Auld Lang Syne

New Year's Eve is upon us.

Despite my need to differ as much as possible from public opinion, I have always considered New Year's Eve one of the most romantic holidays. I used to imagine how I'd celebrate NYE when I was younger, having spent all of my holidays with my mother. (I love my mom, but she's not exactly the person I want to make out with at midnight.)

I imagined being at a huge party with sparkly everything surrounding me. I could see the countdown to midnight, voices chanting three two one all around me until Auld Lang Syne indicated the end of the year. I hoped I would feel some kind of unfounded hope you can only feel when beginning a year with a fresh slate. Most importantly, I wanted to be with a person who loved me as much as I love him or her. 

The song "Cars and History" by Strays Don't Sleep perfectly encapsulates the collective hope associated with NYE:

 December 31st/11:59/I had to let it go/I had to let it slip/funny how it all works out when you're giving up on it

My expectations for NYE were always over-the-top and really kind of insane, so it's no wonder that I was disappointed year after year once I turned 18 and began spending the holiday away from my family. I basically ended up spending NYE at home watching television with a bottle of wine, which wasn't a terribly tragic way to celebrate but wasn't the most exciting either.

Last year was different. Boy was last year different. Last year, for the first time in my life, I had one of those NYE kisses you only see in romantic comedies. It was the first time Gideon and I ever went anywhere together. We weren't even dating, so I had little expectation for the night besides seeing a band.

For Christmas, I bought Gideon a ticket to see the Old 97's in Dallas at the House of Blues. He introduced me to the band, so it was a half-Christmas and half-thank you gift. The band was great. I could describe the performances. Considering one of the opening acts featured nudity and a spoken-word song about the perils of giving oral sex, I could describe them in such detail that you will be as repulsed and entertained as I was.

But I don't remember too much about the show. I do remember Gideon holding my hand and putting his arm around me the whole time. I remember the way he looked at me when Rhett Miller, the Old 97's lead singer, began counting down to midnight. Though Gideon and I had kissed before, I suddenly felt incredibly anxious about what would happen when Miller reached one.

He did. Gideon kissed me, and I realized that it is possible to feel one year transition into another. I just hadn't been with the right person to feel it until that moment. This isn't from the actual show, but I hope this video will give you some idea of the experience:

This year, we're in Orange Beach, Ala. with his family and we are dating. Everything has changed and, for the first time I can remember, I can pin-point when it did.

Happy New Year and all that. May this year be better than the last, or at least just as good. I went into 2014 trying to remain skeptical about all the good in my life lest it end abruptly. I'm going into 2015 knowing there is magic all around. I hope you do too.

A Sad Post to Wish You Happy Holidays!

The holidays are a joyful time for my small family, which consists of me, my mother and my nana. Though we saw each other fairly regularly when I was a child, there was always something special about coming together in a more formal way around Christmastime. Now that I'm dating Gideon and spending the holidays with his family too, it's more joyful than ever.

But the holidays can also be incredibly melancholy for us. I previously wrote about my grandfather's suicide and how difficult it is to deal with the subject of suicide, especially when it hits so close to home. I didn't write about how much it sucks to lose someone, no matter how the loss occurs. I didn't write about the empty feeling I get every father's day when I reach for the phone to call my grandfather before remembering that he isn't alive anymore.

One of my coworkers lost her mother about 10 years ago. We were talking about holiday plans last week, and she described the emptiness I've been feeling for 11 years without a pause. "The holidays are great because the family gets together," she said. "But it's never been the same since we lost Mom."

It's never been the same since we lost Papaw. It will never be the same. People say that time heals everything, and perhaps that's true about some subjects. It is definitely not true about this. Just because you're decades removed from something doesn't mean it hurts less.

 My family doesn't really talk about this, probably because we all feel such deep hurt that even touching the surface would cause everything to disintegrate. Sometimes I wish we did. I wish we could cry and comfort each other. I even wish that we could reminisce without feeling sudden, inescapable sadness. I wish that Papaw never died even more.

When I was 11 years old and he was dying slowly, I realized one day that we had limited time left with him. I looked at my mother, who has always been the pinnacle of strength, and saw how sad she looked. It was an expression I had never seen before, not just on her face but on anyone's.

