Ashes and Wine

21.

The age we all wait anxiously for, in the meantime sneaking Boone's Farm Strawberry Daiquiri when you think your parents aren't looking (Arbor Mist, for y'all fancy people).

I had my first wine cooler when I was 12. We were BBQing for the All-Star Game, and my parents have always been of the mind that if alcohol is a verboten item in the household, that will make it all the more enticing once we're out of the house. Before this, all they let me have were a few sips here and there, but this time I got a whole bottle all to myself. 

Bartles and Jaymes, yo. Like Zima, only with more diabetes. 

I felt so grown up, despite the fact that B&J's are essentially Hawaiian Punch with a thimble of booze. WHATEVER. I was classy and shit.

When I got to college, I had to rely on 21 year-old friends to buy alcohol for me. Mind you, these instances were few and far between. As a full-time college student with a part-time job, I didn't have a whole lot of money to spare for drinking binges. The money my parents were kind enough to send me for food was actually spent on food. Imagine that!

But, the day finally came when it was finally legal for me to buy my own hangover-I mean, alcohol. Here's what no one tells you, though: If you've had alcohol before 21, 21 doesn't mean shit. Sure, you can walk into Ralph's and buy your Steel Reserve your damn self (or your Colt 45. Whatever your poison), but other than that, there's not much else to it. Especially when you turn 21 in good ol' Turlock, where the night life consists of 2 bars. Wellington Station, the cool bar, and Staley's, the dive bar. Guess where I went! 

(Hint: I am not cool.)

I went to Staley's not long after I turned 21 with some friends from a theater group I was in, Teatro Los Hijos del Campo (technically my dad was only a campesino for like, 2 weeks. But I didn't tell them that. Unless they read this blog. In which case, 2 weeks totally counts, guys). There, they got me moderately buzzed, but it being an entirely foreign sensation for me, I remember thinking, "WOAH. So this is what DRUNK feels like. RAD." One of the other members took me home, and he told me later that he thought I was upset because once we got in the car I went from giggly and happy to completely, dead silent. At that point my self-conscious buzz had kicked in, and I was acting all, "if I'm quiet, I can totally pass off as sober. Nevermind that I giggled at the napkin holders for five minutes". Once I got into my apartment, I was all DEFCON-1 so that I wouldn't wake Anne up, and Josh, who was visiting for the weekend. He woke up though. He told me in the morning that he could totally tell I was drunk because I was trying REALLY hard to look like I wasn't drunk. Mission failed.

There have been many, many booze-fueled funtimes since then. Like my friend Jose once told me on my 21st birthday: "It all goes downhill from here". And I am inclined to agree. Not that the birthdays that come after suck, it's just that there is no novelty anymore, at least not until I turn 55 and I get a 10% discount at Ross on Tuesdays. These days I think nothing of ordering a glass of wine at a bar, or buying a six pack of crappy beer at Food 4 Less for beer can chicken. 

That novelty, I'd wager, is lost on pretty much all of the legal imbibers. We forget the awesomeness that comes with being here from the age of 21 and beyond. We take it for granted.

Today would have been Raul's 21st birthday. Today, he would have finally gone out to buy beer, would have gone out with friends (and one of his thirty-seven girlfriends) to a bar to dance, drink and just have a blast. He would have bought his first gun, that he would have been saving for over the last year so he could buy himself the best one. Bear in mind, though, that this kid had his share of alcohol well before he ever turned 18. Be that as it may, he would have felt as grown-up as the rest of us did when we signaled the bartender for the first time and asked for a drink.

Raul is not here to engage in such tomfoolery, but today is not for mourning a death. Today is for rejoicing in a life. 

Today, join me in a toast. Raise your wineglass. Your beer. Your can of Old Milwaukee, or shit, even your bottle of Smirnoff Ice if you want. To a sweet kid with a great sense of humor, integrity and an unshakeable faith. He was a great guy, and would have made a great cop.

 Salud.

Fifty Shades of Noma

The intense heat saps my energy and leaves me with little more ability than to lie on the floor and drool. So I cheated and googled one of those questionnaire things. Enjoy!

