Eternal Vigilance

January’s coming in hard and fast.

A recent LinkedIn post from a quasi-famous self-help guru implored us to let January come in easy. No harboring of any expectations. No proclaiming of any resolutions. No lofty dreams of conquering the world and no frenzied blasting of personal goals.

Just peace and quiet and acceptance.

Sounds nice, doesn’t it?

Like a rogue wave, 2020 rolled us over and over and over. Wrapped in seaweed and gasping for breath, 2021 came up behind us and flattened us again as we got caught in this endless series of abusive waves lined up to the horizon. Getting permission from a moron to wrap myself in a blanket for the month of January is definitely appealing. And truth be told, this time last year, I believe I was the moron suggesting to YOU that we wrap ourselves in blankets. Please accept my apology.

But not this year. I for one will not be letting my guard down. At best, January is pesky. At worst? She can be a really vindictive whore. And I’ve come too far in the last few years to let such a slut interfere with my progress.

The contrast between December and January is sharp, but we keep falling for it every year, don’t we?

Credit card companies in December: Cash back! Low APR! No fees! Second user! We’ll raise your credit limit, give you a PIN number, anything you need, we’re here for you!

Credit companies in January: Pay up, bitch. It’s super cold out, and oh, by the way, your credit score sucks.

Media in December: Drink the wine, eat the carbs, snuggle in!!!

Media in January: How to replace your nightly wine with herb tea! Sugar ages you! How to lose the Christmas ten! Vegetables and fruits, ya’ll! Get back to the gym, fatties!

Work in December: May peace and joy be yours! Santa Hat Friday! Office party is at 4:00, can’t wait to see you!

Work in December: Submit late invoices, dumbasses. What asshole can cover three shifts next week? Work dress code is posted in break room.

Travel companies in December: The perfect Christmas towns! Cruises to the Caribbean! Ziplining in Patagonia! The best family ski resorts!

Travel companies in January: You ain’t going nowhere. Countries are shut down, haven’t you heard? Cruises are germ fests, cities are being looted, and airports? Haha, good luck with airports. Here’s an article on turning your backyard into Paris.

Schools in December: We are shutting down schools and going remote due to the proliferation of the common cold, and we are monitoring the possibility of doing the same for paper cuts and hangnails and shin splints. We must take precautions to keep our children safe.

Schools in January: There is an ongoing problem with depression and anxiety in children and adolescents, and we don’t understand why. So we’re going to remove these children from their social environments, friends, teachers, coaches, activities and sports, and put them in their houses for the darkest most depressing months of the year, and see if that works. I mean, it didn’t work last year, or the year before that, it actually made things WORSE. But who knows, maybe three times the charm.

Get my drift?

Nope, I will be ever vigilant as January draws near. Nope, I don’t trust her to usher me safely into the biggest year of my life, I’m going to do that my own little self. I don’t want to be looking the wrong way when I should be looking straight ahead.

But hey, you do you. Maybe hunkering down for January is just what you need. I wish I could indulge with you, but I think I’d rather hit the ground running in January. I’m so excited about the new year that I hop out of bed every day, my adrenalin pumping before my feet even hit the ground.

I’ll be away for a week or so after Christmas visiting friends, so I thank you for indulging me as I take some time from blogging to come up with some new content and prepare the best way I can for 2022. I wish you the happiest of holidays, and can’t thank you enough if you log in every day or even once in awhile to read my ruminations. Really, it means a lot to me.

Be ever vigilant my friends. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

Whycakein

I’m making a cake for Christmas.

I know what you’re going to say.

“So?”

My holiday MO, other than being my initials, is vowing to make a homemade cake, ignoring my vow for as long as possible, then driving a few miles to my favorite bakery and ordering one. Then when Christmas day comes, I can feel pride when I put that beautiful cake out on the table with the Christmas cookies, and watch as no one eats it.

Your family might be a dessert family. Good for you. My extended family is all about the food. The breakfast casserole, the cheeses, the dips, the prime rib, the ziti, the caprese salad, and the roast beef au jus. Desserts following the meal in my house is like the opening act following the headliner, and everyone is just drifting out of the stadium to get into their cars before the traffic gets bad.

I don’t even think it has anything to do with being full, or people on diets and not eating “sweets.” It’s just this massive Christmas holiday dessert…indifference, I guess.

