A Very Special Southern Indiana Christmas

I promised myself I wouldn't blog until I'd finished a column I had due. Last time I make that mistake. I can barely remember Christmas by now.

So, the highlights. The Saturday before Christmas, my Jeep wouldn't start. Instead of finishing my shopping and wrapping presents, I spent the afternoon resolving complex logistical issues of getting to work that evening and to Southern Indiana the next day.

On Sunday, a Christmas Miracle! The Jeep healed itself and started right up. My brother-in-law sent me to NAPA with a parts list. I spent the morning of Christmas Eve under his tutelage and under the hood of the Jeep, giving it a good tuneup. My hair kept getting caught in the wheels of of the creeper and I ended up with approximately 1/4 of the motor oil in my oil pan in my hair.

FYI, use dish soap when removing motor oil from long hair. Regular shampoo will not work.

I got lectured about how worn my spark plugs were, how much corrosion was in my distributor cap, how the oil looked like molasses, and how the battery terminal cable was probably falling off every time I went over a bump. My BIL did not buy my story that the guys at Jiffy Lube must have backdated the oil filter.

The best part of the trip was Christmas morning. My sister had warned me that she wouldn't be getting me much for Christmas, which is fine. She usually has her husband help her out with buying Christmas gifts, but since he was still paying off medical bills from when she ran over him with the golf cart, she wasn't about to ask him for any Xmas cash.

Imagine my delight, then, when just like the parents in "A Christmas Story," my sister and BIL told me there was one more gift that wasn't under the tree. They brought it out, and there it was, my own version of a Red Rider BB Gun:

You see, one day this summer my sister was visiting me when I was putting new steps on my deck. I threw one of my two shitty drills across the yard when it refused to work. Contrary to popular belief, apparently I WAS a good girl this year!

And yes, it's entirely possible I will put my eye out.

Better late than never, the Christmas meme

Checking in after days away, I discovered I'd missed Nora's meme. But it's still Christmas, right? I apologize for the lack of pictures that could illustrate these answers better, but that would put me an extra day or so behind. I'll post more about A Southern Indiana Christmas later.

1. Wrapping or gift bags? I usually try to wrap (badly), although I'll use gift bags when time or oddly shaped gifts dictate. Sometimes I'll wrap oddly shaped gifts just for the fun of it. This year, for instance, I did a Family "Heirloom" White Elephant gift exchange for my niece and nephews, using random crap from the farmhouse.

I call the farmhouse the family museum, because it's full of 50 years worth of worthless stuff that I can't bear to throw away but which no family member will take. So this year I wrapped, without boxes: 2 child-size football helmets, circa 1965, one with the number 47 plastered on with black electrical tape, the other with a Gemini V space mission sticker on it; a stoneware Daniel Boone whiskey jug; and a small white statuette of a dove. The kids (ages 18 to 26) were thrilled, as you can imagine.

2. Real or artificial tree? I'm on the fence. Growing up we had an artificial tree. Every year I begged for a real one. When I got my drivers' license, I took matters into my own hands and showed up one day with a real one. From then on, I, and then my ex and I, had a real one. Last year, daunted by the prospect of acquiring, wrangling, and disposing of a real tree by myself, I decided not to get one. At the last minute, after the episode known as "Losing My Shit in Crate and Barrel," a couple of friends and I decorated the fake ficus tree in my dining room.

After Christmas, I bought an artificial tree for $10. I set it up this year and was chagrined to discover that a) when I took the tree out of the box, it almost exactly resembled the size and shape of the Grinch. The time it took to make it resemble a tree made a real tree seem like a lot less trouble; and b) instead of a pine-fresh Christmasy smell, my living room was filled with the aroma of a Chinese plastics factory. My floor is already covered in dog fur, pine needles suddenly don't seem so bad.