1. What is your best friend's Mom's name? Linda. Although a couple of weeks ago she got promoted to Grandma. She’s excited about that.

2. Where is the weirdest place you have a mole?  On my left foot, between two of my toes. And that’s all I’m going to tell you because that gets into the topic of my feet and feetsies are icky.

My best friend Anne has one on her back, and one time in college she asked me to rub her shoulders. I have this weird habit of picking lint off of things, and I felt a teeny lump on her back so I thought, “golly gee, that is a piece of lint. I should be a good friend and remove it for her”. I then pulled on it, VERY hard (HULK SMASH) through her shirt, but it didn’t come off. I am smart.

3. Who was the hottest teacher you ever had?  I’ve never had one...although there was one substitute named Mr. Monterroso who was only a few years older than us, and in my opinion this was the only reason girls lusted after his partybits. I couldn’t think of him that way cause he lived around the corner from me. I told a girl this fact once and she was all, “OHMAHGAWD you’re so lucky!” Which I thought was weird because I didn’t see anything lucky about getting to see him take out his trashcans on Tuesdays. My dog pees on his grass sometimes. I have nothing against the guy, that’s just where Baloo likes to pee and I’ve always believed in canine urinal liberty.

4. Have you ever made out in a movie theater? Nope. But I’ve fallen asleep, read and snuck in everything from Burger King to Coldstone to Doritos.

5. What body part do you wash first?  My hair. And I do it all in slow motion too with lots of moans and hair tossing like in the Herbal Essences commercial. Even though I use Dove.

6. Do you hover over the toilet in public bathrooms? I use like 12 toilet seat covers. If there are none I use toilet paper. Although there have been a few restrooms where not even a toilet seat cover made of lead would have protected me from the germies.

7. What's the strangest talent you have? I’m really good at convincing people that this blog is entertaining and/or funny.

8. Do you have an innie or an outtie? Innie, and it is pierced. I imagine that if I were ever to procreate, I would have to remove it. Until then, whenever I take it out it looks like I have 3 belly buttons. It freaks people out.

When I was a kid, one of my cousins tried to tell me that babies came out of your belly button. I was like, “No, stupid. They come out of your BUTT. Duh.” I thought I was a freakin genius. Belly button? Ridiculous.

9. What's your favorite flavored Pringles? I don’t eat Pringles, actually. I like Doritos. I actually got a bag of Doritos today that were called, Doritos: Jacked. While I ate them I felt all extreme and shit. RADICAL. I almost couldn’t handle the intensity.

10. Have you ever been tied up? When I was a freshman in high school, I had waist-length hair, and my friends wanted to see if it was long enough to tie around a basketball post. So they did. And then they left me there.

11. What was the last thing you ever got grounded for? I did shit all the time...I’m probably still grounded for something I did ten years ago and don’t even know it.

12. Do you parallel park or drive around the block? I am the shittiest driver ever. I’m like, one step above Asian driver status. But I can parallel park LIKE A BOSS.

13. Have you ever had two dates in one night?  Are you kidding? I have enough trouble securing one.

14. How many times have you been cussed out?  I worked in a jail. Enough said. One time this lady who was missing her front teeth and had a bowl haircut kept calling me white trash and a bad mother. I have no kids and I’m not white.

15. Which shoe do you put on first?  I don’t know, and if I try it now it will be forced and I will not have a true answer for you. And I strive for honesty in this blog. You’re welcome. I will say that I always take the right shoe off first, and I know this because it’s easiest to do that one because I nudge it off with the left. And then the left shoe is harder to take off because my right shoe is already off. This was a really long explanation, and I technically didn’t even answer the question.

17. Have you ever been to a gay bar?  I went to my very first gay bar when I was 18. There was this guy there who kept taking up the entire dance floor to do what I called techno-interpretive dance. He was dressed like he stepped out of the eighties, in tight sweatpants and a tucked-in t-shirt. He also had a Freddy Mercury style mustache. Every now and then he’d throw his hands up in the air like he was doing a one-man wave.