I try something new every year. One year I made a layered pumpkin mousse trifle. Barely touched. Another year I ordered a Piecaken from Goldbelly. Barely touched. Another year I drove an hour to a “famous pie place,” and unveiled it on Christmas day in a grand fashion. After the initial “Ooooooohhhh,” it was barely touched. Cheesecake, pecan pie, homemade lemon meringue. Barely touched. And my boys don’t eat that stuff, not even doughnuts, so I end up putting the whole thing in the freezer, waiting until July when it’s finally freezer-burned, and then tossing it.

But I continue on, undaunted, in my search for a dessert that will get my family’s attention. Give it up, you say? Indeed not. Deciding on a dessert to throw in the trash in July is a tradition that I am unwilling to relinquish. And I’ve been saving this beautiful cake recipe for months.

This one will have three layers, homemade frosting, and filled with such a lovely and difficult to concoct confectionary delight that I won’t even reveal it here. And since the whole of my family thinks I’m full of it and therefore doesn’t read my blog, they won’t even know my plans.

So this is between you and me.

I’ll let you know in the New Year how it went. Tomorrow tune in for my last blog of the year, and a sage piece of advice: stay ever vigilant, my friends. If you don’t watch her, January can be a real bitch.

Insta

(Holidays desserts tomorrow)

Welcome to my last installment of Instagram Diaries for 2021. These are the comments I made in 2021 that got the most “likes.” This is not to brag, but to show you what a fecking eejit I am.

A father shown watching his daughter film a Tik Tok video on their porch. He looked horrified, like he was wondering if that was where his tuition money was going.

My comment: “Kids trying to get famous on Tik Tok is so sad.” (710 likes at printing)

Note: The beautiful young girl in the video actually commented to me that she does it only for fun, and that’s she not trying to get famous.

A young girl wearing a mask while getting on a really cool plastic see-through slide in the mountains of El Salvador.

Question: Would you go on this slide in El Salvador?

My comment: “Not with a face diaper on I wouldn’t.” (231 likes)

Video of Doja Cat and the captions, “Doja Cat is the Moment.”

My comment: “I like her but what’s so great about this video?” (189 likes)

Note: She was literally just standing on stage and singing. Not doing anything special.

Christina Applegate’s birthday announcement

My comment: “Gorgeous and talented love her!” (142 likes)

Picture of Kyle Rittenhouse posing with Donald Trump

“Love it- how many libs just threw up in their mouths a little bit after looking at this pic?” (109 likes)

Post asks question: What is your toxic trait?

My comment: “Buying fresh basil and mint, letting it wilt in fridge and then throwing it out.” (105 likes)

Pregnant fit girl crushing her workout.

My comment: “People who criticize pregnant women for working out are so misinformed.” (92 likes)

Golf babe with bad swing and skirt up her schnooker.

“Spare me.” (80 likes)

Ruminations

My brain is tired, give me a break this week, I beg you. Tomorrow I will talk about holiday desserts, but for now, here are some things I texted myself this week:

Barbie houses are still cool, I don’t care how feminists try to demonize Barbie and the color pink. What’s so wrong about looking hot and wearing pink? The Pink Panther does it.

Why don’t Legos have price tags on them? Why hide the price on the wire shelf, like we don’t know plastic bricks cost 29.99?

Why would an orthodontist need a truck with his logo on it? Is he making house calls?

When you talk on a cell phone in public, really loudly, knowing people hate you for it, do you take pleasure in that hatred? Is it a free will thing? Or were you dropped on your head as a baby?

Why does a Christmas cookie with morning coffee seem so indulgent before Christmas, but so nefarious after?

$20 gift idea for a sister, mom, aunt or GF: the winter issue of Bella Grace magazine. Bella Grace is more like a photography book than a magazine, and it’s the perfect reading material for her to curl up with, along with a blanket and a cup of tea. Oh, and I have an article in there on page 106.

‘Tis the season to be self-serving, fa la la la la, la la la la.

Clatter

(This is my last week of blogging for 2021. Friday is Christmas Eve, then I’ll see you on January 3rd).

My sons received a few simple house rules to abide by for Christmas break.

No cooking of pork products after 10 p.m.

Laundry loads should include more than one sock and a t-shirt.

Personal shit contained in bedrooms. No leakage into the living area.

Buy needed supplies as necessary, and cook and clean up when appropriate.

Unless friends are going to pay rent, I don’t want them standing in my kitchen every single night.