3. When do you put up the tree? Late, usually around the 15th of December, except for last year (see #2).

4. When do you take the tree down? Again, late. Part of my rationale for getting an artificial tree (see #2) was that I would not have to load up the tinderbox of a tree in March and cruise country roads looking for a suitable place to dispose of it (I don't really think it's littering if you dump a real tree in the woods--it's more like returning it to its natural habitat).

5. Do you like eggnog? Omigod, yes. This year I discovered Traders Point Creamery eggnog, and drank an entire quart in one sitting, in a stupor over its organic creamy, eggy, custardy goodness. It's one of a few beverages I do not think is improved with the addition of alcohol.

6. Favorite gift received as a child? It's a toss-up between the Fisher Price cash register with the big plastic colored "coins" that rolled out when you cashed out a sale, and the pink gingham jewelry/music box with the tiny plastic ballerina inside that twirled when the music played. I enjoyed both of those well past the age-appropriate time.

7. Do you have a nativity scene? Not unless you count the polyresin blob that plays "Silent Night" and shows the Holy Family in bas-relief. There's a plastic disk attached to the back, with gold stars painted on it, that you spin to make the music play, so it looks like there are "stars" in the "sky" above the nativity scene. The disk also has a red arrow, which will not come off, indicating which way to spin it. It was a wedding gift. For my October wedding.

8. Worst Christmas gift you ever received? Probably the engagement ring from my boyfriend when I was 16. That one could have ended with me being a Trailer Park Queen by age 19. For the worst Christmasy gift given for another occasion, see #7.

9. Mail or e-mail Christmas cards? Mail, although I'm much worse about that than I used to be. I have boxes of unsent cards to serve as evidence of my good intentions.

10. Favorite Christmas movie? A tie, between "A Christmas Story" and "Bad Santa." I giggle the entire way through both of them.

11. When do you start shopping for Christmas? This year was early--the first week of December. I do the bulk of it around the 22nd and 23rd, though.

12. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? For breakfast? My favorite thing is the summer-sausage-and-cheese tray we always have on Christmas Eve. I don't eat much meat, but I will beat family members away from a stick of summer sausage given half a chance. For breakfast--homemade cookies!!

13. Clear lights or colored? The old-fashioned big ole gaudy colored ones (C7 bulbs). Nothing matches their sheer festiveness.

14. Favorite Christmas song? "A Christmas Song," by Nat King Cole. It was my mother's favorite, and my sister and I still sing it, loudly and off-key, while we're doing our Christmas baking.

A close second is the story of Christ's birth from the book of Luke. We sang that every year in the Christmas Eve program at my Lutheran school/church. It's a tricky song for grade-schoolers and we'd start practicing it in October, sometime after we got done celebrating the Reformation. I still know all the words, having sung it countless times from grades K-8. "And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Au-GUS-tus...that....all the world...should be taxed...." There's a couple of really high notes when the angels tell the shepherds to "FEAR not! For be-HOOOOOLD!" Ask me sometime, I'll sing it for you. Really!

Favorite modern Christmas song: "Lloyd the Reindeer" by Otis Gibbs. I listen to it year-round.

15. Travel at Christmas or stay at home? Travel, to Southern Indiana. Christmas Eve is the one mandatory family holiday. One day I hope to put a new furnace in the farmhouse so we can have Christmas in its rightful place again.

16. Can you name all of Santa's reindeer? Is Sneezy a reindeer?

17. Angel or star on the top of your tree? Angel.

18. Open your presents Christmas Eve or Christmas morning? Christmas Eve, although my siblings and I don't really do much in the way of gifts anymore--a bottle of wine, a nice candle. My sister and I get each other additional gifts, which we open on Christmas morning.

19. Most annoying thing about this time of year? Work. It gets in the way of me properly preparing for Christmas.

20. What do you leave for Santa? Some dog fur under the tree.

21. Least favorite holiday song? Any of those melodramatic modern easy-listening supposed-to-be-tearjerkers involving the Christmas star falling from the sky and landing in a child's eye or some shit like that.