18. Girls  ? is that it? Girls...just wanna have fun.

19. Is there one thing all of your love interests have had in common? They all have restraining orders out against me. I just sent you an EAR. It worked for Van Gogh, guys.

It didn’t? Oh, shit.

20. Did you French kiss before you were 16? No. But my first kiss was at 14, with this nerdy guy who I only dated because I hadn’t mastered the art of friend-zoning yet. It was really awkward because he put his hand on the back of my head so I couldn’t pull away, all I had time to do was press my lips together really tightly like the dude was trying to slip me poison. Then I went to Mr. McAdams 2^nd period English and was like GAH WORST FIRST KISS EVER.

21. Have you ever been cow-tipping or snipe-hunting?  Oddly enough, no. Considering that my dad has worked in the dairy industry for 40+ years, I certainly had the opportunity to do so, since I used to go to work with him when I was a kid. As for the snipe hunt, I was in a play for an acting class in high school, called “Once Upon a Playground”. The premise was that we all made fun of the new girl because she had a funny nose, but we all had something wrong with us. Anyway, we sent her on a snipe hunt. Also, I played the fat kid.  I should note that I was not given any stuffing to make me appear fat.

22. Who is the last person you usually think about before you fall asleep? Not as much “someone” as “something” and that something is usually food.

23. Have you ever had a poem or a song written about you? No. But nerdy first-kiss guy once had some drama club initiates sing to me in my Lit class. They sang I Will Survive. He also once sent me a carnation gram with a note that said, “As this flower dies, so will you”. And sadly, that is the one and only time I have ever gotten flowers from a guy. WINNER WINNER CHICKEN DINNER.

24. If you had to choose to not ever wash your bed sheets again or not wash your bath towel ever again, which would you rather not wash?  Would you rather scrape off your nipples, or chop off your hand? Exactly.

25. Have you ever found anything in your parents' bedroom that was questionable? Once, while snooping in my mom’s stuff (as usual) I found an already-taken pregnancy test. It was shaped like a square, not the long ones we see nowadays. Since in the commercials women always seemed to be holding them the same way, I assumed that there were some sort of sensors that picked up some sort of hormone from your fingertips to determine if the holder was pregnant or not. So I tried the same thing with this one and nothing happened. I assumed, as I always did, that I was correct and that the test was simply broken. This was also around the time I still thought that babies came out of your butt.

26. What was your childhood nickname? Every nickname I had was related to my being tiny. I was a skinny kid with a giant head. Although there is a famous singer from Spain named Paloma San Basilio, and people kept called me this so for the longest time I totally thought that my name was Paloma San Basilio Beatriz Garcia Oliveros. And I was like, “Dude, why did my parents give me such a long name? This shit’s hard to remember.” And my parents had to say, “No, stupid. That’s not your name. And put that pregnancy test back where you found it.”

27. When is the last time you played the air guitar? I have a REAL guitar, and I have been lousy about playing lately. Poor Klaus. He is neglected.

28. Have you ever peeked in the opposite sexes locker room? I walked into the boys’ locker room when I was in middle school. The teacher had picked a bunch of us to tidy up the locker rooms, or something like that. I just remember being in the boys’ locker room and feeling tres risqué. Also, it stank.

29. What's the weirdest thing you have done while driving?  Changed my pants.

30. Have you ever bitten your toenails? GROSS. No.

31. How do you eat your cookie? I don’t eat Oreos I eat COOL J COOKIES!!!

Name that song.

32. When working out at the gym, do you wear a belt? Too much effort. I already go to the gym looking like a transient.

33. Name something you do when you're alone that you wouldn't do in front of others. Change my underpants. Also, showering.

36. How many drinks does it take before you get drunk? When I was heavier I had a lot more fat stores to absorb all the alcohol, and I usually took about 6 drinks before I’d start to feel wobbly (unless it was something ridiculous, like an AMF). These days I’m lucky to make it through two glasses of wine. Tequila I can drink all day. Most of it.

