Tag Archives: I do so celebrate Christmas

The Ducks

According to my computer it is December 26 already and therefore I guess it is safe to talk about why I STILL insist on not wishing strangers Marry Christmas in the U.S. unless I am absolutely certain that they celebrate Christmas: Because Christmas in the U.S. remains a religious holiday.

One’d thought that Christians in this country would be happy and proud that their holiday, the holiday celebrating the birth of the person of whom their religion is the namesake has not gone completely secular despite all the gross commercialization that’s going on.

Although I personally have no problem when strangers wish me a Merry Christmas (and I will wish them the same too), I do not care to assume that everyone I meet in the U.S. is Christian. Of course I know that the “wishing you a Merry Christmas” comes from good will, and it is much appreciated. Nevertheless, the “assumptions” implied in the greeting bother me especially since people simply take it for granted and don’t even realize that they are making assumptions.

[Digression] The irony is? If I were in Taiwan, I would have had no problem wishing anybody Merry Christmas because over there Christmas means Santa Claus, Reindeer, Snowman, Christmas trees, poinsettias, Christmas lights, catchy Christmas music, a great excuse for college students to host parties, a rare opportunity to exchange gifts (vs. cold hard cash in red envelopes <– how mundane & boring) It is an unofficial holiday to celebrate the spirit of giving. Who am I kidding. It is the spirit of spending & shopping that’s being observed…

Christmas in Taipei We do it better

I hung up the phone with a customer service rep two days before Christmas and turned to my husband who’d just come back from mass with his mother and our two boys.

“Wow. The rep just wished me a Merry Christmas. I’d say he took a gamble when he said that because how’d he know that I celebrate Christmas?”

My husband raised his eyebrows. “You know. The nice thing to say when people wish you a Merry Christmas…”

“Is to say thank you and Merry Christmas to you too. Yes I know that. Christmas to me is more or less a secular holiday, and I don’t mind celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ because it does not matter to me either way. I am happy for you guys. I am agnostic. I believe in everything.” I raised my eyebrows back at him.

“In the homily today,” he started, “the priest told us a story about ducks. Some guy was in his house during a snowstorm and he heard loud thumping on his windows. He looked and saw a bunch of ducks hitting his window – they’re trying to come inside the house but they could not tell that there’s glass. So the man went outside to open the doors to his barn next to the house, thinking that it would be a suitable shelter for those ducks. However, no matter how hard he tried, shooing them, waving at them, luring them with food, he could not get those ducks to stop hitting the window and change their course towards the barn. He realized that he’d have to wait for the ducks to find their way to the barn on their own.”

He looked at me triumphantly, fully satisfied with his success of being a contrarian. Argument for argument’s sake.

“Hmmm.” I took a deep breath. “That is offensive.”

“Why? I am merely saying that you will find your way on your own.”

“It’s offensive because you are assuming that I am LOST and have to find my way somewhere. I am not lost. I am happy where I am. I don’t need to find my way into the church or whatever. Hey, wait a minute. Were you trying to convert me?! I thought Catholics do not proselytize?! What the fuck?!” I protested loudly, in front of his decidedly un-religious brother too, nonetheless.

My husband grinned sheepishly, with the look of someone who just said something he did not intend to mean and got called out, “Well… Maybe the barn is not religion. Or church. Maybe the barn just means happiness in life. That you will find happiness in life on your own…”

“Hmm. Yeah right. The ducks my ass. Seriously what the fuck dude?” I walked out the room, still annoyed because I was unable to explain clearly WHY the story of the ducks is presumptuous and offensive when told to someone who does not wish to and need not be converted.

Later when the three of us were driving to a bar, the subject of ducks came up and we started teasing my husband about our “interesting” discussion earlier.

“Oh come on. I am never going to live this down, am I?”

