I Did It My Way

The Original Assignment: Write a blog post about the history of Christmas ornaments.
The Status: I've spent 6 hours researching, writing, and revising. I now hate writing.
The New Assignment: Write it again, only this time in my own voice, with no concern for my audience.

The Outcome:

Evergreens were used by ancient people to symbolize eternal life. Then a British dude named Saint Boniface went to Germany to convert the pagans to his religion. The pagans wanted to either A. chop down an oak tree or B. kill a boy, and His Holiness stopped them by splitting the oak tree in half, obviously. Then a fir tree either A. grew up from the middle of the oak tree fully formed, because God, or B. was nearby. So Boniface told the heathens that the fir tree was a symbol of the Holy Trinity because it was a triangle shape, and then his buddies put candles in the tree so he could keep preaching at the heathens after sunset.

Apparently the Germans loved this new idea and became fervent Christians who put on Church plays with fir trees in them. They decorated the trees with apples because of the "Tree of Paradise" (you know, the one from which treacherous Eve made perfect Adam eat, and it made them ashamed of their bodies). Some of them may have hung the trees upside down from the ceiling. I don't know why, but I will probably adopt this tradition because its awesome.

Ok, then Martin Luther took a walk in the forest and may or may not have eaten some hallucinogenic mushrooms (none of my research indicates that he did, but I'm pretty sure of it), so he was looking at the sky and it was so beautiful with the twinkling stars and evergreen branches. When he got home, instead of using words to describe what he saw, he brought a fir tree inside and attached candles to it and was all "take these mushrooms and then look at this tree with me, wife!" Or maybe he had kids and told them it reminded him of Jesus. Either way, they saw the tree and it was good.

Then everyone in Europe had Christmas trees. The Germans loved Christmas trees most of all and made ornaments out of lead and glass, then they immigrated to America, where all the Puritans were like "NO." One dude even outlawed decorations and singing and stuff, because Baby Jesus was super insulted by people having fun in his honor, I guess. But then someone sketched Queen Victoria standing in front of a Christmas tree and published it in an illustrated London newspaper, and everyone in America was like, "I NEED THAT."

So then ornaments were a thing in America. Mostly Germans made them, and then the Japanese exported them to us, and also Czechoslovakia. Then an American was like "the war is coming, how will my glass making company stay in business?" And the answer was to use a light bulb-making machine to make a whole butt load of ornaments at once. So that happened, and now everyone makes and sells and buys ornaments, even Jews and Buddhists and stuff.

Merry Christmas the end.

The Heavy Sad / No Cheer Found Here Today

This winter has been hard. Dark, cold, wet and relentless. Every year, it steals my joy. Just sucks the life right out of me, and all I want to do is get under the covers and sleep the sad away. Most days, I'm able to fight back. Muster some courage, keep the candle lit, force a smile until it finds something to latch on to. Most days I'll even laugh. The darkness is there, tugging at me, but most days, it's not all there is.

Then there are days like today. My body weighs a millions pounds, like my veins are filled with wet cement. I stare at nothing, and hope no one comes looking for me, because a single question can take minutes to reach my brain. And finding the answer is an underwater sprint, and halfway to the finish line I forget where I'm going or why. My face is frozen in a downward turn, and I'm aware of how unattractive this must make me, but I just. Don't. Fucking. Care.

I think of all the things I'm supposed to be grateful for, and the things that are supposed to bring me joy. But my broken brain and my aching heart won't let light enter. Closed for business. In the periphery, I'm vaguely aware of my "toolbox" of spiritual resources, but I don't bother. They're useless without the energy or drive to wield them. When the sad is heavy like this, I don't want to feel better. Because the heavy sad magnifies obstacles, and at the same time it puts a buffer between me and them. It tells me that if I feel better, I'll have to deal with all those problems I can't possibly manage, so I might as well stay in bed where its warm and no one can find me and ask me to do things. So many things to do, and none of them seem to fucking matter. Not a damn bit.

I don't usually write about this shit publicly. Because it's bleak, and I want my writing to give hope. But it's also honest, and maybe someone out there needs that honesty. We live our lives trying to hide this shit, thinking we are protecting ourselves or protecting others or both. Sadness is inconvenient, unpleasant, impolite. But it's real and it's human, and I've never much cared for polite conversation anyway. So here it is, my great big heavy sadness. And I'm not going to apologize for it, or justify it, or dress it up in false hope I don't really feel. I'm not even going to to reassure you that I'm sure it will pass and tomorrow will be a better day, as well-meaning friends will tell me, but I don't feel that way either. I just feel shitty. And that's all I wanted to say.

Let's Get Domestic! Now with Recipes!

It's the New Year, which means time for new pursuits. Step Two: Bitch is getting domestic up in this piece! (Step One was - obviously - Be a gangsta!)

You see, dear reader, for as long as I can remember, I've prided myself on my lack of domestic skills. Or at least, I've adopted an attitude of pride in order to mask my ineptitude at cooking, cleaning, home decorating, and responsible pet ownership. It is an attitude that has served me well, much like growing an elaborately-styled mustache and smothering one's enthusiasm in irony has helped many a hipster escape the discomfort of vulnerability.

But, as a woman recently indoctrinated in the ways of 30-Something Sophisticates, standing as I am on the very brink of self-actualization, I have decided that this is the year in which I expose myself... as an embarrassingly amateur homemaker. So, it begins.

Confession #1: I have slow cooker recipes. Two of them. I will share them with you now, to show you that I'm for reals.

Thanksgiving Turkey Meat! 

1. Buy a frozen turkey breast from the store

2. Figure out how to get the wrapper off without getting frostbit fingers

3. Put the frozen meat in the slow cooker

4. Add a can of cranberry sauce (sans can) and a packet of Italian salad dressing mix

5. Set to low and wait 6-8 hours. Maybe do something domestic to pass the time, like knit a scarf.

Hawaiian Pork Meat! 

1. Buy a big lump of pork roast meat

2. Stab it all over with a fork

3. Put liquid smoke and sea salt on it

4. Rub it in! Or lightly dab at it with a napkin, if you're a Puritan.

5. Set to low and wait 6-8 hours

That's it! Try them now, please, and tell me how it went.

P.S. The cookbook will be coming out soon. I've entitled it, "Making Food To Eat!" and it contains all two of my slow cooker recipes, plus classic favorites like "Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich," "Two Kinds of Cereal in One Bowl!" and "Anything Microwavable from Trader Joe's!"

A Nap Time Conversation About Royalty, In Which I Meet My Match While Tiny Brains Conspire Against Us

This is a recent conversation/battle of wit that my boyfriend and I recently had. Most of it is accurate, according to my memory. I think.

Me: Sometimes I wish I was a pretty pretty Princess.
Boyfriend: You are a pretty pretty Princess.
Me: I don't have any subjects.
Boyfriend: Don't be ridiculous, you have Norm and Tilly*
Me: Oh! Yes! I rule them with an iron fist!
<raises iron fist triumphantly, then, turning to him with an inexplicably demonic grin>
Me: And you are my Prince.
Boyfriend: Yes.
<momentarily satisfied, there is a brief silence>
Me: My Prince?
Boyfriend: Yes, my sweet?
Me: How many, um… <searching for word>
Boyfriend <helpfully>: ...Princes do you get?
<in a fit of uncontrollable laughter, I respectfully concede defeat; Boyfriend raises iron fist in victory; fade to blackout..>


*My subjects, who may or may not be hatching a coup in their tiny, tiny brains: