I can’t be the only one who struggles with gift giving during the holidays, right? I never know what to get, how much to spend, or how to wrap (and I will not pay extra for the store to do it for me!). Ya know how there is always that one friend or family member who is the expert gift giver? The one who just happens to give the perfect gift, and brushes it off like it was no big deal? Who also wraps it perfectly and adds those fancy ribbons that you can never get off? That’s not me, that is the opposite of me. People open my gifts, and I give a half smile/shrug because I have no clue if they’ll like/want/need/hate the thing in front of them.
I also hate christmas shopping, mostly because I just wander around the store for hours until I stumble upon something worth giving. I also get easily distracted by anything fuzzy soft, like I have to touch it…rub it a little. I have wrapped myself in sherpa fabric at a Michael’s store before. I’m not really a planner or a list-maker, but I’m sure the expert gift giver is. And coupons, always coupons.
They do say it’s better to give than receive, well I say it’s better to give giftcards than to receive crap gifts. Here’s a card with money on it, go get what you really want. Hey, it saves us both time. Maybe put the card in a box inside of a box then wrap that if the person wants to ‘open’ something. Or get an old box from some fancy electronic device and put the card in there if you’ve got a jokester in the bunch. Then you can say ‘jokes on you son…of god, aka baby jesus aka CHRISTMAS!’
Ok, I’ll just be over here in the corner watching Home Alone for the 845th time. Byeeee.
There’s this little thing in the month of December that I look forward to for eleven long months. A little thing that ignites the Christmas spirit in me, that evokes pure joy, and blissfully satisfies my every need. It is Santacon, and it’s the best day of the year.
I first heard of this gloriousness when I was in New York City five years ago. I remember walking the streets on a late Saturday morning, when I saw dozens and dozens of santa suits winding in and out of the crosswalk. What child is this? It was a santa bar crawl.
The following year, my own city adopted the event, and a Christmas miracle was born. Not only do people dress in santa suits, but they go all out in anything remotely related to the holiday. It’s all about having a theme. Creativity and debauchery at its finest.
Everyone is friendly and thoroughly enjoying themselves. You make friends with people simply because they wished you a merry christmas. You exchange free drinks with others simply because you’ve got a similar outfit on. Unity. Father Christmas would be proud.
If your city partakes in this jolly goodness, then I highly suggest checking it out. It’s my Christmas gift to you.
Now that I’m way past the age of twenty-one, I’ve discovered that I thoroughly enjoy being asked for id when purchasing a cocktail…or seven. I used to get so annoyed at the nerve of someone to ask for id when I thought I was so above that. In reality, I looked like a sixteen year old that was ‘of age’. Which is hilarious because I used a chalked id back in college that said I was 23 while my face said 15 because it was the picture I took for my learner’s permit. Thank you, small town college bars.
But now, it’s a sense of pride that people still think I look young enough for the id check. I always hated when people would say ‘you’ll love it when you’re older’. I didn’t realize how quickly I would come to appreciate that line. Especially working at a college, I’m simultaneously trying to blend in the with the kids while being a professional assistant director (oh yea, I’ve got a title now).
Who knows how long we’ll be able to keep these baby faced looks up. The Walking Dead, anyone…Beth is played by an actress who is my age. Just had to throw that out there in case you’ve seen the mid-season finale (?!). I’d like to think that if I was an actress I could get away with playing a fifth year senior in high school.
Anyways, I now anticipate the moment when I’m asked for id, and secretly hope for a double-take by the bartender out of sheer disbelief that this ageless wonder stands in front of them.
Too much, or just enough?
I’m the type of person who is constantly looking for new music because I get bored with what I have, mostly because I play my latest downloaded songs on repeat for about five weeks straight. My way of finding new stuff is to go on the top songs of itunes, listen to the snippet, and then illegally download it (shhh, who hasn’t?!). In the past year I’ve found it increasingly difficult to find ‘good’ new music. I may sound like an 80 year old here, but have you heard the crap that’s out there now?? Does taste mean nothing to ‘musicians’? Does autotune have to exist in every song? Do I have to hear a song I love be mutilated by a new artist? I suck at singing, I have zero musical abilities, but I’m sure if I alter my voice on the computer, make up a stupid song about cheetos, and post it to youtube with an even dumber video, I’d have a hit in three days. Ugh.
For me, 90s music is my jam. I’m talking everything from grunge to pop to boy band to hip hop and back again. Good stuff. Kids these days will never know good music like I did, though I’m sure every generation says this. I enjoy music from just about every decade up until this current one which is what, the 2010s, just the 10s, the 2K10s? I don’t know, but it’s awful. Also, there is this new thing called EDM which, as a huge hockey fan, I thought stood for Edmonton. I’m so out of touch.
Have a song suggestion for me? Leave it in the comments, I’d greatly appreciate anything new, as long as it isn’t Taylor Swift ohhhh I said it!
It’s been a while. And I’ve been starting fresh with a new job and a move back home into the parents house. Things are strange, I sort of feel like I’ve traveled back in time to when I was in high school, only with an adult job and actual money. Living at home is saving me money, true, but it’s also making me regress back to my lazy teenage years.
But, change is good. Change is needed when you’re nearing the end of your twenties. Here I thought I’d never make it out of that college town. That I’d forever be in my Van Wilder state. Nope, I made it. I accomplished my goal.
It would sound so much better if my mom wasn’t ironing my work clothes for tomorrow right now.
It’s not really a point of pride to say that you’re moving back in with your parents. That statement is usually followed by the visual of a prematurely bald man eating cheetos on a couch in the basement while yelling MAAAA as cheese dust falls upon his beer soaked shirt. Ok, that may be a tad much. But, that’s the image I see when I think about the move back home.
Fortunately, I’m neither of those things…except a cheeto lover, but if you’ve read this blog for a while now you’d already know that. But, moving back home takes me back to my childhood/teenhood and that’s a place I never want to go again. Luckily, I took down the wall of *NSYNC memorabilia, concert glowsticks included, a few years ago. Hey, I thought they’d make a comeback. My old room now has the mature look of someone who has lived on her own for eleven years and would rather this be a guest room.
We always assure people that this move will be ‘temporary’. ‘I’m just trying to save up some money‘, we say. ‘I’m biding my time while I look for a new place‘, they say. And that’s fine, as long as it’s not ten years down the road and you’re still trying to use that excuse. We should consider ourselves lucky that our parents would be willing to let us back in. I watched Empty Nest as a small child, I know some things.
I should probably set some ground rules, though, just in case.
I’ve been away for a bit doing big adult things that I didn’t think I’d ever be doing. I applied, interviewed, and landed a new job. Just like that. Which is ironic considering my last post was titled ‘someone’s supposed to hire us‘.
Yes, I will be starting a brand new job next month. I’m packing all of my things to move back in…with…my parents. BUT only for a short time, because that other big adult thing I did was contact the bank for a mortgage loan person helper guy. He told me I’m financially ready to buy a house. Which sounds ridiculous. Me. A homeowner. I haven’t even rescued my future cat yet.
But, that seems to be how things work out now. All of a sudden. One minute you’re pretending to be a college ‘senior’, the next you’re accepting a position titled Assistant Director. I have become someone. Shoot.
Adulthood smacks you right in the face. Don’t ya think?