37. Have you ever sniffed an animal's butt? If I ever tried that, Baloo would probably think I had lost my marbles.

38. How often do you clean out your ears? Every single gosh darn day. My ears produce an unnaturally high amount of buildup. When I was younger and less likely to clean my ears out, my mom would have to go in with a bobby pin and scoop all the gunk out. Yes, it sucked.

39. Do you scrunch or fold your toilet paper? I make paper airplanes.

40. About how many times a day do you pick a wedgie?  Depends on the type of underpants I am wearing. If I am wearing them. (evil laugh). Just kidding. I always wear undies. Because, ew.

41. Do you have any strange phobias? Mice, rats, or any other type of vermin. Hamsters, gophers, voles, and POSSUMS. Oh, God. POSSUMS ARE EVIL INCARNATE. I hate rodents and the sight of one will cause me to jump on high furniture and shriek like a banshee.

42. Have you ever stuck a foreign object up your nose? I stuck a Fiat up there once and then I sneezed and JLo came flying out of my left nostril.

43. What is the stupidest thing you've ever done at a bar? I was at a winery in Temecula with some friends, and I wasn’t drinking because we had already been to like, 5 wineries and I was now swaying like I was onboard the Black Pearl. So the guys went to go drink while I sat down outside, humming placidly to myself. When I came in, my brother in law, knowing that I am quite suggestible when drunk, offered me eight dollars to slap my friend Buckner in the face. I said no, and our other friend Wes upped it to twenty bucks. I immediately turned to Buckner (who is 6’2”, by the way) and walloped him hard across the face. I was wearing flip-flops so I still have no idea how I did it. Steve swears I jumped, while I remember being at eye level with Buckner. I got my twenty bucks, and Buckner has still not forgiven me.  

44. Have you ever been dared to do something you totally regretted?  No, but I was dared to do something and I didn’t do it, and THAT I regret. I was staying at a friend’s house once and I had a MAD crush on her older brother, and everybody knew about it. She dared me to go downstairs and tell him I thought he was cute, or something like that. I don’t regret not doing it because, OHMYGODWECOULD HAVEBEENSOHAPPY, but because now I don’t give a shit. I stood at the foot of the stairs for probably a half hour while my friend stood on the landing and chanted, “CHILI CHILI CHILI!” (she was going to make me eat hot sauce if I didn’t) while he watched us, totally perplexed, but too nice to say anything. My friend got so into egging me on she flipped over the railing and fell down the stairs. Which was HILARIOUS.

45. Have you ever called your love interest by an ex's name? No.

46. Have you caught a guy/girl farting while on a date? No. Which is probably a good thing because I’d laugh so hard I’d pee myself. A match made in heaven, the flatulent guy and pee girl.

47. Have you ever played naked Twister? The only time I ever played Twister was with my sister and brothers, so no naked because HELLO AWKWARD. The game usually ended whenever Jose farted.

48. Have you ever been drunk at work? No, but I have been extremely, ass-draggingly sick, which is kind of the same thing in that your motor skills are nonexistent, but not as fun.

49. Have you ever found your date's/lover's brother or sister more attractive? No.

50. Do you want to bring sexy back? Ridiculous. That would imply that it was gone in the first place.

The Odd Couple.

Eleventy thousand years ago, when yours truly was younger, chubblier and a little less angry, I got it into my empty little head that I needed to go to school far, far away, perhaps to escape the hustle and bustle of a big city like Bloomington, California and all of its hectic SIX SQUARE MILES. I resisted comments such as, “But Chapman is so much closer...and nicer than Stanislaus!” and “Why do you want go so far away? Do you really want to escape your family so badly?” and in Fall of 2002, my parents packed up my crap and drove me the six hours to CSU Stanislaus, in California’s lovely (ha) Central Valley. I knew no one except some relatives who lived about 30 minutes South of Turlock, but I was determined to not run to Merced every weekend and be all grown-up and wash my own chonies and shit. This actually worked quite well, because I had no car and managed to get a 20-hour per week job on top of my full class schedule.

