I thought black and blue was bad. Blackberries, blueberries, pomegranates, and soy milk. The (healthy) horror!
Well, not bad. My morning smoothies were pretty much the opposite of bad with all those silly things that people consider “healthy” like antioxidants, vitamins, minerals, and protein. Let’s just say that if I tossed a few walnuts into my blended breakfast, I would be one hell of a superhero (in superb black patent platform stilettos, of course). However, the point was that this power smoothie represented the wicked vicious vortex that my life had become. Vor. Tex. Em. PHA. Sis. Is important in writing.
That was October and November. Months number 10 and 11 have flipped over to the backside of the calendar, not that anyone uses those antiquated things anymore since Google calendar came into existence. It is December. Actually, it’s almost not December anymore. It’s December 24th, which is technically Christmas Eve, which means that tomorrow is Christmas, and I have to ask myself.
What the fuck happened to the Holidays?!?! What planet was I saving when the Holidays were happening on earth?
I’ll tell you what happened. All those damned Auntie Accidents made me immune to the harmful effects of chemicals like caffeine from normal sources like three cups of coffee by 9 am to be followed with two cans of Diet Coke by lunch that I had to resort to something a little more potent and little less natural.
Specifically, one pecious pink can that made me all nostalgically bitter about sucking on watermelons in tiny white hotpants and blister-birthing rented roller skates while sitting out the “couples skate.” It didn’t help that the savvy MBAs who went with through whatever rigorous brand marketing boot camp for Tab made Ralphs' price them such that the cashier would laugh at you for buying a single can that cost more than a 4-pack with your club card discount.
Fucking Ralphs. Enabler.
Tab Energy fueled my December. The damn things propelled me at warp speed into some parallel universe where one freaky parallel day is equvalent to 30 normal days. I missed the Holidays. Well, technically, The Holiday is tomorrow, but we all know that The Holidays (n. singular) is actually that period of time for which the start is signalled so early by the precipitation of non-denominational snowflakes from the mall skylights in July that by the time the actual holiday creeps onto the calendar, the world is pretty in pink hearts for Valentine’s Day.
What I am trying to say without typing so fast that I miss some capitalization and spacesbetweenwords because I am hopped up on bull’s balls extract is that I basically missed all the normal chaos that goes down during The Holidays. Sure, the month and half or so from Thanksgiving through the New Year overflows with family, friends, love, joy, cheer, and all that other positive BS, but The Holidays are probably the most mentally and physically exhausting time of the year. Daylight hours to “do” stuff are few and far between. Multiple competing priorities. Traffic. Massive budget constraints. Pressure to identify and secure the “perfect gift.” I missed all the negative. I complain?
The truth is, while I joke sarcastically about the “happy” stuff and harp repeatedly upon the bitter, stressful part of the Holidays, I love all of it. I am sort of sad that I missed it. There is no gorgeous tree decorated in whatever theme is trendy for this year (I think it’s monochromatic metallic) in my house. There is no welcoming wreath of pine branches I picked myself wrapped in velvet ribbon on my door. I have not sent any DC (that’s “denominationally correct” for those of you who have been shopping at Wal-Mart) holiday cards, nor do I have any plans to even send “belated” cards. I didn’t even catch myself humming those ridiculously hateful things that are so lame they are named after Mrs. Brady. I did not bake gingerbread men or cookies in the shape of snowmen. I did not do a single thing in my kitchen that could be remotely related to The Holidays except eat nachos with both red and green salsa. Happy holidays! Have some Christmas nachos!
I didn’t even *gasp!* spin a single dreidl. What kind of Jewish Holiday elf am I?!?!
A great one, since I will, as I did last year, drink Manischewitz while we open our Christmas presents.
I knew it was coming. I knew it was going to be like this. As soon as I signed my name in blood on a contract with the devil who wears frauda, I knew that my Holidays belonged to my job2.0. I work2.0 in Web2.0, which means we are open 24x7. I also work in what used to be called "ecommerce." "E-tail." Shopping. November and December are basically one giant mass hugenormous push to sellsellsell! If I did nothing but lean back in my brand-less office desk chair and mindmap marketing strategies on the whiteboard, aka "not real work," from January through October, I would be okay because Shopping2.0 squeezes all that work into two months at the end of the year. Sixty-one days that feels like one very long weekend punctuated with mini rushes from Tab Energy.
The stuff is high energy eviltude in a small, girlish pink package. Hm, sounds like me! You might think that in such fembot, it would be less innocuous than say, something marketed as "Monster" or "Rockstar." Not true. Not true! It turns me into a machine. It most certainly doesn't taste as delicious as diet cough syrup, but the fairy pink fizzy effervescence with a light taste that is fruity but not discernible as to which fruit, is better than most. It didn't make me throw up. The first time I ever drank Red Bull, I threw up, and that wasn't even in a BCL (bar/club/lounge) mitigated with a shot of vodka. I was churning out code in the bowels of a warehouse-turned-internet-startup HQ.
Damn, Tab Energy is like 1999 all over again.
** a year ago today, 'twas the night before christmas,
kimchee stank up the house...**