Season of Sharing

Congratulations to all of you, my fantastical followers! We have survived the Thanksgiving coma and are now on to that awkward time in between Thanksgiving and Christmas. As we all know, the second you stand up from the table after eating, we are assaulted with dancing snowmen, creepy nutcrackers, and Santa hats on everything. Let’s just call these few weeks the Season of Sharing: we’re not quite ready to give, but have a small bit of kindness that allows for some joint usage of personal items. Here are some other things that make this time unique.

1. No longer are there the leaves of fall surrounding you in a blanket of bright, lovely colors. They have now all fallen on the ground and created this awesome brownish-yellow mush on the sidewalk which makes a delightful Sharing Season slip-n-slide for all those attempting to live their life.

2. Bad holiday movies are everywhere. Lifetime (the channel of reverie and fear, as you may have noticed) and other, lesser channels have an amazing ability to find things that could not be removed from Christmas, and make many movies about them. In the last few years, the trend has been golden retrievers. I have seen more than a few commercials for holiday movies involving one of Air Bud’s many progeny on multiple channels as I flip quickly away from my holiday nemesis Kay Jewelers. They’re cute, but let’s be real—they really only bring to mind toilet paper.

3. Decorations. Now, I think it is safe to say that Christmas lights really do make everything better. Where I take issue is when we go completely off the map with random creatures. Let us think this system through: random animal (armadillo) + accessories (Santa hat and scarf) x Christmas-like setting (giant, inflatable snow globe) DOES NOT EQUAL PROPER HOLIDAY DECORATIONS. Honestly. They will stick anything into a 6ft inflatable snow globe.

And so, my revered readers, we will suffer through these few weeks of this strange Season of Sharing together. Have no fear.

Every Kill Begins with Kay

Attention to all who come here: someone answered my plea and/or appreciated my well-placed mass suicide joke enough to become a follower. This is a big day for me, partly because I was proposed to in a coffee shop this morning at 6:30 a.m. by a person I believe to be crazy. I think this is because he was more concerned with my soft pants (the champions of clothing that they are for all who dare to have an educational experience before 10 a.m.), than he was with our future. But more importantly, I have another follower. You might think to yourself, “Hey, this lovely and caring person decided to follow you many moons ago. Why so late?” Well, that brings me to my amazing update as to what I have been doing of late.

Fearing the TV: To all who know me, these are some strong words. Let’s be real—there is almost nothing that can part me from that box of awesome, but for now I watch with caution. Why, you may ask, my elegant eleven? It is that time of year where not a channel is safe from “Every Kiss Begins with K.” Time for some sub-points up in here. . .

a. You, Kay Jewelers, are forcing me to creep all up in some romantic moment between some moderately good-looking couple in their pajamas. What do they want from me? I would just like to point out that if not for the jingle, this could easily be a herpes commercial (“I have herpes. . .” “And I have no desire to get them in the future.” “To apologize for cheating, I got her this stupid diamond necklace to show her that just because we can’t have sex anymore, I do not resent buying her things and having a good snuggle. . .”).
b. Any child who has ever had the misfortune of seeing their parents make out isn’t plotting ways to see it again, let along hiding behind a corner watching.
c. There is a time and a place for the great gift of jewelry, but any sort of mild disaster isn’t one of them. A cozy cabin lightning storm? Might as well be the crazy All State guy.

If you haven’t seen any of these commercials, I’m sorry to sound like a loon. And I totally get it—cable reception must suck under your rock.

Emergency Contacts and Lies

I was thinking about my emergency contacts, mostly because I was driving. Having not gotten the racecar-driver gene despite my last name being McLaren, I can admit--and both my sister and a dead bobcat can attest to--my incompetence behind the wheel. This made me think about my family and who specifically I would want to receive the call in an emergency, As I thought more, I realized that they have, in fact, been lying to me for all these years. Here are the little white/gray/dark black lies they have uttered throughout the years:

1. Brownie Points: Call me impressionable, but I did many things in my youth under the misapprehension that I could somehow cash in all these "points" for some sort of reward, much like the a businessman cashing in his frequent flyer bonus. I had visions of frolicking at Disneyland (alone, because my sister did not share my quest for the most brownie points), or Epcot Center, or at least Dairy Queen. . . In fact, I have so many accrued, unused brownie points I am practically diabetic. Oh, mother-- you got away with it then, but no more.

2. God's Country: For many years, I made a pilgrimage to God's Country with my mother and sister. Where is this Great Land of the Higher Power? Ohio. More specifically, Cleveland. My grandfather told me this when I asked him why he never left. If you've ever been anywhere near Cleveland, or looked at the bottom of your coffee cup before you've thrown it away, you have an idea of how false this truly is. . . I can safely say Ohio is not a place people are fighting wars over.

3. Slight Pinch: This nonsense is told to us for many moons as we grow up. I think the first time I heard it was as I was being born. . . It is always a lie or an exaggeration. If by "pinch" they mean eye-crossing, searing pain, then, hey-- they are right on! If they mean "pinch" as in "Oh, pinch me! I think I'm dreaming!", they are way, way off. So whenever I hear this expression, I immediately start to cringe and even bodily recoil because I know what's coming. And it's not slight in any way, shape, or form.

So I have decided that my former family members might not be getting the call.

One Year Ago...

Four [one, actually, but who’s counting?] score and about one year ago I came into your lives. I know that everyone has this day written on their calendar and are overjoyed that I write to you every week or so. In a year writing to you, my fair follower, I have learned many things, and so I will share them—and some stats—on this the day of my one year anniversary. . .

1. I have 10 followers. Of those, I believe that four actually follow me and the rest are just supportive. To those who read on the sly, I say FOLLOW ME, partly because it will make me feel good and partly because I have a whole batch of Kool-Aid that will go bad if you don’t (see how I just weave mass suicide humor in with ease? Where was that more than a year ago?).

2. My most viewed post is “Dear Drunk Girl Weaving Outside My Window” with 46 views. I think that this is the case because everyone has the pleasure of knowing a young alcoholic that can’t tell time and understands my disapproval.

3. My total page views are 2,138. This is respectable, and I will pretend that most of these views aren’t from people related to me partly because this could be true seeing as my father probably can’t even find this blog, and partly because it will soothe my agitated self-worth.

4. As to the future, have no fear my contagious comrades, I will be here for a long time. Everything in this world annoys me and so I will never run out of bothersome people that make for lovely rules and regulations on how not to lead a life. I hope all ten of you stay with me.