“You know.” it dawned on me, “Here’s why I find the story of the ducks offensive. It’s like if I simply say ‘I forgive you’ and then walk away. ‘I forgive you’ predicates that you’ve done something wrong that needs to be forgiven. It is grossly unfair, isn’t it?”

I don’t know how to end this post so let me share this idea with you: “I forgive you.” would be a great epitaph.

Merry Christmas dear, and oh by the way…

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Santa is not real.

I am worried that I may have ruined my son’s childhood. On Christmas eve nonetheless. Before he went to bed full of anticipation for Christmas morning, I decided to tell him THE Truth.

Well, I did not really decide per se.

He turned 9 this year and he’s always known that Easter Bunny is not real because, well, he is not a fucking idiot. He had suspected for a long time that tooth fairy is also not real so he went CSI on us: When he lost one of his teeth, he did not tell us. In the morning he came to the side of my bed, showed me his tooth, and said, “See. I put this under my pillow and it is still here this morning. I know tooth fairy is not real. This proves that YOU are the tooth fairy because I did NOT tell you about the tooth.”

Fine by me. I actually feel relieved because to prolong the lie as they grow older, the mechanism that goes into putting up the show becomes more elaborate, and then it goes from a harmless childhood tradition to full-blown deceit. When I heard about people that left footprints in the backyard, cracked the window open, sprinkled ashes by the fire place or reindeer droppings in the front lawn, I cringed. How much is too much?

At some point the child becomes old enough to just know and though it is not discussed, tooth fairy will simply stop visiting. At least that was how it went with my oldest boy.

With my youngest, Mr. Monk, it has been a completely different experience. He really wants to believe in the magic despite the contradictions he himself acknowledges. Throughout this year, he’s been hinting that he’s ready to let Santa go. Or rather, he knows that we the parents are Santa all along, “Just like the tooth fairy.” But he has never come right out and said, “Santa is not real.”

When my mother-in-law called me to confirm that Mr. Monk no longer believes in Santa, therefore we do not need to “do the Santa thing”, I said, “Sure. He’s outgrown it already.” All the presents were wrapped and labeled, and none of them were from Santa. Then when Mr. Monk and Grandma were making Christmas cookies, he said, “Remember to leave a cookie out for Santa.” With all the sincerity and conviction of a young child. My heart skipped a beat.

After the Christmas eve party, when we were trying to get him and his cousin to go to bed, the two of them begged for a cookie for Santa. And a glass of milk.

“Are you sure about this? Is Santa coming tonight?”

“Mom, you forgot? Santa is coming and he will eat the cookie and drink the milk just like he did every year.”

Never mind that my husband was always the one that volunteered to be Santa by taking a big bite out of the Christmas cookie, finishing the milk, and for good measure, leaving a crumpled napkin on the table.

My niece does not believe in Santa. She knows that Santa is not real because that’s the way her parents decide to bring her up. They have been kind enough to play along, and every year, my mother-in-law would prepare a present from Santa for my niece just to be convincing. I looked at her enthusiasm and excitement as she and Mr. Monk prepared the cookie and milk and the accompanying note for Santa, and realized that for a child sometimes knowing something is not real is different from wanting to believe in that something.

When I put the kids to bed on Christmas eve, I whispered to my oldest, “Do you think Mr. Monk still believes in Santa?”

“I think he knows. He just does not want to admit it…” He turned around and asked his brother, “Hey, ____, do you think you will get anything from Santa tomorrow morning?”

“Of course!”

“How do you think Santa is going to get here?”

“On his sleigh. Pulled by his reindeer of course.”

After a prolonged dance around the touchy subject aka beating about the bush, finally my oldest sighed, “This is like that saying ‘How do you find out a bomb really works?’ Don’t make me ask you that question that if I ask you you are going to know…”

“Just make the big presents the Santa presents.” All of a sudden Mr. Monk said.

“No. Make the small things the Santa presents.” My oldest countered, “Otherwise you never get to thank mom and dad for the big presents.”

