On Our Way To Crazy

I should be better at this by now.

This was the fifth year in a row we’ve gone to Texas for Christmas. We are very lucky to have jobs that allow us to travel for a couple of weeks over the holidays, and we always get a lot of good family time in.

But somehow, it’s never enough.

I can’t leave my parents’ house without crying. I have to take last, long, sentimental looks at the Christmas tree, the fireplace, the butterfly wall. I have to get big fat hugs from everyone.

I know that the ten hour drive settles my emotions, and once we’re back to Nashville I can get back in the groove with little trouble. But the day before we leave I start to feel it in the back of my throat, and by the time we’re packing up I am a mess.

You would think I’d be an old pro at this by now. I know it’s going to be hard, but I also know I’ll see them again soon. I know that life in Nashville is good and we’re happy here. It’s always too long between visits with our family, but we make it.

But the actual walking away and leaving is HARD.

Apparently I have a major skill I didn’t even know about.

You know how when you’re telling a story and you need to mimic making a phone call, you use your thumb and pinky finger to make a phone and hold it up to your head?

When we drove into town Wednesday night, we tuned the radio to The Edge, the alt-rock station we both listened to in high school. I know I don’t like the music that is currently played on stations like that, but it’s just what you listen to in Dallas, you know? It’s a nostalgia thing.

They were playing commercials, and I (after a whole day of driving, mind you) used my hand as a phone to mimic calling in to the radio station and asking them to only play the music they played between 1994 and 1998, so it would feel more like home for me.

They come back from commercials, and the first thing hey play is Beck’s “Loser”. I didn’t think much about it, but for the past few days every time we tune it to that station they’re playing the Nixons, or Soundgarden, or Toadies, or the Cranberries. We have heard very little new music.

So here’s my secret talent…

I think my hand works as an actual phone.

Really.

Now I just have to decide if I want to use this power for good, or for evil.

It is time for the airing of the grievances.

Attention, Target shoppers. I wouldn’t even be here the weekend before Christmas if I didn’t need a fabulous tray for my party tonight. (Target delivered on that count, and I am glad. But that’s not a grievance.) Here’s the thing: the store is crowded. Really crowded. So maybe leaving your cart in the middle of the aisle while you look for something somewhere else is not the best idea. Also – walking rules are the same as driving rules. Stay to the right, don’t go flying out into the middle without checking to see if someone’s coming, go with the flow of traffic. You’re not following those rules, and that’s why we keep running into each other. Also, your son will not like that Nickelback CD, so please don’t buy it for him. If he asked for it, he’s lame, and you don’t need to encourage such behavior.

To the makers of Billboard Party Karaoke 5: There is only one song that I am willing to sing karaoke style, and you didn’t include it on your CD. This is a glaring oversight. You had Love Shack, you had Hit Me With Your Best Shot, you had Redneck Woman. So why, why, WHY was there no Keep Your Hands To Yourself? I rock that song, but my small group was denied the pleasure of hearing it. Sad.

To unnamed small group members: Holiday activities like pot lucks and dirty Santa gift exchanges are meant to be fun. They can be really fun when people get into them and make a serious effort to make food people would actually want to eat and buy gifts people really want or are genuinely funny and creative. If you go to Walmart and buy a giftset of stinky lotion and perfume, not only will the person who gets it not like it, but it will never get stolen. You have then denied that person both the fun of participating AND getting to home with something useful or fun. And that’s just wrong. (Vanilla Milk scent? Really?!?! Gross.)

To Brandi: You set a goal in January to read 50 books in 2006. You have read 48-1/2. Today is December 17. You have exactly two weeks to read a book and a half to reach your goal. Maybe you should get off the computer and get some reading done. Sheesh.

Next up: the feats of strength.

I have a serious bone to pick with VH1.

Last night I was flipping channels when I came across their 50 Most Awesomely Bad Songs countdown. As a fan of bad music, countdowns and the word “awesomely”, I was in.

It was a mostly good list, full of music I LOVED in junior high. From A Distance, Two Princes, Informer… they were all there. It was a mix of songs that I think are intentionally awesomely bad and songs that are trying to be cool but just can’t get there. Getting to see the videos was extra fun because I didn’t have MTV growing up. Overall I was pretty happy with the songs that made the cut.

Except one, where they went horribly, horribly wrong.

This song is not awesomely bad. In fact, I would say it’s awesomely awesome. I love it when it came out, and I love it now. I fail to see any problems with it.

Not only did VH1 erroneously include this song on the countdown, they listed it at number six. NUMBER SIX. The top ten of such a list should be reserved exclusively for the likes of Vanilla Ice and Right Said Fred and Mister Mister.

The song? Breakfast at Tiffany’s by Deep Blue Something.

Now, I’m not saying it’s the greatest song of all time. But is it the sixth most awesomely bad song of all time? I think not. Is it more awesomely bad than Rico Suave? Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm? The Final Countdown (“Pennies from heaven!”)? Heck. No.

Me and VH1, we’re gonna have ourselves a little talk. A come-to-Jesus, if you will. They will not make such a mistake again.

Why today was the greatest day of my life:

I am not a dancer. I always think, “Oh, it would be so fun to go dancing!” But I am wrong. Actually, I like being in places where people dance. I like the atmosphere and I love the people watching. But I personally do not like to dance in public. I just don’t have it in me. (Unless the song is “Jump” by Kris Kross, since they basically tell you what to do. I may not be able to dance, but I can definitely follow directions.)

I just can’t respect a guy who orders Smirnoff Ice in a bar.

I really really (really) like sangria.

My mom was on to something all those years she told me to stop popping my knuckles. My left pointer finger has suffered something of a knuckle-popping-induced injury. It’s swollen on the inside and it hurts to bend it. This does not bode well for a left-handed person.

My right hand is pretty much lazy and useless. My attempt to brush my teeth right-handed this morning was a disaster. It doesn’t know how to do anything.

I have really cheesy taste in Christmas music.

I am very sensitive to after-church lunch politics.

Football means a lot more to me than I realized. I just about had a heart attack yesterday during the Cowboys game. Thank goodness for Martin Gramatica.

I think dogs in football jerseys are awesome and I don’t care who knows it.