The joy of receiving (pt. 2)

Oh, did I forget to mention I was opening my niece's gifts?

Of course, she's also opening a few presents of her own. But, since her fingers aren’t as dextrous as an adult's, my sister asks her brother, Uncle Unwrapper, to help out.

My sister pulls out the camera to record this (until the tape is mysteriously re-recorded with footage of the dog taking a funny-looking shit in the yard) since my niece doesn’t understand what’s going on.

She’d rather pull out the tissue paper from bags, throw them in the air, pull out more tissue paper, wave it like a flag and dig inside the bag for more tissue paper. When she doesn’t find any, she dives, head first, into the bag, flips herself around and walks around in circles with a bag on her head.

While my niece continually bumps into the furniture, I continue to unwrap – gently – her gifts. They’re all variations on the same theme: fluffy, furry, soft and small.

All of this cuteness is a little too much for someone who is as bitter as I am. If it wasn’t for the fact that I would have to clean up after myself, I think I would vomit.

Eh, maybe later.

So, after 45 minutes of opening up my niece’s gifts (with all the ribbons and bows in a bag, and wrapping paper folded in a pile), it’s time to open mine.

It doesn’t take long.

I have three gifts. It takes six seconds to open them. Except for two cards and a couple of well wishes, I receive a pair of underwear.

The irony is beyond biblical.

The man who owns every possible article of clothing, gets the one piece he has little use for.

No matter what your age, whatever you receive is a part of the joy of receiving.

The joy of receiving (pt. 1)

The pretty colours catch your eye. The wrappings and bows entice you. You want to pick up a present, shake it a little and guess what’s inside.

But, you don’t.

I was taught the joy of receiving lies in the anticipation. You don’t open your presents before that special day. No (wags finger). You wait until Christmas day. Not on the eve at midnight; the actual day in the morning.

It takes so little – and in this case, so little equates to a few dozen gifts – to make me feel like a kid, again.

You’re impatient and are about to wet yourself from anxiety and anticipation (thank God for super-absorbency pads).

It’s time!

With a slew of presents in front of me, I order them in importance. Gifts from casual friends are first to be opened, then ones from closer friends, then “family”, then blood family (those gifts always come last, for fear of life in eternal damnation).

First, check who the gift is from by looking at the label. Ensure everyone knows with a nodding of their heads and the occasional “ohhh” and start pulling apart the paper. DON’T RIP THE WRAPPING PAPER! You have to save the paper for next year. Be gentle splitting the tape. Use a sharp object if you have to, but don’t damage the paper.

Then, when that delicate surgery has been performed, you slide the paper from the package (and any ribbons and bows, if applicable) and see where the box is from. This year, it seems everyone shopped at the Gap.

Open the box (don’t wreck the box because it can always be used for regifting), gently pull apart the tissue paper and look at the marvel that lies inside.

Awww… A dress. Not really my style. A little small, but it can be exchanged for a larger size...

Naughty or nice

Let’s hope Santa gave you what you really wanted: the receipts for all the shitty gifts that you have to return in a couple of days.

Come on, you know that if you return at least half of those things, you’ll be able to get what you asked for.

That is, unless those gifts were purchased on debit, then you’re kinda screwed.

Oh well, at least you'll know those gift givers never really liked you to begin with…

But, to hell with them.

Merry Christmas!

Merry Bitch-mas!!

In a few days, there will be people, presents and parties, celebrating two things – the apex of the holiday season and the birth of consumerism.

But, with all the glitzy showmanship going on, people tend to forget their manners. What is up with this time of the year and the utter lack of politeness?

True, everyone is stressed out with their work, home and social lives. Nothing can be cut back, for fear of alienating someone (but, they remedy this by buying someone a P.O.S. present). No one can help them out with the looming deadline, the wrapping of gifts, or the cooking of the 12-course meal.

There’s too much, all at once.

So, what happens?

These pressures accumulate until they explode. And, they always explode at the wrong time and to the wrong people.

You lash out at the sales assistant who tells you what you’re looking for has been discontinued years ago. You push little old ladies off the sidewalk and into the street because they are in your way. You snap at snot-nosed children by telling them Santa isn’t coming this year because they are on his naughty list (I've only done the last one once... ok, twice this week).

With these reactions, you come across as being the biggest bitch during the time of the year where people want to make you happy.

How to remedy this? Make this year all about good manners, even if you have to do it through clenched teeth.

