Christmas Shopping

I made my annual trek to the mall today. Better the Friday before Christmas than the Saturday before Christmas, I figured. I hate malls. They’re full overpriced crap that I don’t want to own, and overdressed people I don’t want to know. But there is the occasional item that is best purchased there, and those items are usually the kinds of things one purchases at Christmas. So today, I drove the five minutes to the mall that’s a quarter mile from my house, but is still almost impossible to walk to.

And then I got the hell out as quickly as I could.

So is this the most disturbing Chritsmas doodad you’ve ever seen? The picture’s not great, but it’s two rednecks in a pickup truck with a reindeer strapped to the hood. If I were a kid, I’d probably burst out bawling if I saw something like that.

This, on the other hand, was way cool, and for six bucks, I had to have it. It’s an auto bajo de Santa Claus con sistema hidrĂ¡ulico y luces debajo, and it plays “Low Rider”. Unfortunately, I can’t figure out how to make the sistema hidrĂ¡ulico work.

In two days, I will be reunited with my husband after almost a month. I can’t think of a better Christmas present than that, even if I do have to fly to San Francisco to claim it.

Christmas 1977

Me. Christmas morning. Thirty years ago. I’m not sure which item would be more valuable now: the stereo with 8-track player/recorder, the groovy alarm clock, the Trans Am model, or the Cheryl Ladd poster. In case you’re wondering, I’m wearing Miami Dolphins pajamas. I have no idea why.

By the way, I’m still using that dresser in the top left corner.


How’s this for creepy? I was awakened this morning by a police officer repeatedly banging on the door and ringing the doorbell. When I finally got my wits about me and opened the door, she told me there had been a 911 call from my number. I told her I’d been asleep, and confirmed the phone number (it was definitely mine) and then she left, saying that it wasn’t an entirely uncommon occurence.

All the same, I’d prefer no repeats.

The Meaning of Christmas

More on the new trend toward “socially-conscious” and otherwise whiny and dreary Christmas songs:

I think the reason they irritate me so much is because the implication is that if you actually have the audacity to enjoy Christmas — rather than, say, spending the entire day being depressed because of the war, or all the dying, poor people in the world, or “overcommercialization”, or the baby whales, or whatever — then you’re some sort of sub-human wretch who doesn’t understand the “true” meaning of Christmas, which is, of course, complete and utter misery for all (and for all a good cry).

If I’m going to spend my holidays being miserable, I want it to be from overeating.