins to drive my car just so I would NOT be inconvenienced by their own comfort. Its always so hard to find your seat "groove" as it is, and it would have been a major hassle to readjust after I had just gone through my first trauma as an offical car owner.
So, if you're looking to purchase a car, may I recommend you look at a Saturn? They are well priced, drive really well and their customer service is out of this world! Plus, take a closer look at the picture above... is that an X5 you ask? No, its my vue :)
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Lady with a Beard, 900 Pound Man, Girl from the Suburbs... GASP
For the past couple of years, I have constantly been forced to stand up for the "little guy". I have felt obligated to defend something that has no voice. I have battled rumors, jokes and myths as a crusader for a seemingly minority group. Yes. As a young, "single"*, hip (again, its my blog and I can say what I want, so I'm "hip", get over it) female, I have spent the past couple years supporting my choice to live in the suburbs - GASP.
I feel that my decision to live "way out" in the suburbs is a constant issue for those around me. Well, "issue" may not be the best word, as it often has negative, confrontational undertones, but lets just say that when someone hears that I work in the bustling city yet live in the mundane 'burbs, its as if the freak show just came to town as they respond with a combination of disgust, curiosity and pity. "Look ma, that lady has a beard. Oh wow, that man is 900 lbs... no... wait... LOOK at this young, single, hip female... she's the freakiest of them all... she lives in the SUBURBS".
The freak show is over, people... I'm going to defend my beloved homeland for the final time. Take it or leave it, but please don't point and stare anymore because unlike the bearded lady, this lady is living the good life.
First, let me define my suburb. I live about 30 miles from one of the biggest cities in the country. 30 miles. Not 300. Did you know that you can get from the suburbs to the city in something other than in a horse and buggy? No? Well, I can get to the city in a really nice car that I can afford because I don't have to pay for astronomically expensive parking and have access to cheaper gas making my sometimes 30 minute (or less) drive so much more satisfying. Okay, okay - I can hear some of my colleagues screaming, "What about the morning commute to work?! Its NOT 30 minutes!" You caught me. So, if its a lazy Sunday afternoon of shopping in the city or a random Tuesday night after rush hour, my drive is quick and easy; however, I will admit that morning traffic rivals the gridlock of Macy's on Christmas Eve. So I choose not to drive it - I train it.
Ah, the train, another misunderstood suburban myth. I'm not going to sing the praises of it as I often feel chained to specific departure times, but I do want to defend it as a very respectable mode of transportation, and for my environmentally responsible audience, its also a green way to go, which only adds to my hipness.
So, now you know that I'm a 30 minute drive or a relatively hip, green train ride away from the city (which if you think about it, isn't THAT bad), lets talk about what us suburbanites do for fun. Contrary to popular belief, there is more to do in the suburbs than crocheting sweaters and hanging laundry. Now, I will agree that some suburbs in this beautiful country fit the stereotypical picture of lameness as they are literally hundreds of miles away from a Wal-Mart, let alone a large city, and although I've stressed time and time again to my friends and coworkers that I'm not Laura Ingalls Wilder and that my town does not have any Little House on the Prairie tendencies, they don't seem to buy it. Alas, I continue to fight the good fight and battle the injustice.
Bonnets and prairies aside, let's get back to suburban social activities. First, lets talk about shopping. I often will shop in the city because once again - say it with me now - I don't live THAT far away, but I also live about 10 minutes from one of the largest malls in the world. Do you know what us suburbanites say when we bump into obvious tourists while shopping? "Damn those city people." Admit it. You city folk get a kick out of huge sprawling shopping centers and my area is full of speciality shops, chains and department stores of all kinds. And one thing I can't stress enough is the easy access us suburbanites have to Target. If you want to go to a Target in the city, you must prepare both mentally and physically for practically a 10 day adventure of trains, planes and automobiles, just to enjoy all the bounty of the finest store in the world.
What about food? Its either TGIFridays or Olive Garden in the suburbs, right? WRONG. We have everything from cheesy chains (don't knock them, I would kill for a good Chili's salad) to really great high end eateries. Do you know that 2 of most critically acclaimed Chicago restaurants of 2007 are in the suburbs?! GASP. And yes, I even "go out" in the suburbs and believe it or not, there are actually great bars and great people "out there". Everyone in the city believes young people who live the suburbs must watch dateline on Saturday nights at home because they are stranded in corn fields - not so much. I have a very active life, which I'm coming to find is somewhat mysterious and, dare I say, "hip". And may I remind everyone that the city doesn't make you social, you're personality does and I know some pretty lame people who live in the city and some crazy social butterflies who call the suburbs home - if you're wondering, I think I fall right in the middle.
I think we can now agree that the suburbs have good shopping and good food. Oh, and did I mention that I pay less for both? And when I want to splurge and enjoy true Chicago shopping or eating, I can then go back home to 2 acres of land, look out to a beautiful sunset and breath fresh, unpolluted air. Don't get me wrong, I'm NOT knocking the city - if you know me, you know I LOVE urban life and unless you knew my address, you would have no idea that I spend 2 hours everyday commuting to and from the burbs in my horse and buggy.
So to all those city dwellers that don't understand this young suburbanite - stop trying to understand me and just appreciate that I'm just your gateway to visiting beautiful landscapes and the infamous Target. And remember that I'm not a freak... I'm just a young, single, hip female living in the 'burbs.