The friends front, however, was not going quite so smoothly. My natural expression is a scowl, and the fact that I usually walked around with headphones in my ears made it hard for people to approach me. I signed up for Newman Club and Swing Club on Move-In Day, Newman because my parents wanted me to, and Swing because I had seen Swing Kids and totally wanted to learn to dance like Robert Sean Leonard and wear Victory Rolls. Also, SWING HEIL.

Both decisions turned out to be AWESOME. Newman allowed me to continue going to church and I met a girl from Riverside (who turned out to be my neighbor in the dorms, oddly enough) who seemed nice enough to hang out with, even though she was a full foot taller than me and liked pink. Her proximity me both in the dorms and back home proved convenient; her roommate had a car and I was able to hitch a ride home for Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays.

My roommates were friendly enough, but come Winter, there was strife because my roommate hated our other roommate (over some dude who was bowlegged anyway and kind of a douchecopter. Plus his friends found me less than entertaining because they couldn’t figure out how to get into my pantalones), and the third was having sort of personal crisis because she wanted to have sexytimes with her teammates on the girls' basketball team. Anyway, my roommate Tala moved out, leaving me with the other two. Winter semester was, in a word, quiet. The two roommates I had left hung out with each other, and I didn’t feel the need to force myself upon them. Plus, they didn’t know who Coldplay was. Whatever.

In the meantime, Anne (formerly known as Tall Pink Girl, even though I just made that name up and no one that I know of has ever called her that) and I were hanging out quite often, owing to the fact that my roommates were assholes and her roommate was riding the rails of the crazy train. Since I now had a double room to myself, I told her that anytime she needed to escape the asylum she was free to crash on my spare bed.

A few days later, I was at work when Anne showed up at my office, nearly in tears because she had had it with her roommate. I don’t remember what exactly happened; I think Kerry tried to remove her eyeballs with an ice cream scoop and feed it to her cat. Or something. I may be lying, though. Call it artistic license.

Anyway, I asked Anne if she wanted to stay with me, she hesitated and asked if she could just move right in. The appeal of having someone around who didn’t simply see me as “that girl who cleans and whose shampoo we can use” led me to say yes right away. She went back to the dorms and began moving her stuff, while I called my roommates to let them know. One roommate scolded me for letting her move in and not asking her first. I reminded her that neither she nor Jackie ever fucking speak to me, and Anne is moving into my damn room so no, I didn’t feel the need to ask her because she didn’t feel the need to ask when using my shit. Anne told me that later, this roommate came over, all smiles, welcoming her to our dorm and asking if she needed any help. The other, Jackie, was only slightly perturbed that I had taken the liberty to bring in another roommate, but in the end didn’t care.

The close proximity of a shared dorm brought Anne and I closer together. Which is weird, because we were as opposite as two people could possibly get. Anne was girly, vivacious, and loved romantic comedies. I was surly, loud and still watched Gargoyles on the internet when I thought no one was looking, because college girls don't watch cartoons anymore, duh. After my mom met Anne for the first time, she commented to me, “Anne is such a nice girl...why does she hang out with you?”

(Note: I still don’t know the answer to that question)

Throughout college, we lived together in the dorms with a parade of other roommates, most of them psycho slobs who got drunk and barfed on the living room carpet (sophomore year), or ate all our food and then bitched me out because I was hanging out with Anne when I should be hanging out with her because she was Raza (junior year) and therefore we’d be better bffs. Orale, homes.

Senior year was easily the best, because we moved into a 2-bedroom apartment that can’t really be called “off-campus” because it was on the same block as the school.  Even better, no batshit roommates, and insanely cheap rent. For reals. I think we paid like eleven dollars and a rusty quarter per month. We’d drive to San Francisco on a whim for ice cream sodas at Ghirardelli Square, make 1 a.m. Slurpee runs, and, once we turned 21, engaged in the thriving nightlife that Modesto had to offer. Her then-boyfriend (now husband) Josh still likes to tell the story of when we went to Denny’s after a night of, um, checkers, only to have Anne and I disappear into the bathroom for half an hour. In fact, the next morning I woke up and was all, “WTF, weren’t we supposed to go to Denny’s?” and Josh was all, “We did go to Denny’s, dumbass,” and I had to sit and think about it until I remembered that I had ordered seasoned fries without bacon because it was Lent.

