REMEBER BELIEVING IN SANTA?

I do, although I didn't remember doing so until recently; I was walking down a street near my place when a guy dressed as Santa was walking around (I'm not sure why) and a little kid FREAKED THE FUCK OUT, which I used to do too.

Christmas used to be a huge deal to me; since the age of 9 or 10 I was the one pushing my parents to buy more, More and MORE Christmas lights (early sign of eventual gay-dom?) and I would spend so much time outside hanging them on the house that my hands would go numb from the cold.

One particular memory I have of Christmas, was way, Way, WAY back in 1987. I was 8 and at the point when I knew Santa Claus was bullshit, but I still emotionally invested in the belief that Santa would drop off a truck load of Lego's. Or at least a sweet-ass R/C car. Of course I usually received ugly sweaters, but I digress...

This one night in particular I remember lying in my bunk bed and "hearing" the sound of reindeer on the roof, and getting all excited - to the point that I exhausted myself and fell asleep. In reality, it was my parents, drunk, and running up and down the stairs to put presents under the tree.

God - I am so painfully a Catholic boy.

BEFORE & AFTER

With my father's pending arrival for Christmas, I've had to "de-gay" my place a bit. Not that it really matters...he knows I'm a 'mo, and even though he is well, there are still a few things I thought I should remove from plain sight. Such as:

BEFORE

AFTER

Much better! I also thought I should put the issue of the Advocate with the cover of Matthew Mitcham away. My secret BF shall remain just that. That being said, my copy of "City of Night" is not going anywhere. I'm classy like that.

CHRISTMAS LOOT

This year my Father specifically asked my Brother and I to take it easy on the Christmas presents, and keep the gift giving to a minimum. "Fine with me" I said at the time. Rather than my Mother giving me a present, she fly in for the holidays last week, and I would much rather be able to see her than receive a sweater from Dillard's that I can't return.

Perhaps it was naive of me to take my Father at his word, but I really didn't think he was going to buy me much, if anything. He paid for my hotel room in NYC, which was a small fortune and he decided to also fly in for the holidays. When I asked him, what, if anything I could gift to him and his partner, he said that he wanted DVD's, so a box set (the Baz Luhrmann collection) and 6 other titles were bought.

Yesterday we all gathered at my place to have drinks before dinner and swap our (fairly) modest gifts. True to form my Father bought my Brother and I the same thing (he's been doing this for years). When my Father's partner handed me a small box (exquisitely wrapped I might add) I thought he might have bought me a watch or something. No, he did not...he bought us iPhones!

Look at how pretty that object is! The timing could not have been better, as my Nokia flip is rather, well, limp, and the screen keeps going in an out. To put it bluntly, it's a fucking piece of shit. Father's partner even called me out on it, saying he noticed I needed a new phone when I was in NYC. How thoughtful, no? Needless to say, I am not a tech nerd, and this phone is probably more than I need. But I don't care, I'm addicted to it.

OK - so after experiencing my first time at a Korean BBQ (and a not-insignificant amount of Korean beer - yum) I came home to find the Roomie a little drunky too. We decided to exchange gifts, and while I thought my present was pretty cool (a pair of tickets to "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me", which is a news quiz show on NPR, yes, we are dorks) she gave me...a Dust Buster!

Now, you might be thinking to yourself "what a lame ass gift - I thought you were at least kind of cool", but I don't give a fuck. For whatever reason I have been wanting a good Dust Buster for years, and I am now a proud owner of a silver and black (sporty, no?) Black & Decker, boasting 15.6v and "Cyclonic Action". I fully intend to scare the living shit out of Roomie's cats with it, and occasional vacuum Cheez-It crumbs off of my shirt.

Besides my sexy sneakers and bodacious boots, that's the Christmas haul for 2007. Overall, I think the quality of the gifts far exceeds the quantity. Presents aside, this has been a great Christmas. I didn't have to go to Phoenix, I got to show off my apartment to my Father (who proclaimed, again and again, "this is a really nice place Justin" - awww) and I ate more food last night in one sitting than I have in an eternity.

Hope you all had a great Holiday!

MERRY CHRISTMAS Y'ALL

M-E-R-R-Y C-H-R-I-S-T-M-A-S!

(Note: that's my tree!)

DEATH BY A THOUSAND CUTS

Christmas. That magical time of year when people lavishly decorate their homes, compulsively shop for loved ones and are slowly driven mad by an incessant loop of Christmas music. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy the holidays and all shit.

However, there are certain things about them that I do not enjoy. One unfortunate tradition (does two years running a tradition make?) is practiced by one of my co-workers, which is when Christmas rolls around, she employs these horrific devices:

See those little bells on there? Every time she writes a word, walks around the office, or angrily gesticulates when provoked, those little bells rattle around and make the most obnoxious sound I have perhaps ever heard, save Karl Rove's voice.

The sound itself isn't that offensive, but hour after hour of repetitive jingling is slowly driving me to the brink of insanity, or at the least extreme annoyance. I think the Chinese call this Ling chi (thanks Wikipedia).

Allow me to provide some background...Ms. Spiegel (who I have named because she is a 4-D human catalog of that brand, circa 1991...PS lady, have you not read the memo that shouldier pads are no longer in style?) gets Super-Duper Excited About Holidays!

If there was a way to verify my notion that she recently replaced the towels in her bathroom at home with those more befitting a Christmas mood, I would bet on it. I also have a sneaking suspicion that she wears Christmas socks on days other than Jesus' birthday.

Just today, the incessant jingling of bells so got to me, that I was inclined to seek guidance from Billy to troubleshoot this problem (he of greater Office Space wisdom than I). He suggested I wait until lunchtime to strike and throw the pens in the garbage (presumably not using her trashcan).

Honestly, I was tempted. I even walked over to her desk and leveled a cold, icy stare at my nemesis' writing utensils,. Alas, others were near and I could not complete this covert action, which I secretly deemed "Operation: Stop Making My Fucking Ears Bleed".

Although compelled to complete my task, Reason got the best of me (damn you Reason!) and I concluded that, had I disposed of said pens, I would have then had to endure her bitching and moaning for the balance of the afternoon.

Although she may seem like a quaint, Midwestern mother of 2 with bad hair, at work she ruthlessly dismisses clients after slamming down the phone, shouting either "MOTHERFUCKER" or "COCKSUCKER!" in the process. Not sure I want to be on the business end of that shit...

So I remained at my desk and allowed my teeth to grind, my eyes to wince and my fists to tighten while the tiny bells danced on her pen mocked me.

At one point I briefly imagined a scenario in which I marched over to Ms. Spiegel's desk, grabbed both pens (one green, one red - naturally) and drove them into my ear drums. Again, Reason showed up and instead I gained a modicum of relief by exiting my workspace and smoking a Camel.

There must be a better way to make a buck than this...