*Please note that I consider myself as "single" (and the following explanation is for my beloved bf who was probably pissed from that word on throughout reading this post, if he even reads it), because "single" legally refers to anyone who is not married, thus putting me in the "single" category; however, I believe there is an up and coming "engaged" category that I would like to be a part of... just throwing that out there. (I bet my bf is now a little less pissed about the "single" comment and a lot more angered by "engaged").
I feel that my decision to live "way out" in the suburbs is a constant issue for those around me. Well, "issue" may not be the best word, as it often has negative, confrontational undertones, but lets just say that when someone hears that I work in the bustling city yet live in the mundane 'burbs, its as if the freak show just came to town as they respond with a combination of disgust, curiosity and pity. "Look ma, that lady has a beard. Oh wow, that man is 900 lbs... no... wait... LOOK at this young, single, hip female... she's the freakiest of them all... she lives in the SUBURBS".
The freak show is over, people... I'm going to defend my beloved homeland for the final time. Take it or leave it, but please don't point and stare anymore because unlike the bearded lady, this lady is living the good life.
First, let me define my suburb. I live about 30 miles from one of the biggest cities in the country. 30 miles. Not 300. Did you know that you can get from the suburbs to the city in something other than in a horse and buggy? No? Well, I can get to the city in a really nice car that I can afford because I don't have to pay for astronomically expensive parking and have access to cheaper gas making my sometimes 30 minute (or less) drive so much more satisfying. Okay, okay - I can hear some of my colleagues screaming, "What about the morning commute to work?! Its NOT 30 minutes!" You caught me. So, if its a lazy Sunday afternoon of shopping in the city or a random Tuesday night after rush hour, my drive is quick and easy; however, I will admit that morning traffic rivals the gridlock of Macy's on Christmas Eve. So I choose not to drive it - I train it.
Ah, the train, another misunderstood suburban myth. I'm not going to sing the praises of it as I often feel chained to specific departure times, but I do want to defend it as a very respectable mode of transportation, and for my environmentally responsible audience, its also a green way to go, which only adds to my hipness.
So, now you know that I'm a 30 minute drive or a relatively hip, green train ride away from the city (which if you think about it, isn't THAT bad), lets talk about what us suburbanites do for fun. Contrary to popular belief, there is more to do in the suburbs than crocheting sweaters and hanging laundry. Now, I will agree that some suburbs in this beautiful country fit the stereotypical picture of lameness as they are literally hundreds of miles away from a Wal-Mart, let alone a large city, and although I've stressed time and time again to my friends and coworkers that I'm not Laura Ingalls Wilder and that my town does not have any Little House on the Prairie tendencies, they don't seem to buy it. Alas, I continue to fight the good fight and battle the injustice.
Bonnets and prairies aside, let's get back to suburban social activities. First, lets talk about shopping. I often will shop in the city because once again - say it with me now - I don't live THAT far away, but I also live about 10 minutes from one of the largest malls in the world. Do you know what us suburbanites say when we bump into obvious tourists while shopping? "Damn those city people." Admit it. You city folk get a kick out of huge sprawling shopping centers and my area is full of speciality shops, chains and department stores of all kinds. And one thing I can't stress enough is the easy access us suburbanites have to Target. If you want to go to a Target in the city, you must prepare both mentally and physically for practically a 10 day adventure of trains, planes and automobiles, just to enjoy all the bounty of the finest store in the world.
What about food? Its either TGIFridays or Olive Garden in the suburbs, right? WRONG. We have everything from cheesy chains (don't knock them, I would kill for a good Chili's salad) to really great high end eateries. Do you know that 2 of most critically acclaimed Chicago restaurants of 2007 are in the suburbs?! GASP. And yes, I even "go out" in the suburbs and believe it or not, there are actually great bars and great people "out there". Everyone in the city believes young people who live the suburbs must watch dateline on Saturday nights at home because they are stranded in corn fields - not so much. I have a very active life, which I'm coming to find is somewhat mysterious and, dare I say, "hip". And may I remind everyone that the city doesn't make you social, you're personality does and I know some pretty lame people who live in the city and some crazy social butterflies who call the suburbs home - if you're wondering, I think I fall right in the middle.
I think we can now agree that the suburbs have good shopping and good food. Oh, and did I mention that I pay less for both? And when I want to splurge and enjoy true Chicago shopping or eating, I can then go back home to 2 acres of land, look out to a beautiful sunset and breath fresh, unpolluted air. Don't get me wrong, I'm NOT knocking the city - if you know me, you know I LOVE urban life and unless you knew my address, you would have no idea that I spend 2 hours everyday commuting to and from the burbs in my horse and buggy.
So to all those city dwellers that don't understand this young suburbanite - stop trying to understand me and just appreciate that I'm just your gateway to visiting beautiful landscapes and the infamous Target. And remember that I'm not a freak... I'm just a young, single, hip female living in the 'burbs.
*Please note that I consider myself as "single" (and the following explanation is for my beloved bf who was probably pissed from that word on throughout reading this post, if he even reads it), because "single" legally refers to anyone who is not married, thus putting me in the "single" category; however, I believe there is an up and coming "engaged" category that I would like to be a part of... just throwing that out there. (I bet my bf is now a little less pissed about the "single" comment and a lot more angered by "engaged").
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