Depressing
Subtitle: Does Christmas cheer exist outside of the bottom of a glass?
I am sitting here, toying around with Expedia.com, only to look at potential layovers for flights I need to book and realize I have, throughout my life, changed planes in dozens of (possibly exciting) cities that I’ve never had the opportunity to actually visit.
Always on my way to somewhere else, I guess. Seems a sad metaphor for the rest of my life, too. The worst part is that there’s rarely a moment for fun when I actually do reach my destination city.
SOMEWHERE … UNDER THE RADAR
I swear, if I had money, I’d be a professional traveler. There’s nothing quite like that rush I get when a plane begins its ascent, unless you count the moment that plane lands and you know you’re stepping into a whole new world (to you). That, and I’d so totally hire a maid. Preferably, as Ted suggested, a Chippendales masseuse with a cleaning fetish!
This boring life cycle in which we all get caught — work hard, get paid, pay bills, run errands, wear clothes, wash clothes, work some more, clean house, buy more (so not-fun) crap you need, lather/rinse/repeat — it’s hard to schedule joy in your life when you’re constantly waving goodbye to your time and to your earnings.
IN WHICH TRADITION HAS ALWAYS BEEN TO, WELL, BUCK TRADITION
Like Christmas. I fucking hate this season. I stopped at Tyson’s Corner yesterday to get tomato soap at Bath and Body Works (which they no longer carry, and that was the only B&BW in the region that DID carry it. Gah). And as I walked into Hecht’s, some lady stopped me and said sweetly, “Honey, you sure you want to go into that madhouse?” If that weren’t an omen for my day, I don’t know what was.
Turns out the only highlight to yesterday was talking (live and in person! on the telephone! what a concept!) to my buddy on the death-defying drive to (and the adventures in parking without getting killed at) the mall, as everything went downhill from there. I’d hoped to run into Liv, but the universe can only spare so much Christmas cheer per capita, I guess. 😉
I don’t do holiday shopping. Haven’t in ages, really. I’ve gotten numb to the twinge when I see families stocking up their trunks with loads of crap, when I’m happy to be walking out of Wal-Mart with the month’s supply of necessities and still have enough money left over to grab a taco. Instead, I people-watch — that’s the greatest gift of all.
‘BOTOX BEFORE BARNEY’
Yesterday must’ve been “dad’s day out,” because in addition to 40 dozen instances of Steelers garb (and not a single instance of the DeadRedskins), there were lots of dazed-and-confused men crawling the mall. Whee. 😉
You can tell when it’s dad’s day. I saw this poor little girl with her long hair caught up in two clips and four different ponytail holders. I saw others with half-assed braids or ones that were so tight that the kids looked like they’d had Botox before “Barney” that morning.
I overheard the funniest conversation at Wallyworld yesterday:
Mom: “Do you know what I want for Christmas? (said to dad who was literally lying on the floor in the decorations aisle and to the kid who sat next to him)
Little Girl: “Flowers?” (she couldn’t have been more than 7)
Mom: “No, I don’t want flowers.”
Little Girl: “Well, that’s probably what daddy will get you again for Christmas.”
*bwahahaha*
Priceless!