22. Do you decorate your tree with any specific theme or color? All of them at once.

23. Favorite ornament? The little ceramic reindeer with my mom's name on it. It's still in a box at the farmhouse, waiting for the return of Christmas to its rightful place (see #15) and its placement in a position of prominence on the tree.

This is supposed to be where I "tag" seven other people, but to be honest, I'm kinda new to this whole blogging thing, and Nora's already answered and tagged most of the blogs I read. So I'm flaking out on this one. Maybe next year!

Trust me, I'm a professional

What the hell is up with all these people wanting me to do actual WORK the week before Christmas?

Unfortunately, the quality of work turned in to those who run the word mills was set at 8 a.m. Monday morning, during an interview for a profile of a local sandwich shop.

This particular sandwich shop is open till 4 a.m. on weekends, nestled as it is among abso-fucking-lutely horrendous clubs with words like "monkey" and "sharks" and "shaft" and "beaver" in their names. The owner regaled me with a tale of a customer who, in a misguided, alcohol-fueled, late-night attempt to draw in more patrons, lifted up her skirt in the middle of the sandwich shop, removed her unmentionables, and placed them on the banana tree on the counter.

The owner, being the respectable AARP member he is, couched the tale in euphemisms and giggled whispers. We laughed. He then began telling me about an annual competitive-eating contest the restaurant stages to raise money for a worthy charity--none of which has anything to do with drunken whores hanging panties on banana trees.

"Did you like that segue?" he asked. "From the banana tree to..."

In a display of unjournalistic rudeness, I finished the sentence for him, eyebrows raised, smirk on my face. "To pickle-eating?"

I reached into the air to grab the words as they left my mouth, to no avail.

His eyes widened, he began laughing nervously..."no, no, don't go there..." Which, of course, I already had. And while that would have been the time to apologize profusely and blush in mock demureness, that is not what I did.

Instead, I offered, "And this is just on coffee--you should see me after a couple of drinks!"

The journalism profession is filled with courageous individuals who expose government coverups, report from war zones, ferret out corporate corruption. Today, I say to them, "Yeah, but have you ever tried to salvage an interview after making an oral sex joke?"

Is that a Ritz or a saltine?

I got called a cracker this evening. While I was walking the dogs, down the street from my house.

Is that really still a valid racial slur? If so, what the fuck does it mean exactly?

Everytime I see a Cracker Barrel, I imagine the restaurant was built to house what must be the epitome of crackers. Maybe that's why I was so pissed. I am NOT a Cracker Barrel kind of person.

The girl must have been about 12 or 13 (ah...happy times of hormones, anger, and feelings of helplessness...I remember that age fondly). I threw out the baddest B.I.G. attitude I know how and said, "WHAT did you say?"

Her friend sold her out. "She called you a cracker."

"That's what I thought. You better watch that mouth!"

Honestly, it sounded more menacing than it reads. Really. Maybe. Probably not. My instinct was to add "you fucking bitch" to the end of it, but I figured someone should be the adult.

I hope it's Ritz. I really like those little peanut buttery ones.

why didn't I get one of these?

If I'd received one of these letters before my Halloween party, I could have been properly prepared for Bob Sanders' visit, and saved myself a lot of grief. Thanks to Flipside Sports for its outstanding coverage. The story doesn't say anything about hiding your wine, but then again, that was probably unnecessary for an elementary school visit.

And yes, I did feed him popcorn when he stopped by a few weeks ago. Big mistake.

"the (miniature) glow of electric sex"

To reward myself for starting my Christmas shopping early (Dec. 5), I bought myself a present.

As a bonus, I walked into the Indiana History Center gift shop just in time to watch the arrival of the leg lamp on the A Christmas Story continuous loop, complete with Ralphie trying to feel up the leg.

This is going to be the best holiday season EVER! I can just feel it! (Cue ominous foreshadowing music.)

It snowed this much...

...by 8 a.m. this morning.

Not quite enough to hitch the dogs up to my sled and try to get them to pull me down my street (it's not as if that worked last year, anyway), but it's a good start.

Yay, snow!