Smile at a stranger. Open the door for a shopper who has their arms full of bags. Say “Thank you” to a sales associate… and mean it.

You’d be surprised when you do something nice for someone, they will reciprocate (especially because of the whole naughty or nice list).

The simplest of gestures can eliminate this merry bitch-mas that lingers in the air this time of year.

You understand, or do I have to spank it into you?

Here's my lifelong wish, my grown-up twisted list

Same time, every year, people make lists. The same lists. Best of. Christmas. Resolutions. Take the needle off the record, and it keeps on playing the same fuckin’ song.

So, instead of bucking tradition, I’ve decided to make my own list – with a twist.

Knowing me (or thinking that you know me), you’d expect something negative.

But, here’s the twist: It’s not negative.

Yes, it’s still sardonic, sarcastic and sophomoric, but that’s just me. The needle stays on the record, but it’s playing a different song.

Without further adieu, here is a list of a few things I am grateful for this year…

Doing isometric exercises (biceps, triceps, abs and glutes) while sitting for 7 hours straight at a desk chair.

Losing weight quickly because I don’t have time to eat breakfast, don’t take a lunch break, and get home so late that I skip dinner and go straight to bed.

Drinking makes me forget how much I wanna smack you upside the head.

Looking five years younger than my actual age, while photographing five years older – the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.

Having a full head of lustrous hair (and not being bald, or with a serious case of premature greys), yet never managing to have a good hair day.

Learning creative accounting; count every penny because when I have 120 of them, I can go treat myself to a coffee. A muffin costs extra.

Knowing that money can cure anything – literally, have you ever seen deliriously happy people that are dead-ass broke?

Considering going postal when someone tells me, “Don’t worry, it’ll get better. Just stay positive.” You know what? Shut the fuck up. It hasn’t gotten better in a long time. And, I’m positive about that.

Appreciating the relationships of those close to me who don’t bother to call, e-mail or pass by my home to see whether I’m okay, or if my limp, naked body lies on the floor, face-down in a pile of puke.

Drinking makes me forget... where was I, again?

Knowing that next year will bring another series of problems for me to overcome.

And, I will overcome each and every obstacle, even if it kills others.

Kinda makes you all warm and squishy inside, huh?

Inches

Staring at it while it grows and grows is almost hypnotic. Inch upon inch. Your mouth gapes and your mind wonders if it will ever end. But, it keeps on growing.

You know you should do something about it, but are terrified. All of your muscles tighten. Clench.

You feel apprehensive. Should you take the first step, or should someone else?

Part of you wants to jump right in and play with it. Part of you wants to stay away, for fear that you’d look like a total freak.

But, you don’t do anything. You just keep on staring as it grows.

Why does it keep on growing? Shouldn’t it have stopped by now? you think.

Enough. No more. You’re fed up, damnit.

Throw on some protection, and get ready for some exertion.

Do it.

Go outside and shovel that snow.

Teabagging at Burger King

The smells emanating from the kitchen are taking a toll on my insides. It’s lunchtime and I am starving. There are only two cashiers open and 20 ravenous customers waiting in line. We’re hungry and we want food, now.

My phone rings as I approach the head of the line. I pick up.

“Hey.”

“Hey, what’s up? Aren’t you at work?”

“Yeah. I have a question for you: What is teabagging?”

Come again? Did I hear that correctly?

“What?” I almost hiss into the handset.

“I came across it on your site and I didn’t know what it was. So, what’s teabagging?”

Some of my friends have gone beyond the general pleasantries of phone calls and get right to the point. That is why I love them as much as a mixed drink with a piece of fruit swimming in the booze.

“Uh, I can’t answer that right now since I am waiting in line at Burger King.” Turning my head around, I look at the other people in line. “And, if I’m next, I’m afraid I’ll order a Whopper meal with a side of teabagging.”

She giggles.

“I’ll give you a call in five minutes with an explanation. Ok?”

“Fine.”

Click.

After my order is placed, and the food is served (why they didn’t top off my fries is beside me – I paid for a full meal, not 80% of one), I walk to the quieter upstairs section of the restaurant and dial my friend’s phone number. It rings.

“Hey, I’m back.”

“Don’t worry. I already asked someone at the office and they told me what it meant.”

“Are you sure they were right?”

“Well, if it’s what I think it is, then…” she giggles.

“So, you know it’s the process of, uh, descending/dangling one’s grits onto another’s grill,” I say just loud enough for the other patrons to hear me.

The giggles stop and the laughing starts.