“No. I want the big presents to be from Santa.” Mr. Monk protested.

“This settles it then.” I thought, “He knows the truth.” Feeling relieved, I said to my oldest, “So, [Oldest Boy], do you want a Santa present too?”

All of a sudden, Mr. Monk’s face fell and he pulled the blanket above and over his head, visibly upset. “Do you have to tell me this on Christmas eve? Can’t you wait until the day after?”

WHAT HAVE I DONE?

“Do you have to ruin my childhood? And on Christmas eve?”

SIGH. KILL ME NOW. Not sure though whether I’m more disturbed by how I potentially single-handed ruined his childhood or by how he sounded just like me, a master of guilt-trip…

Yes I know. I am the worst, most evil mother in the whole world. Oy ve.

“Hey, it’s better you know now. Do you really want some old creepy fat guy crawling around your house and watching you while you’re sleeping?” My oldest intervened. This made Mr. Monk laugh and we once again skipped the subject at hand.

After a long while he stopped alternating between sobbing and laughing at his big brother’s antics and finally fell asleep. I went downstairs, pulled out three presents from under the Christmas tree, rewrapped them in the special wrapping paper reserved for “Santa gifts”, and slapped a sticker on each of them that said “From Santa”…

Tis the Season to be Jolly

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Tra la la la la la la la la.

Don we now our gay apparel

Fa la la la la la la la la.

Gay apparel as in holiday parties. Of course. Tis the season of office holiday parties where alliances are formed, enemies are made, and by the end of night, everybody is drunk enough to tell the person whom you absolutely hate when sober, “I love you. Seriously, man. You. are. the. best!”

New York Magazine is kind enough to give us a guide on “How Drunk Can You Get at Your Office Holiday Party” with a handy dandy ~~notebook~~ printable guide that you can tuck into your bra and bring with you. Better remember to check on it though while you are still sober enough to read it in the bathroom stall because any good office holiday party will not have adequate lighting for reading. Duh.

Cog in the machine, while suffers in silence the rest of the 364 days, gets to have the MOST FUN EVER at the office party. “I hate my job so much I don’t even fucking care any more.” That’s the attitude that will get you through the night!

I’ve told you that I get typecast all the time, right? Well, it happened again. A friend of mine Facebook-tagged me:

CHRISTMAS OFFICE PARTY– Use the first 10 people on your friends list. Don’t Cheat:

Running around topless singing Jingle Bells:
Spiked the punch then drank most of it :
Dancing on the desk singing “Can’t Touch this”:
… Has Rolodex making prank calls:
Spinning around in office chair screaming:
Locked in the bathroom hugging the toilet:
Passed out under their desk:
Sitting on copier making Christmas cards:
Throwing fruitcake at people outside:
Playing spin the bottle with cleaning crew:

Guess where my name fell? Yup. The first one. I just don’t think it will ever happen because I cannot sing worth a damn.

Also? I just survived our mega office holiday party last week and I’ll have you know that I kept my clothes on the whole night. And I did not spill any drink. Woohoo! WIN!

The sad truth is I could not have gotten hammered even if I wanted to. The OPEN bar? Was not really open. They only served beer and wine. INCONCEIVABLE. ikr?! So the whole night I kept on going from the 5th floor to the bar at the hotel lobby to get my own drink on. Yes, my dear Internet, I paid for my own premium vodka at an office party with an open bar. I had four with a heavy pour and I woke up with NO hangover and NO headache whatsoever. Win? WIN!

Despite the open bar not being really open, I had a lot of fun at the party talking to random people, including coworkers whom I had never actually spoken to until that night and their wives, my boss, his wife, his boss, his boss’s wife, someone else’s bosses, someone else’s bosses’ wives, etc etc etc. Problem is? I kept on thinking, “The missis must be really really bored. Probably want to poke their eyes out with a fork if they have to face another forced conversation. Quick. Let me say something genuinely funny to amuse them.”

