Ah, Christmastime! Usually my least favorite time of year, I have somehow managed (by surrounding myself with only the best of friends) to survive yet another year without even the slightest inclination to off myself.
Last year, I owed great thanks to my friend Sparky, who stayed with me at the Portofino Hotel in Redondo Beach, rode bicycles with me, and even helped to decorate the lamp in our room with my lacey panties and hoop earrings. We added even more Yuletide joy or whatever it's called by buying eachother one wrapped gift each, to be opened on Christmas morning.
When faced with what to buy Sparky, I was at a loss. At first. Sparky and I had spent a lot of time apart. At the time, I was still living in Nashville, and he was living in Los Angeles. We spoke regularly, but hadn't spent enough time near one another to observe what the other person really wanted, really needed. Fortunately, on our first night back together in California, we shared more than a good laugh at the expense of a mutual friend.
Seems a girl we both know, and she will MOST DEFINITELY REMAIN NAMELESS, had recently been cheated on and dumped. Now, this girl, unlike a lot of our cohorts, was pretty respectable. She held down a good job, stayed in communication with her family, and even had most of her coworkers and relatives as friends on Facebook. So it came as a pretty big shock when she posted a picture of herself, covered in what we can only assume was JIZ, SEMEN, SPLOOGE, whatever you want to call it, covering HER FACE with the caption,
"I can cheat too."
Where some people would be horrified, Sparky and I found this morbidly hysterical. I mean, what the hell was she thinking? We were both so shocked that we laughed, and laughed. Crying tears of WTF and giggling til' our bellies ached.
So when I really put my mind to it, I came up with the right gift for Sparky.
I marched my butt right over to the nearest Build-a-Bear, and set out to make an I CAN CHEAT TOO themed fuzzy friend to keep Sparky warm at night. The only problem was, it was Christmas Eve. Build-a-Bear was packed! I don't mind waiting in line, but these days, if you want to put a recorded message into the paw of your Build-a-Bear, you have to shout the message loudly, into a large Juke-Box lokking thingie in the middle of the store.
Kids were everywhere, spinning in circles and rubbing the little sateen hearts that would later be stuffed into their respective toy bears or My-Little-Ponies. Parents were also everywhere. Burned out on the holidays and visably frustrated.
Then there was me. Yelling angrily at the top of my lungs (to drown out the background noise) at this Juke-Box recording thing,
"I CAN CHEAT TOO!" I screamed again and again, unable to get a good recording at first.
The bear hadn't yet been splattered (with White-Out, at the nearest FedEx store, which was also a spectacle) but none of the people working at Build-a-Bear seemed impressed. Obviously neither were the parents. Either way, the message was successfully recorded--only at the cost of my dignity--and the bear was a smash hit!
When I opened Sparky's present to me, what stood out the most was the similarity in our choices:
So this year, when Sparky and I met up again for our new Holiday tradition of exchanging gifts, I was not at all surprised when both of our cards to one another expressed interest in similar goals. We agreed, almost identically that 2016 would be a year spent:
1.) Working on our careers
2.) Fat-Shaming more people
3.) Kidnapping Adele and starving her
It's good to know that at Christmastime, Sparky and I will always be on the same wavelength. I mean, literally, our cards this year to one another were almost identical. Also our gifts were both creepy things to hang on our walls. I got Sparky a weird picture of a man on lithium, squishing his cat. Sparky got me a decaying brass baby head, to hang in my kitchen.
After our gift-exchange, Sparky and I decided to go to lunch. It was a little cold, but we live in California, dammit, so we agreed to go to Santa Monica for some beachy-vibes. We ate at a diner called Izzy's, just a laid back over-stuffed sandwiches kind of place, and I made the mistake of eating a Patty Melt. (I am a loose vegetarian, but a Patty Melt is way outside of my comfort zone.) Sparky got an over-stuffed Corned Beef. We ate, we observed, we judged.
To our right was a man who carried in a large--as in like, an oven-sized--cardboard box. He sat it in the aisle of the already crowded diner. It was not only inconsiderate, but it was mind-boggling. What was in the box?!
I had just re-watched Seven the night before and joked, "Maybe it's Gwyneth's Paltrow's head. That's why it's so big?"
I could have reached over and opened it, but instead, Sparky and I pondered what could be inside. The man with the box had arrived with an entire family. Why bring the box inside? Why not leave it in the car? Did they all take an Uber? It was barely 1 o'clock, they couldn't have been drunk, could they? The box had LAX tags and stickers all over it. Was this his suitcase? He didn't look poor. Why not just use a suitcase?
"It's probably full of clothes. Or presents," I told Sparky.
"What if it's full of DILDOS?" Sparky whispered back.
"I got each of you a dildo for Christmas," Sparky added, "And 36 for MYSELF!" We laughed and laughed. Another part of our new Christmas tradition.
After the diner, and a little pick me up from Starbucks, Sparky and I walked toward the beach. With each (rare) open business we passed, I thought to myself...I may...need...to poop. It didn't seem like an emergency, but as we passed more and more businesses closed for the holiday, I thought it was important enough to bring up.
"I may need to use a ladies' room. Not right now, but maybe very soon. I can't quite tell." The look on Sparky's face mirrored my own sentiments. We both had to poop. But we couldn't tell if it was BAD. Yet.