“Hey, I’m at Burger King! What did you expect from me?” True, I am the king of PG-13 euphemisms. I could’ve used the words meat and potatoes, or something more lascivious, but I didn’t. I’m a gentleman, damnit.

“Ok, ok, enough,” she says between laughs.

“Now that you know what teabagging is, I’ll let you go and get back to your work. That is, if you can get that word out of your head.”

“Ok,” she giggles. “See you later.”

“See you on Tuesday.”

Me and my friends. Me and my phone calls. The two are inexplicably linked.

Hopefully, next time, when someone calls me, they’ll be asking if I want a time-share in Florida. Now there’s a call I can handle anytime and anywhere.

Eye candy

Whenever I have meetings, I feel it is my duty to dress appropriately. A tailored suit, crisp dress shirt, black shoes and belt. Never wear brown shoes and belt for a professional tête-à-tête - too casual.

The look is nothing special, but it’s simple and classic.

As I run from one meeting to another, I stop by my friends' workplace for a surprise. She’s busy, but she takes a few seconds out of her day to greet me. The first words out of her mouth shock me.

“God, Steven. You look fabulous!”

Really? Me? Nah! Can’t be.

Being someone who take compliments with a grain of salt, my response is, “Uh, yeah. Ummm. Yeah. Thanks?”

She takes a step back and gives me the once over. From the expression on her face, she likes what she sees. The woman has taste. Maybe she’s onto something.

All it takes is one compliment. From there, things change. My shoulders curve back, my back arches, my left arm swings (the other is holding my briefcase), and there is a bounce in my step. My posture dictates attitude. Confidence.

With some free time on my hands, I do a little shopping/shoplifting. As I walk around one store, I notice a set of eyes follow me. This piece of eye candy must like what it sees. Only what I don’t realize is that I’m the candy.

Just a few steps away, another set of eyes follows my movements. This time the eyes belong to a nicer package. And, you don’t to wait until Christmas to unwrap this gift.

All of this head-snapping behaviour makes me wonder: Could this be due to the fact that I am wearing a suit? The suit begat a compliment. From the compliment came attitude. The attitude creates confidence. And, the confidence compels a sense of attraction.

Sure, whatever.

Eye candy. Tasty and sweet. Low in calories and carbs. And, I always though I was a big and fat, hunkin’ piece of pork.

Wash me clean

After a rather troubling time, there is nothing else I can think of but eliminating all traces of it from my life.

Unfortunately, there is no eraser, white-out or keyboard button capable of removing negative aspects of your past: both physical and psychological.

But, there are two things that (typically) work.

The first thing is easy, although labour intensive (you should see the amount of paper trail I leave behind). Pull out the recycling box and shredder and enjoy.

The second thing is an altogether different science. Drinking it away doesn’t help. Stuffing your face won’t fill a void. Taking a few x-rated excursions will only make you feel empty.

What is it, you ask?

A shower.

Now, hear me out.

Water is a cleanser – actual and spiritual. Why do you think people are baptized in water and not vodka? True, neither will stain your clothes, but one doesn’t leave you hung over, waking up in some stranger’s bed, wondering, How the hell did I get here? and, You were so much better looking last night.

So, I pull off my clothes, jump into the shower, turn on the taps, wait for the water to warm up, and pull the knob.

The initial shock of cold water frightens me as it hits my torso, and I let out a little yelp. Soon, the temperature heats up.

Stepping underneath the showerhead, I let the water come down on my head. The sound resembles that of diving head-first into the ocean; gurgles and static.

My hands press against the tiles. I lean forward and arch my back in a semi-sprinters position. The water slowly trickles down my neck, shoulders, arms, torso, back, ass, legs and feet.

Drenched.

The noise stops any thought from developing in my head, any sounds coming from my mouth.

The water cleanses me of all history. Each drop rolls down my back and off my skin. They swirl down the drain in little circles. Ideally, I want to stay here for hours, making sure that every last miserable memory is gone.

The process is biblical and sacrilegious in thought, but logical and self-serving in practice.

I want it to go away.

Wash me of this filth. Wash me. Wash me clean.

End

It was yesterday.
My last day.

No more anger.
No more tears.

Unknown future.
Forgetting the past.

A few worries.
I will overcome.

The crisis in my life.
The life that is my crisis.

One door closes.
Another one opens.

One window is stuck.
Another you break through.

Keep on moving on.
Keep on finding yourself.

Stay strong.
Stay true.

A beginning.
And an end.