We decorated for Christmas, I made Anne real Mexican food and she’d pick me up from late shifts at Starbucks. In 2009, she asked me to be her maid of honor (with Felica) when she and Josh got married. It is a testament to how well she knows me when she called to break the news about the dresses.

Anne: So, I picked out the color for the bridesmaids’ dresses.

Me: I know it’s going to be pink dude. I have made my peace with it.

Anne: Well, yeah. But I need to tell you what shade of pink.

Me: (silence)

Anne: I’ve decided on fuchsia.

Me: (picturing myself as a bottle of Pepto Bismol with a head) Oh. Ooookaay.

At this point I reminded myself that this was Anne’s wedding and to just wear the dress and shut the hell up. I did put up a fight, however, when I was told that we had to buy shoes to match. When I brought up the idea of black shoes, Anne’s mom brought up the fact that we would look like a gaggle of Good n’ Plentys, which was a fair point. I still resisted the idea until Josh had to call me and tell me to just shut up and buy the damn shoes. At which point I was all, “Wow I’m being an asshole”, and bought the shoes without further argument. I gave them away after the wedding though. To a new owner who will appreciate their...pinkness.

I survived the pink dress (and the acrylic nails. WITH PINK JEWELS ON THEM. The nail lady was all, “you have-a preety nail!” and stuck them on before I could stop her. Oh, and the pedicure. I believe Anne still has photos of me with a little Korean lady hunched over my feet, and I look like I’m being interrogated using North Korean torture techniques), I had a KICKASS hairdo (held up with approximately ninety thousand bobby pins) and I even gave a pretty decent speech, despite having written it on hotel stationary the night before, REALLY FAST because Anne was in the shower and I didn’t want her to know I hadn’t done it yet.

(Note: For Lucy’s wedding, I wrote one sentence on a scrap of paper the day of. With Lucy in the room. I rule.)

There is no shortage of celebratory stuff. Just a few days ago, Anne and Josh entered the next phase of their lives, bringing their firstborn son into the world. Today is Anne’s birthday. She and I have officially been friends for 10 years. And I consider myself so, so lucky that I get to be here for all of it.

Happy birthday, dude. Here’s to another 10 years of friendship. 

Deck the Halls.

I LOVE Christmas music. For those of you naysayers who complain about hearing it everywhere, I have to say that that's one of my favorite things about the holidays. In truth, my college roommate and I used to start listening to it as early as September while we'd decorate our dorm/apartment for fall. In fact, she sent me a text the other day telling me she was decorating for fall while listening to Christmas music and no one else seemed to understand such bizarre behavior.

This past Monday I turned on the radio in my car and was thrilled to realize one of the local stations finally started playing nothing but holiday-themed music. YAY! Bring on Rudolph! Here comes Santa Claus! CHARLIE BROWN!!

But of course, there are those that occasionally come on that make my ears bleed. Worry not, the list is relatively short. But here it is, for your reading pleasure!

5. "Wonderful Christmastime" – Paul McCartney

Before you send the lynch mob after me, I LOVE THE BEATLES. “Something” is one of my favorite songs, I’ve considered the possibility of someday getting something Beatles-related tattooed on my body somewhere and as I write this particular paragraph, I’m listening to my ITunes on shuffle and “The Long and Winding Road” came on.

That being said, I have to be honest and say this is song SUCKS. It hurts me to say this. I feel like Paul, knowing full well that he is adored and has legions of fans, decided to experiment and write a truly crappy song to see if his followers would bite. As much as I love me the Fab Four, I can’t get behind the shitty synthesizers. And I’m sorry Paul, “ding dong ding dong ding dong ding dong” does not constitute a credible song lyric. But I'll give you a pass and choose to believe that this song came as a result of some low-quality psychotropics.