Another five minutes into our walk and the situation had...intensified. Both Sparky and I had gone from maybe needing to poop, to needing to poop ALONE. IN A PRIVATE STALL. NO NEGOTIATIONS. Practically the only thing open was Starbucks, and our first stop at the worst Startbucks ever--right in the heart of Santa Monica's touristy shopping district--was of course packed. There was one bathroom and 10 people waiting. I was going to literally shit my skirt.
We fled from the hubbub of that spectacle, pushing our way through the crowd. We thought surely we could find another. Blocks passed. My pooping-pangs went from intense, to not-so-bad right back to putting the DIRE in diarrhea. At one point I asked to duck into an alley, JUST IN CASE. But being the lucky girl I am, at the end of that alley was a major intersection, complete with a Vons grocery store with NOT ONE BUT TWO private stalls. Hallelujah I didn't shit myself in an alley! It was a Christmas MIRACLE.
What happened inside the Vons was not a miracle. I will describe the events using only the images Sparky found for me:
First this
Then this
And finally...
I told him mine went very much like this:
WE NEED TO GO!
I asked Sparky, after we exited the restrooms, if he felt better.
"More like I feel worse. About myself as a person." He looked so ashamed, but still laughed.
"I just don't know...how it went the places it went. It was like pee-poop," I added, "I feel like I just shit like a homeless person."
We returned to our homes to take our respective showers. Then it was time to party at my place!
Now, I haven't lived in California for long. But I am proud to say that I think I hosted a perfectly lovely Christmas party. I had a handful of guests, my boyfriend made a lovely dinner, and I took enough anti-diarrheal medications to have plenty to drink without shitting my skirt. So I'm calling it a win. Sure I fell down a lot, and there's humiliating video online about it, but we will get to that later.
I was still burping up my Patty Melt between cocktails, and for some reason I kept lying to everyone when they asked me what I had eaten that made me so sick.
"Ohhh, just a grilled cheese with tomato," I would tell them.
I guess I was ashamed for eating meat? It's not like me to lie, especially out of shame. But that's what happened. So guys, if you're reading this? I almost shit my skirt because I ate a burger. Not a fucking grilled cheese with tomato.
My lovely guests were perectly lovely. I had two close girlfriends come by, gifts and booze in hand, which was such a nice change from my drunken Nashville pals who always show up thirsty and empty handed. For about 3 hours, it was almost a classy affair. A coworker stopped by, and we photographed him in an attempt to make him a Match.com profile. We even worked together to create our own Christmas song, based on one of my guests' unfortunate love life.
By the time we had gotten the whole thing written, I was three, no six sheets to the wind. I would like to prefeace this video with I CAN DO BETTER. In fact, next year, maybe I will. Still, here is me attempting to perform the 12 Dating days of XXXMas. I have also put the lyrics below, because actually, they're quite funny, and I slur so much who knows what the hell I'm saying.
The 12 Dating Days of XXXMas
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On the first day of Christmas, OkCupid gave to me...a hippie in an RV.
On the second day of Christmas, Match.com gave to me...2 guys who accidentally married lesbians.
On the 3rd day of Christmas, Vegan Singles gave to me...three men who live on boats.
On the 4th day of Christmas, Christian Mingle gave to me...4 Seinfeld tattoos.
On the 5th day of Christmas, Plenty of Fish gave to me..a 5 year anniversary of a 52-50.
On the 6th day of Christmas, Farmers Only gave to me...6 stand-up cpmics (but zero funny jokes).
On the 7th day of Christmas, Green Singles gave to me..."Whatever, Whatever, life is beautiful."
On the 8th day of Christmas, J Date gave to me...8 feet of dreadlocks.
On the 9th day of Christmas, my 30th birthday gave to me...9 parrots swinging.
On the 10th day of Christmas, Spiritual Singles gave to me...10 ayahuasca trips.
On the 11th day of Christmas, the Farmer's Market gave to me...11 discounts on lettuce.
On the 12th day of Christmas, the bartender gave to me, 12 brussel sprouts and champagne.
(repeat a lot like in the original, and don't do it too drunk because lemme tell ya' IT IS A CHORE)
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The funny part, I guess, is that all of these stories are true. Sure we had to skew a number or two, but not by much. This girl really did go out with someone who took ayahuasca ten times. She really did bang a lettuce farmer. She even hung out with a hippie so nonchalant that even in the face of extreme loss could only say "Whatever, whatever. Life is beautiful." So I guess it's kind of a sad Christmas song, too. That, in my opinion makes it only more relatable. I mean, who doesn't find Christmas inheritely a little sad? You know makes me really sad? The guy with FOUR SEINFELD TATTOOS.
I don't care if I can't sing. Or talk properly. Or stand up. I'm calling this one a NEW CLASSIC. Ladies if you have had awkward dating stories, comment! I love them to pieces, and will add them to next years 12 Days of Dating whatever whatever life is beautiful.
Merry Christmas, Christians and Happy New Year Everybody. Happy Hannukah to my Jews and a blanket Happy Holidays if you celebrate one I missed. Mazel Tov, Namaste and drink more champagne! 2016!!!!!!