Thursday, December 23, 2010

Holiday Cringe

I was just remarking to some friends the other day that I feel bad for our kids...what with the advent of everything internet-y they can't really get away from their past indiscretions. You Tube will always be there, mocking them with their shame of being human...and 15...and stupid.

I have a sort of love affair with the fact that no one needs to know all of my life-long embarrassments. That doesn't mean that I don't still, sometimes, dead of the night, unable to sleep, ruminate on "actin' the fool" and literally cover my head with my pillow. Because I do. Literally. Cover my head. With my pillow.

I also like to think about the imminent demise of people I really care about and boo hoo like a banshee at 3am. I never get out a good cry like the "oh my god you fake died at 2:59am" cry. Sorry to everyone I mentally killed, it was done out of love, promise.

My husband fell victim to my funereal sob-fest a few weeks ago when I decided to read my way straight through "Let's Take the Long Way Home" (good book, quick synopsis: the best friend dies. *SOB*). After I got done mourning the loss of a woman I'll never know, I then killed off pretty much anyone who has ever meant anything to me. And sobbed. Then I got stuffed up and had to go blow my nose.

Six times.

Somewhere around the 4th or 5th nose blowing, side of bed sitting, wailing, beat-my-breast, get this woman a drum and call it music, my husband sat up, one eye opened and said "So, are you going to be ok?" To which I said "Yes, go back to bed," and he said "Can you stop soon? You're waking me up". He's actually a really good guy...except when I'm all fetal-position angsty at 3am, apparently.

Which, somehow gets me back to the embarrassing indiscretions part. Follow my smooth transition straight on through to the holidays will you? Great.

I cringe when I write holiday cards.

Every year. Every single year I die a little.


Dolly Parton. And Kenny Rodgers. I blame them.

My mom has always loved a well-written, earnest letter. So I wrote my parents a Christmas card. I was probably 6, maybe 7 years old...and they had the Kenny Rodgers/Dolly Parton Christmas album...which, desperate for inspiration, I was listening to when writing the card.

Which I signed "I want you. I need you. I love you."

Ok, clearly I am innocent here and at only 6 years old was innocent in not getting that innuendo but COME ON!

And now, every year, when I write cards, I think "I want you. I need you. I love you." when I sign my name on every single one. Thus, why I have a life-long fear I will sign all my holiday cards with a sexual innuendo.

The end.

So now that I've put that out there for all the world to hang on to for the next umpteenmillion years I'll go back to dreading for my child and the future of the internet. I need a drink...maybe I'll do something embarrassing and upload it to You Tube to make myself feel better, or maybe you should do it for me. Go forth, dear friends, and make those holidays cringe-worthy!


Kerry Doyle said...

Omg. This is the funniest thing I've read in a while (and by funny I mean I can totally relate)! Thanks for that... :)

Anonymous said...

Stop making my achy back hurt with laughter! OMG, this was great. If only I could get to the library or bookstore and pick up this book. Now I'm going to have to read it. I seriously think we must related; so love your sarcasm and wit!
:-) Lisa

Melissa said...

bwhahahaha... if i ever get a Christmas Card from you, I will open it with trepidation. that was awesome.

Amy T Schubert said...

I *love* that Christmas album :)