Day Seventy-Three: Bah Humbug

I don't know what is the matter with me lately, but I have a bad case of the Bah Humbugs. I'm not sure what the exact problem is, but I know it is linked to this incredibly creepy warm weather. I am a Northern New Englander to the core. I cannot get into the Christmas spirit in weather reminiscent of a Florida vacation in April. Call me crazy, but it looks like this global warming thing is real and its not just the polar bears that are suffering.

I love to write. Since I started writing this blog I feel that a tap has been opened and I am pouring out a great deal of myself onto the screen. Writing to me is like exercise is for workout junkies; I get a rush when I am writing and the endorphin high lasts a few hours after I am done. Because I have been shut in a house with small children for the better part of six years, this intellectual and emotional release is likely the only thing between me and a stay in a ward with funny white coats and lots of forced medication. However, since the Bah Humbugs hit, I have had no desire to write. When one is more than a bit pissy, the urge to share interesting and witty thoughts more than hides, it evaporates entirely.

The irony is that the more I write, the better I feel. The longer I go without writing, the worse I feel. The last two weeks have been sparsely populated with my blogging, so you can only imagine what I've been like around here. It started with feeling sick and has morphed into this long running bad mood. Maybe it is a side effect of the latest plague; one you get over the virus you need to double the dose of antidepressants to get over the hump. I can't image what it is like to rely on writing to make a living or, at the very least, meet a deadline. If the thoughts won't come, then what? I would imagine that the blank screen is a very scary thing to many a writer.

Tomorrow I am off for shopping trip with various girlfriends to whom I am related- sister, sister-in-laws, mother, etc. I am hoping that this will snap me out of this Bah Humbug slump in which I am currently wallowing. If it isn't the company, than I am sure it will be the wine, the shopping and the extra chocolate that I plan to consume. I am grateful that this trip is timed perfectly with family. Friends might not be so forgiving if my mood doesn't improve. My family, for the most part, has already been exposed to it and have lived to tell the tale. In the meantime, please pray for reasonably seasonal weather. The polar bear and I will thank you for it.

Day Seventy-Two: Don't Be A Jerk, It's Christmas

I can't say that I ever thought I find words of wisdom emanating from the television set while SpongeBob Square Pants was airing, but it happened. My boys were cracking up while SpongeBob sang the eternally festive words, "Don't Be A Jerk, It's Christmas." I was cracking up too. I really think that sums it up for a certain type of person. It's Christmas time, so stop being a jerk. At least until January first. Then you can go back to being a jerk. Until then, stop being a jerk by:

Cutting me off at the merge, you know that I have the right of way. You aren't fooling anyone and you only get there 2 seconds faster.

Grumbling at the long lines while you are waiting to pay for your unbelievably sale priced super high definition large screen television at the Black Friday, week after Black Friday, Saturday before Christmas sale. There is no such thing as a free ride.

Rolling your eyes and/or frowing in disgust at my children while they are misbehaving in public. You weren't a prize at that age either.

Leaving a crappy tip. If you didn't want someone to wait on you, go through the McDonalds drive through or stay at home. Otherwise, cough up the 15%.

Pretending you didn't see the Salvation Army Kettle. You don't have to donate, but you can be pleasant. The people ringing the bell are working hard for charity. Smile, say "Hello" or "Merry Christmas" or Santa will put coal in your stocking.

Sending your sick kid to school and/or Day Care. I don't want my kids to get it, I sure as hell don't want it and the staff doesn't consider the latest plague-like virus a Christmas gift.

Re-gifting cheap, crappy gifts. Do you really think we don't know when we get one? Come On. If its the thought that counts, the re-gift counts as a negative ten on your karmic score card.

Playing your car stereo at decibels that can be heard from the moon. I know you don't want to hear my feminist manifesto mix pulsating from my minivan and you know I don't want to hear your profanity filled, misogynistic, cop-hatin' rap from the fourth car behind you waiting at the red light.

Telling me how much you hate my political point of view. I think yours sucks too, but I keep it to myself (well most of the time.) People have fought and died so you can spout your hate mongering. Appreciate that fact in silence then preach to the choir and life will be much more pleasant for a month or so. W.W.J.D.*? Ring a bell?!

Wearing your clothes so tight/skin bearing I can read your gender, tell how many surgeries you have had and where all your tattoos are before I even enter the same room with you. It ain't pretty, sexy or inviting. It is disgusting. Look in a mirror. Please.

Acting like you are better than everyone else. You could have been born in a Calcutta slum, an African village ravaged by AIDs or a Chicago ghetto. You weren't. You won the cosmic lottery. Be grateful, be compassionate and be humble. Otherwise, I assure you that you will get yours in the next life.

Talking trash about your family, friends and neighbors. We don't want to hear it and you don't want to get caught, so just knock it off.

Remember, mean people suck. Especially at Christmas.

*For all you non-Jesus following folks (mostly you, Dad) W.W.J.D. means What Would Jesus Do?.