christmas day

At midnight, when superparents around the world (or the block) were climbing onto their roofs in faux reindeer hooves and sleigh bells to create the magic of the real meaning of Christmas for their kids, I was in church, getting burned by wax, at a candlelight service at my mom's church.  I tried to get out of it this year; I was annoyed, tired, and cold, and my sweatshirt and sweats were so much more appealing than pretty much anything else I could wear.  Alas, I lost that battle, because at Christmas, my mom gets what she wants, at least, she does from me (hence, my solidly cemented "golden child" status).

I woke up this morning just after 7AM to a dog barreling through my bedroom door that doesn't close all the way, activating the winds chimes that are inexplicably hanging on the back of it, after which, he stood extremely still at the edge of the bed, stared me down, and waited for me to open my eyes, move or grunt.   And with a very slight shift of my foot, the mutt pounced on my bed and started licking my face and hand.  I don't ever remember being that obnoxious on Christmas morning; I certainly never licked my mother, though I also never waited until past 6AM to wake her up, so I guess it's give and take.  He escorted me into the living room where I was pleasantly surprised that I was, in fact, not on Santa's naughty list this year (hooray!)...I guess Santa isn't always watching, kids (*wink*).

However, before the traditional gift distro and opening was tackled, I had two very important items of business to take care of--find an open Starbucks, and find an open grocery store.  Sacramento is not like Los Angeles, things actually shut down on Christmas, and I had to travel outside of the neighborhood to find a Starbucks.

To take care of this second very important thing, I had to travel outside of my comfort zone.  Those of you who know me (not biblically), know that I do not typically shop at places that have any of the following in their name: a number, "Sav-" "Valu-" or "Mart."  However, desperate times call for desperate measures, and when no other place is open and a key ingredient needed for the holiday is missing, one must do what one must do, and SaveMart, the double whammy of grocery stores, was what I had to do.

I was only slightly mortified when at 8:20AM, the checkout clerk called out, "Can we please get assistance for this lady right here at the liquor cabinet?" over the abnormally loud PA system.  I say "slightly" because the people that were shopping at this one store didn't seem to be the type that would care too much about such a request at such a time of day.

And PS, check out that sale price!  SaveMart, indeed.

I came home, gifts were opened, and everyone was pretty happy.  Wondermutt got some new squeak toys, bones, and the poop bags he's been eyeing, and my gramma seemed to be pretty excited about that IHOP gift card I got her; I'm pretty sure that was the pièce de résistance.  Although, I did get The Neverending Story on DVD and that's like getting a part of my childhood back (Falcor!).  Kinda hard to top that.

Here's hoping your Christmas Day is shaping up to be just as FUNderful...or at least you, too, have a bottle of something that can make it FUNderful.  Cheers!

christmas eve

Since the world survived the non-apocalypse, I had to prepare for the next potential uh-oh:  going home for Christmas.   As you may recall, I skipped this adventure at Thanksgiving this year in favor of avoiding both the drive on the 5, and the wrath of the grandma, but I just couldn't bring myself to go full-Scrooge and skip out on my mom on this holiday, the holiest of holy holidays (besides her golden child's [that would be me] birthday).  As I've gotten older, I've ascribed to the notion that the "a little dab'll do ya" mentality completely applies when it comes to going home.  Where once I used to take two weeks off for Christmas and spend nearly the entire time with family, I find less is more-better, for everyone...except Wondermutt, who has a fan club here in the 'burbs of Sac, and as soon as the sun comes up, all of the neighbors will be over here to see him, to get his autograph, to get their pet on, and maybe, if they have time, throw me an, "Oh.  You're here, too?  Huh."  And then go back to adoring the boy wonder.  It's fine, I understand.  He always comes bearing homemade gifts for them and leaves them on their lawns.  I'm not quite as giving.

Wondermutt is comin' to town.

I drove up yesterday, and despite white knuckling it for the last 100 miles or so, it wasn't too bad.  Now, I think in a past life, if there is such a thing, I was a race car driver, because very few things on the road scare me.  I don't even have to turn down the radio when I park, or when I'm looking at directions.  There have only been three times in my life where I have white knuckled it with my hands at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel:  driving from Pullman, WA to Sacramento in winter, through the mountains, on a narrow two lane highway, in a storm, with one windshield wiper (the other one froze to my windshield and then snapped off) in a Saturn coupe; driving in North Carolina through a storm (that was a pre-cursor to a tornado I was trying to outdrive) with hail so large I swore my windshield would break and the body of my Land Rover would be pitted unrecognizably--I actually had to pull over for that one and turned off the radio so God could hear my prayers; and then there was this 100-mile stretch yesterday.  It wasn't just the weather, it was actually a combo of the rain, wind, and the fuck-tards that were going apeshit on the road, which normally wouldn't call for the 10 and 2 approach, but I had the mutt in the car, and when I have another being's life in my hands, that ups the ante.  How would I explain showing up without him to the neighbors, no matter if I was hurt, or on life support myself?  "What happened to Wondermutt?!?" they'd shout in horror.  There'd be public outcry.  They'd cancel Christmas forever.  I'd cancel Christmas forever.  Drama.  Anyway.  We made it.  Crisis averted.


I'm back in my old room from high school, and it doesn't feel like much has changed, except it feels more frilly and flowery--I guess that's the mom go-to motif, you can never have too many flowers or frills, or tote bags, or pictures up of your children when they were going through their awkward phase (years 6 - 26, those years are the same for everyone, right?), but you still think they were cute...which is impossible because clearly they were not.  Because no kid who was missing two random teeth in the front, had cheeks the size of grapefruits, eyes that seemed to looked two different directions in some pictures and eyebrows that wrapped around their entire forehead is cute.  And these pictures that parents lie about only start family arguments and thievery will eventually ensue.  And then, when they comment on how nice the fire in the fireplace feels but later in the evening say, "where did you find the wood or paper to start it with," after everyone is warm and cozy, it'll be noticed that those pictures are missing, and laughs will be laughed (by the culprit) and then--war will break out.  Fingers will be pointed, shouts will be shouted, babies will cry, vows of "never again!" will be vowed, dogs will bark, sirens will wail, mothers will sob, doors will be slammed...it's all part of the miracle of Christmas.  Hooray!  What fun!  Who wants pie?

I will say, in all my destitution, when I do come home, it does begin to look and feel more like Christmas.  After all, home is where I can get the full experience; there's a real fake tree, lights inside and outside, decorations galore, one, two, maybe even three baby Jesuses, wrapped presents (Santa Claus still leaves gifts in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve--this is almost contractual and can never end), there's central heating and even food in the cupboards AND refrigerator.  I'm even sleeping in a bed that's in the shape of a sleigh.  And I happen to know where I can get a reindeer on very short notice.......

And so, I make the drive and hope for the best, brace for the rest, and pray that Belvedere is on sale.

Merry Christmas!