4. "Do They Know Its Christmas" - BandAid

I applaud Bono’s charity efforts. I really do. But I don’t get how certain groups (cough-coughPETA cough-cough) seem to think the best way to get to people is to make you feel like an asshole for having a better lot in life. And when the original songwriter has gone on record saying it's a shitty song, that's when you KNOW it sucks. And if that doesn't convince you, check out the original album art:

"Who invited those shirtless dudes? Didn't they see the invitation said 'black-tie only'?"

With such eye-rolling lines as “Tonight thank God it’s them, instead of you”, and “There won’t be snow in Africa this Christmas” I really do have to ask who came up with this trend of writing Christmas songs that make you feel bad. And on that note...

3. "Christmas Shoes" - Newsong

My mom and I disagree every year on this one. She loves this song, and I hate it. For those of you not familiar with it (lucky you) I’ll give you a quick rundown: Narrator is doing some last minute shopping. Narrator is not feeling Christmas-y (what a douche). Narrator notices dirty kid in line in front of him buying shoes (taking pains to point out that not only is he dirty, but he is ‘dirty from head to toe’. Making him an even bigger douche).

Also, to me, somehow the 'dirty kid' is Pigpen.

Dirty kid is too poor to buy said shoes for his dying mom (who is dying on CHRISTMAS EVE. Are you suicidal yet?). Narrator plunks down a few bucks so mom can enjoy shoes for a couple of hours before she snuffs it. Narrator learns the true meaning of Christmas is not to spend time with your loved ones because life is so short, but that you must buy them as much useless shit as possible, like cheap shoes, right up until they die. Because that’s what’s important. Merry Christmas.

2. "Dear Mr. Jesus (Please Don’t Let Them Hurt Your Children)" - Powersource

(Note: Before you denounce me as a terrible human being, I just want to point out that I’m not making fun of child abuse. Just this song and the sanctimonious dick who wrote it.)

I first heard this song during the holiday season a few years ago, and it still confuses me. Not only is there no mention of Christmas anywhere in the lyrics, but every single line makes you hate yourself as a human being.

Dear Mr. Jesus, I just had to write to you

Something really scared me, when I saw it on the news

A story 'bout a little girl beaten black and blue

Jesus, thought I'd take this right to you

Dear Mr. Jesus, I don't understand

Why they took her mom and dad away

I know that they don't mean to hit with wild and angry hands

Tell them just how big they are I pray

Please don't let them hurt your children

We need love and shelter from the storm

Please don't let them hurt your children

Won't you keep us safe and warm

Dear Mr. Jesus, they say that she may die

Oh I hope the doctors stop the pain

I know that you could save her and take her up to the sky

So she would never have to hurt again

Please don't let them hurt your children..

Dear Mr. Jesus, please tell me what to do

And please don't tell my daddy

But my mommy hits me, too.

Nothing says ‘Merry Christmas’ like a 6-year old singing about how mommy hits her.

1. ANYTHING BY MANNHEIM STEAMROLLER.

This one-man band/atrocity came into existence in the 1980’s, and Chip Davis still hasn’t realized that no one gives a shit about synthesizer heavy music anymore. ALL of MS’ music sounds like someone drank too much eggnog, busted out their Casio SA-76 and then tried to play a crappy rendition of “Deck The Halls”. In the dark. Oh, and that person is deaf. If Christmas were a video game, the likes of Eartha Kitt and Bing Crosby would be Xbox (or Playstation. Or Wii. You get it), and Mannheim Steamroller would be Atari, or some other old-ass console whose video games all look like pixilated diarrhea.

Honorable mentions:

"Merry Christmas with Love" by Clay Aiken.

It’s Clay Aiken. Enough said.

"Santa Baby" by Madonna

Every time I hear Madonna’s whiny, pouty rendition of this Eartha Kitt classic, it makes me want to run over her with that ’54 convertible. Besides, someone like Madonna can’t get away with singing lines such as, “think of all the fellas that I haven’t kissed”.