At one point, I offered one of the missis to beat up her husband for her. I guess I am not going to get a promotion, again.

I also told a coworker whom I had not really spoken to before until that night that I love his wife. Huh. I don’t think it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship between me and him…

But the BEST part of the night? I finally got a picture taken of me in which I do not have ginormous fat arms that look like they are about the size of my torso.

Finally. A picture of me with NO fat arms. Yeah! This goes to prove that lighting is everything.

This heavily cropped picture somehow focuses on the cruel fact “Where the fuck did my waist go?” Oh hell. I will be happy with the NO fat arm for now. At least I am not making my friend look like she’s naked…

It's that horrifying moment when your friend's "fat arm" makes you look naked...

p.s. Yes. YES! I confess. I wrote this post just so I could post this picture. You are welcome. And if you spill anything on your clothes, take them off, take a nekkid picture, send that and the dry cleaning bill to moi. xxoo

Seriously people: No Christmas decorations or music yet. Bring Back Thanksgiving!!!

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I first published this post in 2009 and reposted it in November 2010. Every year, as early as towards the end of October, I found myself aghast coming face to face with Christmas merchandise and sometimes even MUSIC when the leaves are still sporting brilliant red and yellow.

Seriously? What the F people?

What about Thanksgiving? You know, the quintessential American holiday? The way I see it, FAUX NEWS should be carrying this “Bring Thanksgiving Back” flag if they talk about being the TRUE Americans all the fucking damn time.

The following is my now annual (so it seems *sigh*) tirade against the demise of the significance of Thanksgiving in the face of overwhelming commercialism…

Yeah tirade! Aren’t you glad that I am back in more ways than one?!

I started campaigning for a forced postponement, a temporary deferral, of celebrating Christmas until AFTER Thanksgiving Day ~~four~~ ~~five~~ six years ago. I even registered for the domain name: BringBackThanksgiving.com (which is still available… I am sad to confirm… Any takers?) I stopped paying for it after two years when I realized that with a full time job and three boys to take care of, I simply did not have the capacity to deal with Microsoft FrontPage. (Yikes. Do you remember the days, the days before Blogger, WordPress, etc. when one had to use a software such as FrontPage in order to have one’s own website? *shudder*)

“Curb your enthusiasm!” I beseech you. “As you recover from the sugar high from all the Halloween candies. As you dispose of the spider webs, the goblins, the mummy tombs, the rotten carved pumpkins.”

Please, oh, please don’t switch directly from Orange and Black to Red and Green. However tempting it is when you move all the Halloween boxes down to your basement and see all the Christmas boxes beckoning at you. The smiling Santa with the chubby cheeks. The snowman. The reindeer. Resist the temptation: Didn’t Jesus die on the cross partly to teach us this lesson? Be strong for the sake of your children.

The children need you to show them that, Yes, you believe in the meaning and significance of Thanksgiving Day. Yes, it is important that we take one day out to deliberately remember and show gratitude to all the people who add meanings to our lives, to all the material goods that we are blessed enough to own. To strangers who give you a smile in the street and thus brighten your day. To strangers who by merely doing their jobs are making the world a better, safer place.

My heart aches upon seeing houses adorned with Christmas lights right after, sometimes even before, Halloween. Of course I am not intimating that the homeowners are therefore not thankful. No siree. I am simply dismayed that the significance of Thanksgiving, the arguably ONE holiday that we should all be able to agree on and celebrate, is undermined sandwiched between Halloween and Christmas.

(I admit: I may be putting my foot in my mouth by saying this. I have no clear idea how the native Americans take this holiday though I suspect there must be a lot of conflicting feelings. Do they sometimes wish that Squanto were not so kind as to assist the pilgrims? FWIW, by reading “Thanksgiving: A Native American View” and “Teaching About Thanksgiving“, I am convinced that Thanksgiving is indeed deeper and bigger than just the Pilgrims and the Indians… I hope I do not offend should anyone of Native American descent stops by this post…)

I blame the turkey.