And most importantly, no waking Mom up in the middle of the night with noise and light.

A few nights ago, I was roused from sleep by boisterous laughter and light coming from under my door. My bedroom is like a sound-proof chamber, so something has to be pretty garish to wake me from a sound sleep.

From the bathroom there arose such a clatter, I sprang from bed to see what was the matter…

I stood outside the closed bathroom door, eavesdropping on two boys talking full volume and laughing, the sink and shower both going. I stood outside that bathroom, rubbing my hands together like the Grinch at the top of Mt. Krumpet.

“I got ‘em.”

Waking Mom up in the middle of the night is the deadliest no-no you can make if you hang out here. Even the boys’ friends know this sacred rule. Momma O wakes up at 5:00 a.m. to start her workday, so whatever you do,

don’t. wake. her. up.

It was 2:00 a.m., and I was pissed.

I stood outside that bathroom ready to blow a gasket, when suddenly, I froze. One boy was in the shower, and one was brushing his teeth, and they were sharing an annual family Christmas “inside joke.” As my older son built up the scenario, the youngest kept laughing harder and harder through his toothpaste.  

Classic brother bonding. And like the intruder I was, I had almost interrupted it.

With the noise and light still pumping out into the hallway, I retreated back to my bedroom, unseen and unheard, and fell asleep smiling to their noise.  

Surprise!

It’s the “Lexus in the Driveway With a Big Red Bow on the Top” television commercial season.

 (Proud purchaser leads perfectly dressed and groomed spouse to driveway)

“Close your eyes and don’t look until I say so.”

(Stops perfectly dressed and groomed spouse in front of car)

“Ok, you can look now.”

(Uncovers spouses’s eyes with a flourish and says “Ta dahhhhh!!!”)

“Oh my God!!!!”

(Squealing and celebrating and hugging).

The End. And very cute. But let me parody how it would really go.

(Proud purchaser leads bedraggled spouse to driveway. Spouse has not yet had coffee)

“Don’t look until I say so.”

(Bedraggled spouse sighs impatiently).

“I have to grab a shower before your whole family gets here, and I haven’t even started the turkey, can we get on with this?”

“Hold on, we’re almost there.”

“This had better not be a puppy.”

“You can look now. Ta dahhhhh!!!!!”

“Oh my God!!!!”

(Squealing and celebrating and hugging).

“You like it?”

“Yes, but…how did you afford this?”

“You let me worry about that. Want to take it for a test drive?”

“No, seriously, how did you afford this? Like, how much did you put down?”

“Don’t worry about it. Climb inside, it’s got all the features you love.”

“No, I’m not getting in it until you answer my question. What are the monthly payments? Did you withdraw from your 401k?”

“It’s a gift! Part of the gift is that the particulars do not concern you.”

“Don’t concern me? The particulars don’t concern me? How can you say that? Of course they concern me! I’m concerned, very concerned, that you made a rash purchase without thinking it through clearly or even asking my opinion on it! It would be like surprising me with a puppy. It’s not just a puppy, it’s a lifetime commitment!”

(Purchaser stares at spouse)

“Why are you giving me a hard time?”

“I’m not, it’s just that we owe tuition next month, and I’m wondering if this is really a purchase that is financially feasible right now. I mean, can you still return it?”

(Purchaser stares at bedraggled spouse)

“Return it? Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. It’s a nice gesture, hon, but a little excessive.”

(Purchaser rips bow off the hood).

“Forget it, then. Forget I tried to surprise you with your dream car.”

(Purchaser stalks away towards house, throws bow in yard. Spouse follows)

“And why a red bow? That’s not even my favorite color. Did you pay extra for that?”

The End. Happy Weekend.

Point of No Return

During my brief but meaningful stint in high end retail, there were customers who were known for their eccentricities. When these regulars walked in the door, all of our eyes would meet, and eyes would roll. We loved our customers, all of them, but some were tougher to love than others.

The tiny gorgeous 40-year old brunette who cried in the dressing room mirror because she knew her husband would tell her she looked fat in her XXS tights. I told her to buy the tights because she looked gorgeous, then go home and poison his dinner. She would always laugh. I hope that he is dead and now resides in the fourth circle of Dante’s hell.

The slovenly middle-aged woman who never bought anything but kept the floor staff waiting on her hand and foot for hours. “Get me this,” and “Get me that.” She. Never. Bought. Anything. Not in the entire two years I worked there. Not one thing.