"Santa Claus is Coming to Town" by Bruce Springsteen

The Boss blurting out “SANNA CLOTHES IS KAMANA TAN” does not get me in the Christmas spirit. Nor does the 10-minute intro where he seems to be unsuccessfully trying to get the audience all riled up for the band's next number.

That does it for me, childrens. And to all a good night.

I have friends! Yay! I feel slightly less loser-rific!

Standing on the verge of some great truth
Where I’m finally in my place
But I’m fumbling still for truth
And it’s cluttering my space
Casting shadows on my face.

I live my life by music. My car is full of CDs and the radio is always on. I can’t work out or run unless I have my IPod, and I have 10 years of choir under my belt. These past two years, I slowly put together a playlist of songs that resonated with pretty much every emotion I felt. It was usually what I listened to when I’d lie on the couch in a ball and cry, stare blankly at the ceiling, or (and I confess this with difficulty), lie in bed at night and contemplate the possibility of not waking up, and thinking it wouldn’t be so bad. (*NOTE* Don't freak out on me people. No one needs to be talking me off of a ledge anytime soon. While I did wish to just go to sleep and never wake up, it never crossed my mind to take a proactive approach to it. Calm yo ass down.)

And though I have the strength to move a hill
I can hardly leave my room
So I’ll sit perfectly still
And I’ll listen for a tune
While my mind is on the moon

One in particular is a song I heard in an indie flick, Away We Go, with Maya Rudolph and John Krazynski. Pretty much as soon as we left the theater, my sister and I went and got the soundtrack (translation: she bought it on ITunes, and I subsequently stole it in one of my periodical pillages of her laptop. Shut up.). Anyway, the name of the song is called Wait, by Alexi Murdoch. To me, the song asked the all-important question of, when the shit hits the fan, and I just can’t be this awesome person for you, will you still be here for me when I need you? Will you wait for me?

If I stumble, and if I stall
And if I slip now, and if I should fall?
And if I can’t be, all that I could be
Will you, will you wait for me?

I loved this song when I first heard it on the soundtrack. And it struck a chord in me later when I asked someone that very question, and his answer turned out to be no, he would not. For a time he feigned attempts to stay in my corner, but truthfully he was slowly backing out of my life until he finally turned tail and ran. And that’s regrettable. Devastating at the time, but I have grown so cold and distant to that particular chapter in my life that I can’t help but feel only distant anger mixed in with pity.

‘Cause everywhere I seem to be
I am only passing through
I dream these days about the sea
I always wake up feeling blue
Wishing I could dream of you.

At the same time, there are others who I asked the same question, and their answer was (and I get the feeling it always will be) that they would. If I have learned anything these last two years, it’s that you truly do find out who your friends are when you are at your lowest moments. The ones who force you to go to the gym and sweat out your misery (Buckner), the ones who surround you with new faces and new possibilities (Therese), the ones who go out and get ice cream or cheap steak with you at midnight (Rick-Nachooooo!), the ones who will drive through LA 5:00 traffic just so you can see the bench from 500 Days of Summer (Brian), the ones who will listen to you on the phone when you call with hysterical tears (my fabulous Nino!), the ones who invite you over for dinner and let you cry on the couch (Anne, Vanessa and Lucy). Even those who, if they didn’t live in Oregon, would show up at your door, slap you in the face and tell you to quit being such a whiny pendeja and shut up already (do I really need to name names with this one?). Anyfuckingway, before this gets all Oscar-Acceptance speech-ish (it already kinda is. Should I be wearing a dress instead of a Transformers T-shirt and jeans I've had since high school?), All of the party people I just named are full of The Awesome. There is a special place in my rotten, dessicated little heart for all of them, and as soon as I win me the lottery, I will buy them all some hookers and booze.

So if I stumble, and if I fall
And if I slip now, and lose it all?
And if I can’t be, all that I could be
Will you, will you wait for me?

(Ed Note: Don't ask me what brought this on all of a sudden. It's a temporary moment of insanity where I show emotions for some reason so just take it as is.)