Papaw isn't going to be there when I graduate from high school, I thought. He won't see me graduate from college and he will never meet the man I marry or the children we have together. 

I graduated from high school. I graduated from college. I have my first job now, and he hasn't been here for any of it. It has gotten easier to forget but it will never be easier to digest when I think about it.

For all of you struggling with this, I hope there's some solace in knowing you aren't alone. I'm trying to be thankful for all that I do have this year instead of mourning what I had to leave behind, though it isn't easy. I've got a supportive family, a kind boyfriend who does the dishes without being prompted and comes with an equally supportive family, a job I love and excel at, the best cat in the world and amazing friends who have supported me even when I was so insufferable that Ghandi would have bitch slapped me.

I have a lot to be happy about - way more good than bad. This Christmas, I want to focus on that as much as I can. The people in my life just make it that much easier.

If I don't post much before Christmas (because I will be working and then I will be eating copious amounts of food and travelling to Alabama for Gideon's family vacation) please have the best holiday possible. If you can't do that, at least drink a lot of Christmas-themed liquor for me.

Yes, I Would Like Some Cheese with that Whine

I am tired. I am stressed. I paid over double what I was supposed to on my first student loan payment because the literature they mailed me was unclear. This might have been a positive thing if not for the fact that I kind of need that money for the holidays for travel and for checking my car out and for food. And sure, my family might read this and offer me help but I have too much pride to accept it.

This post is so complainey that I'm not sharing it on any social media though I will post it because I feel like I post an abbreviated version of my life where everything is happy and since I am human I am not always happy. Today I am not happy.

I wish this writing was better. I wish I didn't come off so melodramatic right now. But hey, you'd be pretty fucking melodramatic too if you just spent $200 more than you needed to and if you woke up with a stress headache from hell.

They Shoot Bad Gift Givers, Don't They?

This is my first Christmas buying gifts for people I care about. (Not that I haven't bought gifts for people before, but then I used my mother's money. Now I'm using all that money I earned while sitting through three hour school board meetings and later reporting on them, so it means quite a bit more.) To put it humbly, I am great at the buying and the wrapping and the arranging under the tree part of gifting. See for yourself:

Gideon offered to help me with wrapping gifts but I kindly reminded him that I am much better at it.

The part of gifting I kind of suck at is waiting until Christmas to give the gifts away. I get so excited about gifting that I force people to open presents weeks in advance. If someone is so brazen as to reject my early offer, I tell them what's in the package anyway. Surprises are not my forte. I hate being surprised almost as much as I hate waiting to surprise people. I'm a patient person in nearly every other facet of my life, but when it comes to happy surprises I tend to sulk and whine until people give me hints or let me give them a gift early.

Friday afternoon, I received some of Gideon's gifts in the mail and hid them in our spare bedroom. Of course, this was after I showed him the wallet I bought him to affirm that it was sufficient while smirking and knowing it was definitely what he wanted. I just wanted him to see it before I wrapped it. I have a serious problem, guys.

Anyway, as he was leaving for work I told him that he didn't know what one of the three items under the tree was. He smiled and agreed with me. Then, just as he started to close the door, I screamed, "IT'S SHIRTS." 

His mother visited us Saturday, where I forced two pre-Christmas gifts on her and also ended up giving her  a flat iron I recently discovered in one of my boxes from college. It was hard to convince her to open a gift early, but once she agreed to my pleas, I Flo Jo'd it to the Christmas tree. (If you're wondering, the gift was a cookbook she lost in a house fire roughly a year ago. It was either that or...well, I can't say because she'll read this but IT WAS EARRINGS. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME.) 

To my credit, I come by this naturally. My mother has always had a hard time keeping surprises from me, often giving me gifts early. Last year, she asked if I wanted to exchange one gift on Christmas Eve before we opened everything with my nana. I agreed. After I opened the first gift, she asked me to open another. And another. And another. And another. Before I knew it, I had opened all the gifts under the tree and we both looked at each other thinking, "What have we done?"

Instead of telling Nana what we did, we carefully re-wrapped all the gifts and placed them under the tree. "Just act excited tomorrow," Mom told me. I was so impressively excited when opening gifts Christmas day that you could have mistaken me for an anime character. (I'm sorry if you're reading this, Nana, but you know we've got serious problems regarding waiting to open gifts. This should not surprise you.)