The old wrinkly woman who would wait until she was totally naked then ask you to help her with something in her dressing room. Then she would stand there until you got a good look at her wizened knockers. Exhibitionism at its finest.

And finally Anne, the lovely woman with the sweet personality who shopped for hours and hours and hours every week, and then three to four days after her purchase, she would return everything. Everything. Then complain about the merchandise like she hadn’t just drooled all over it a few days earlier. Of course we always took it back gracefully, and we came to a tacit agreement that she was just lonely, and enjoyed the social aspect of the store. But we couldn’t help but wonder:

Don’t these people have anything better to do with their time than shop and return? Shop and return? Shop and return?

Yesterday gave me pause to feel shame at this insight, because as I was driving to UPS to return packages, I realized I had become that person I was complaining about. I had done this shopping dump on Amazon, and almost immediately after arriving at my doorstep, the merch was bagged and ready for return.

The reasons? Well, I’m petty, and here are the reasons I typed into Amazon for “Reason for Return”:

A book: The cover is creased.

A sweater: It makes me look like Bea Arthur.

A coffee mug: The handle is condescending AF.

A red glass pitcher: It’s mocking me.

A desk calendar of an author who I’m jealous of: For spite.

I stole that last one from “Seinfeld.” Here ya go:

!!!!!!!

I gotta cool it with the exclamation points. Giving them up is my New Years’ Resolution. I can’t stop, help me!

What am I afraid of? People mistaking my mood? Since when do I care what people think? Why can’t I stop putting exclamation points at the end of my work emails, texts and Instagram comments?

This is just the last two days of abuse:

Work email: “Hi Mary, I updated your work availability, let me know if I can help with anything else.”

“Thanks so much!”

Mary to Self: Was having your work availability updated really that exciting? Calm down.

Editor email: “Hi Mary, send me your first draft and I’ll have a look-see.”

“Great, let me know at your first convenience!”

Mary to Self: “Could you sound more desperate and unprofessional? Calm down.”

Comment on IG post of Tim Grover being interviewed by Tom Bilyeu:

“Intense!”

Mary to Self: “Even if the two most powerful motivators in the world are sitting at the same table in the same room, saying ‘intense’ with an exclamation point is redundant. Calm the fuck down.”

Family Christmas text from sister-in-law: “Mary, concerning Christmas dinner, what are we going to do about the vegetarians in our family?”

“Roasted vegetable tray?!”

Mary to Self: A question mark AND an exclamation point? Choose one or the other. I mean, aren’t you an English teacher? CALM. DOWN.

Text to sons:

“The buff chick dip is ready!!!”

Mary to You: If you’ve ever eaten my buff chick dip, you would know the exclamation points are necessary here. Calm down.

Zagna

I’d like to share my lasagna recipe with you today. This is a very special recipe, one that requires time and patience. Good luck.

Step 1: Crave lasagna.

Step 2: Buy lasagna noodles and place in pantry.

Step 3: Forget about them.

Step 4: Crave lasagna. Wish you had lasagna noodles.

Step 5: Buy another box of lasagna noodles and place in pantry next to first box.

Step 6: Boil water.

Step 7: Place first box of noodles in hot water.

Step 8: Reach in refrigerator for cheeses, and realize you don’t have any cheeses.

Step 9: Realize you’re too busy to go to the store again.

Step 10: Dispose of cooked noodles.

Step 11: Buy ricotta cheese on the way home from work.

Step 12: Get home and realize you forgot mozzarella.

Step 13: Rue the day you were born.

Step 14: Grab mozzarella on the way home from work.

Step 15: Get home and realize you have no sauce.

Step 16: Grab sauce on the way home from work.

Step 17: Assemble all ingredients, but cannot find the mozzarella.

Step 18: Realize your sons used the mozzarella to make midnight nachos.

Step 19: Order lasagna from the local Italian eatery.

Step 20. Enjoy.

Wires

Son bustles around the house, organizing his work shit. I work quietly at the counter, aware of his manic energy only in my peripheral vision. I sense his approach.

“Mom.”

I look up.

“Yes?”

He holds up a pile of jumbled black wires and plugs.

“Is there somewhere in the house where we store outdated wires and cords?”

“Sure,” I said. I rise from my stool, take the proffered wires and deposit them abruptly into the trash.

He looks at the wires in the trash, then back at me. I hold his gaze.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”