Slices of Stacy

pneumosinusstreptomono

I'm sick, Internet.  Happy freakin' New Year.

I hate New Year's Eve and always have.  First of all there's the enforced fun:  Fun Must Be Had! There Must Be Drinking And Merriment!  No room for a bad party here, folks -- it's serious pressure.  You must have FUN of the capital kind.  Second, there's the expectation that something magical will occur at the stroke of midnight.  Somehow, at 12:01am I will be able to quit smoking, stay on my diet, etc. in a way that wasn't possible just a minute or two before.

Also, I hate the fireworks because they make my dog nervous and he hovers about my feet and THANKS TO THE FEVER I'M HOT ENOUGH OH MY GOD GET OFF ME.

The sickness started with some hay fever symptoms.  I thought it was because we'd brought home the school guinea pig for the break.  I don't think I'm allergic to the pig itself, I've never tested positive for animal allergies.  However, I have tested positive for grass allergies and the pig has this aspen bedding and eats timothy hay. 

Then, on Christmas Day, I was exposed to strep and mono.  On Saturday morning I woke up barely able to move.  Feverish almost to the point of delirium, I spent almost the whole day sleeping.  Sunday saw me sitting upright for about four hours.  Today, however, the sinus part has hit.  Every time I sneeze, cough or move, my cerebral cortex slams up against the side of my skull, making me wish for sweet, sweet death.  Every time I blow my nose my neck and back hurt.  My lungs have filled with fluid and every time  I do manage to fall asleep, between the lungs and the nasal congestion I have horrible nightmares that I'm drowning and wake up gasping for air. 

In short, I am miserable.

And has one single person stroked my head and said, "Poor little bunny..."? 

Drunk genital discussion

Me:  Ooooo, look at that cute dress!  If I were a size 2 I would totally wear that dress!

Jane:  Why?  You want to flash your cooch to everyone?

Me:  Well, fuck, why am I doing all this waxing if I can't show off the results?

In which the author gets her "tree-hugging hippie liberal" card revoked

For years now I've been claiming that the only way I can have a truly peaceful holiday season would be to barricade myself in my home from November to January.  No cards, gifts, wrapping, parties... nada.  Nothing.  Zip.  The whole in-your-face-ness of it all is bugging me.  It bugs me that people act like they're "taking back Christmas" like the terrorists took it away.  If you want to celebrate Christmas, celebrate it!  Just don't expect that everyone else will follow suit.  Remember that Great American Melting Pot that Schoolhouse Rock said we had?  We do.  Now it's time to deal with it.  Times have changed.

You know what else bugs me?  The nouveau "I'm not going to have my kids buy into the whole Santa" shtick with the commensurate holier-than-thou attitude.  Threatening to call Santa is one of my parenting techniques from Labor Day to New Year's.  I live by it.  Not only that, but Santa is one of my favorite childhood memories.  My Mom would always tell us we couldn't wake her up before 7am on Christmas morning.  We'd negotiate her down to 6am.   My brothers and I would wake up at, like, 4am and tiptoe back and forth to each other's rooms, stage-whispering until the parental units were forced to cave.  We would dash downstairs to see what Santa brought and those were always the super-spectacular gifts.  If you don't want to have that experience, if you don't want to "lie" to your kids, fine.  Just ditch the 'tude.

I'm also getting irritated by the attitude of people who feel all lofty if they only get their children two presents.  Fine!  Make your own fucking choices!  Jesus!  As for us, Sweet Pea has got, like, ten BILLION presents (okay, it's more like ten.  Still).  Christmas comes once a year.  We bargain shop, we start shopping early.  We're careful.  But damnit, life is way too short to miss the look in her eyes when she comes downstairs and her eyes widen to the size of saucers.  She checks the plate to see if Santa ate the cookies, if the reindeer got their carrots.  The dog gets a big bone in his stocking to keep him busy for a while.  We make hot chocolate and cinnamon rolls and marvel over every item Santa brought.  We take turns opening presents.  Wrapping paper is tossed everywhere while Christmas music plays.  Stacks of gifts form next to each of us.  Each gift is exclaimed over.  Sweet Pea's eyes light up every time it's her turn to open yet another gift.  DJ starts glancing at his Xbox, wondering when he can start playing his latest game.  I surreptitiously stroke the cover of whatever book I got, waiting to start reading.  We spend hours opening every toy for her, untwisting the ties and cursing the litigious people that made all that packaging necessary.  DJ and I look at each other over her head, wondering how we're going to find space for one more Barbie, then smile.

And I wouldn't change a thing.

I don't think I've completely bought into the commercialism.  I worry about it occasionally.  But you know what?  I don't care.  My favorite party of Christmas is riding around in the car with my family looking at Christmas lights.  Sweet Pea's favorite part (according to her) is that it's God's birthday.  Those are the things you can't buy, anyway.

And there's always room for one more Barbie.

This is why I fell in love...

DJ just showed me the '2 girls 1 cup' video.

It's been ten minutes.

I can't stop gagging.

I wish to God I had a time machine.  Or the Haitian guy from 'Heroes' who could erase my memory.

I can't believe it.  I'm SO not linking to that.

Holy shit.

Oh great, now I'm gagging again...

*ETA:  DO NOT try to find this video at work.  Seriously.

The morning after the White Elephant Christmas Party....

"Mommy, what's this?  I found it in a present downstairs."

Rational Self:  Remember, we believe in telling the truth whenever possible.  Irrational Self:  Right.  And why is that again?  Rational Self:  Because the truth presented as matter-of-factly as possible will make her lose interest in the item.  Snatching it away will only make her more curious.  Stay calm.  Do not display fear.  They can sense it.  Irrational Self:  Right.  Okay then.

"Umm, it's called lubricant."

"Oh.  There were a few more, too.  What's it for?"

"Umm... well, it something is dry, lubricant can make it better."

"Oh.  Do you drink it?"

"No, not exactly.  If you get it in your mouth, that's okay, though."

"Oh.  There were different colors.  Is there flavors?"

"Uh, yeah."

She ponders the container as I try to finish getting dressed as nonchalantly as possible.

"Wa... wa... water...meee.. meh"

Rational self:  Holy shit!  She can sound out 'watermelon'!  Code red! Move, move, move!

"Hey, Sweet Pea, do you want a brownie?  Aunt Elaine made them!"

"Oh, YEAH!  Here, Mommy, you take this lubey thing."