You heard me right. It is the turkey’s fault. In terms of merchandising, turkeys are just not as attractive as say, bunnies, chicks, Santa Clause, snowman, reindeer, and so on. I have not seen any child hugging a plush Turkey toy lovingly.

turkey

To be honest, that red thing hanging down the throat freaks me out. Pardon me for being crass, but it always reminds me of testicles. I don’t know why. But it does.

Many, especially Hallmark (bless their heart!), have tried to turn the turkey into an adorable icon: but seriously, how adorable can you make a turkey?

Turkey for eating

Even more sickening is that in these cutesy depictions of turkeys, they are all forced to celebrate the event in which they will be slaughtered, cooked and eaten! The abomination!

No cute icons, no easy way for merchandising. No easy way for merchandising, no rampant commidification of Thanksgiving. No rampant commidification of Thanksgiving, no shelf space at your local drugstores and grocery stores.

(I am grateful for no longer being in the academia which affords me the opportunity to posit theories full of holes and preaches them on the Internet with no qualms… I am like Glenn Beck on an anti-Turkey path…)

But with your help, we can stem the tide. We can start it from inside of our homes.

Perhaps we can all start a tradition of having each one of the family members mention one thing that they are grateful for, every day, in the month of November. No matter how small or how trivial.

Perhaps we can start a quiet movement to resist the Red and Green color scheme from popping up inside of our own houses. Until the day after Thanksgiving.

On the morning of November 26 this year (because November 25, Black Friday, is reserved for Competitive Shopping, or most likely, nursing a stomach ache and hangover headache), I am moving up the Christmas Tree from our basement first thing in the morning. I am really looking forward to it. And to optimize my effort of transforming my house into a winter wonderland for Christmas, I shall keep the decorations up until after Valentine’s day. Thank goodness for the lllloooonnnngggg winter here. That is, of course, until one of you starts a campaign for bringing back Valentine’s Day…

Procrastinating

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It is 3:50 am.

I am a night owl.

I think I am so by necessity: when I was in high school, it was necessary to stay up and “burn the midnight oil” so to speak in order to deal with all the tests and homework that Asian countries are so famous for; in college, I stayed up because drinking and shooting breeze while sitting on the curb in the middle of the night was all kinds of awesome; in grad school, I stayed up because I lived in a dorm room that was just wide enough for the pullout bed and therefore I stayed out of it as late as possible so I would not be swallowed up by the monster of loneliness; now I stay up because the wee hours are the only time that is my time. Quiet time. MINE. I can enjoy being with myself, the quiet inside my head.

I realized one of the reasons I love Christmas so much is because during this time, the soft glow from the Christmas tree keeps me company when I putter around the house. It is simply magical. In the glowing light, even folding the laundry is fun.

Yes I said that.

Indeed, a lot of things are more fun when I can take my time doing it, in complete silence, without being needed.

I am hoping this list of things includes packing because our flight is this morning and I have not even started packing yet. I have been doing everything else but that. But of course, with all this NOT PACKING, I failed to follow the Lunar Eclipse. But I made it up by watching this video a few times while giggling to myself. In the dark. In the soft glow cast by the tree yonder…

Total Eclipse of the Heart: Literal Video Version

Outside is covered in a nice thick layer of fresh snow. Inside is warm and dark except the tree. It is perfect and I wish it would last, that I could continue to not pack.

4:15 am now.

Off to fold the laundry.

Sundays in My City – So This is Christmas

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The Walnut Room at Macy's

Outside of Macy's

The landmark Marshall Field's Clock

Christkindlmarket: Old-world style German Christmas Market right in the center of Chicago

“Incongruity Detected”

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“Incongruity Detected” is a term I learned from this laugh-out-funny post from Hyperbole and a Half, the girl with the indomitable spirit who makes hilarious illustrations for her blog posts with MS Paint. That post of hers is titled “Expectations vs. Reality“.