Sigh. I am terrible at surprises. If my mother is any indication, it will worsen with age. 

Sam's Sauna

When I'm tired, I get really weird. The past couple weeks have been so busy at work that I've been returning home later than normal and, in turn, have become a zombie version of myself. This zombie person often has strange ideas.

Last night, I had one of these ideas. I was taking a bath with lots of bubbles (I will forever reject bathing if it doesn't involve bubbles) and splashing around as I am wont to do. Gideon was in the kitchen rolling, cutting and baking Christmas cookies. I called out to him.

"What?" he called back.

"I should have a talk show in the bathtub! It could be called 'Sam's Sauna!' My guests would get in the bathtub with me." I added that we wouldn't be naked because that would be weird, but there would be lots of bubbles.

Then, for reasons I still do not understand, I launched into a Wendy Williams-esque monologue. "Today, folks, we are discussing VAJAZZZZZZZZLING! My guest knows a lot about vajazzling. She whispered to ghosts, she knows what you did last summer and she recently starred on The Client List. Everyone welcome Jennifer Love Hewitt! Come on out, girl! Get in this tub!"

Gideon was in the kitchen still and I couldn't hear or see him, but I'm almost certain he started questioning why he's dating a woman who creates her own talk show in the bathtub. Oh well. If he leaves, at least I'll have my imaginary talk show.

(If you're wondering, I did brainstorm other topics and I have many. These topics include: teen brides, dogs who talk to ghosts, fall fashion roundup, people with huge egos, which Home Shopping Network items are most/least useful and parents who date their child's friends.)

A Very Long Rant About Clickhole Sites, Feminism and Editors Who Can't Edit

Last night, I began ranting at Gideon at 7 p.m. and I didn't stop until 8:30 p.m. I rarely get seriously riled up about something, so I think it surprised him a little. In lieu of writing my whole rant here, I'm going to abbreviate the points in a list. It makes it easier for you to read and it makes me less angry to recall it. Really, we all win here.

• 7 p.m. - "I hate Buzzfeed! The titles on these lists are so pandering and stupid. Look at this! One of her posts is '23 People Who Definitely Have This Sexting Thing Down.' What is that? That's so dumb. The fact that she has to write 'sexting thing' instead of 'sexting' to be all cute. It isn't cute! YOU AREN'T CUTE BUZZFEED WRITER SO PLEASE STOP. And the stupid attempt at irony with the word 'definitely.' This is so stupid! I hate this!"
• 7:30 p.m. - "And you know what, this writer seems super focused on insulting other lifestyles to boost her own. She wrote some bullshit titled '25 Reactions When Someone Asks Why You Don't Want to Have Kids' and then another titled '23 Things Single People Never Have to Worry About.' You know what Buzzfeed writer? I'm perfectly happy in my long-term relationship and someday when I have kids I'm sure I'll be happy with that too, unless they don't like Lost - in which case I'll return them to the hospital."
• 7:45 p.m. - Gideon interrupts me to suggest that this kind of mindset stems from insecurity. I respond, "Well she should be jealous. My life is awesome. I have a boyfriend and a job and all she has is some articles on a clickhole site and probably a bottle of wine at home. But I've got that too so I still win." (Ed. Note: I was not serious about this; it was really an example of proper use of irony and humor, which still insults the Buzzfeed writer but on a professional, not personal, level. So I'm still classy and all that jazz.)
• 8 p.m. - "I want to get married and have kids and have a career, and it's people like her who make it more difficult for women to do this. If she doesn't want to have kids, that's fine. But she can't hate on people who do or make her life seem so much better than mine because I chose a path she didn't. This is just as bad as those people who say I'm going to neglect my family for my career or my career for my family. GO FUCK YOURSELF SOCIETY."
• 8:25 p.m. - "OH MY GOD. This writer has 'editor' in her job title and several of her comments have unforgivable grammar errors. DO YOU SEE THIS COMMA SPLICE? DO YOU? DO YOU? 
• 8:30 p.m. - "YOU DIDN'T PUT ENOUGH SALT IN THE CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIE MIX. Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to sound angry about that."

I am lucky Gideon puts up with me. If not, the cat would have to hear all my rants about feminism and grammar and professionalism. I'm sure he'd enjoy it but he has no way to tell me that, which would severely strain our relationship.