Oh boy, did that post strike a cord within the deepest recess of my being.

Sometimes I think I come off as Unnecessarily Humble because I am an ultimate narcissist: I am so awesome that I can afford to show humility of a pathological degree.

Yeah. That.

You see, inside my head, I live a different life than reality. It’s like I have my own personal Matrix.

I watch people dance on TV or in the movies, I visualize myself doing the exact same graceful movements. I tap my feet. I sway my upper body (’cause I am a Couch Dancer). I’ve got rhythm. I get so swept away by my mental image that I am convinced IF I stand up now I’ll be able to do JUST THAT.

It’s the same with singing. Inside my head, not only could I sing I’ll Always Love you, I could carry that high note to the very end. I stopped believing in that when I actually opened my mouth once and lived with a sore throat (= strained vocal cord muscle) for the next three days. Ok, admittedly I am not Whitney Houston. But I can sing like Eartha Kitt, inside my head. Low. Husky. Raspy. Yes, inside my head I have a low, husky and raspy voice. I mean, if I have trouble hitting the high notes, it has got to be because I have a husky voice, right? There is no other explanation. By the way, since we are going down this road, let me just point out that inside my head, I can also slink across the piano like Eartha Kitt. Oozing seduction.

I can if I just try.

So when Neil over at Citizen of the Month announced the Fifth Annual Blogger Christmalhijrahanukwanzaakah Online Holiday Concert, I thought I’d just go ahead and perform one of my favorite Christmas songs, Santa Baby. I even used the Web Cam… The result?

Incongruity Detected.

Fine. I cannot be sexy and seductive like Eartha Kitt. You know, sometimes inside my head I can sing like Zooey Deschanel. Ok. I thought I’d change the plan and sing one of my favorite winter-themed songs, Baby It’s Cold Outside. Leon Redbone has such a low and resonant voice, next to him, inside my head, I sound absolutely dainty and innocent and adorable.

So if you ever wonder what happened to me: I don’t write. I don’t read your posts. I don’t comment. I don’t visit. I don’t even reply to your comments on my own friggin’ blog. I was consumed in an epic battle between Reality and Fantasy.

I waited every night until the kids were asleep. I sang. Again and again. I tried singing in the bathroom to get the acoustics going. I stole the microphone from Wii to see whether it would make a difference. I used the toy “microphone amplifier” that we got for $1 at Target. I sang standing up. I sang sitting down. I drank hot tea incessantly to calm my overworked throat (yeah, I was not doing it right I know). I needed to pee every five minutes as a result. I did not go to bed until after 3 am for at least three nights in a row.

I ended up recording myself singing the same song on my iPhone 50+ times.

Incongruity Detected. Every single friggin’ time.

Finally after midnight on the day of the submission deadline, I was so exhausted, actually falling asleep when I was listening to the playbacks, I had to make a judgement call and come to grip with reality: Ain’t gonna sound like Zooey Deschanel. Better cut my losses and be done with it.

So here it is, despite the Incongruity Detected (and I figure that you don’t care since you are not inside my head), for your viewing pleasure (oh, yes, I added visual goodies to make my singing bearable. Hint: Think “Cold. Pussy.”): My performance at the Fifth Annual Blogger Christmalhijrahanukwanzaakah Online Holiday Concert.

Why, you ask, do I wish to humiliate myself if I am so devastated by the Incongruity Detected?

Eh. Please see Paragraph 3.

Please do check out the actual concert, especially since Elly @ BugginWord (another girl with the indomitable spirit) performed at the concert too!

My thanks to A Vapid Blonde, 20 Prospect, Tomatoes on the Vine, and Laura @ Hey What’s For Dinner Mom for providing pictures that without a doubt are improving the sales of hot chocolate.