No exchanges, no returns. Was it really Christmas?!

It wasn’t the best of Christmases, it wasn’t the worst of Christmases.

… to spin from the famous opening sentence in the Dickens’ novel.

It was OK. There was a handful of highlights. There was baaaaaad behavior. Not related to family but the public. (see prior Starbucks post!)

Lemme ask: Does anyone really LOVE Christmas?!

I know such people exist. I’ve met ’em. My boss at one of my jobs is one. I marvel at their love of Christmas as I might an Olympic runner. “Amazing feats. Amazing athlete. But that’ll never be me. Never can be.”

Halloween, that’s my holiday.

Anyways, Christmas 2016 is past. I’m glad. I survived. Endured. What especially differentiated this one from most is that I wasn’t at some really shitty job that I hate. Any holiday, nee any DAY where I’m not so engaged, well, it’s a good day.

So attention turns now to New Year’s. In Japan, a much much more celebrated holiday than Christmas. You can take the girl outta Japan but you can’t take Japan outta the girl.

As usual, I have no plans. It sucks. It means I have no friends to call. No intimate get-togethers with one or close circle of 4-6. Means while life’s better than in the past, I’m still a long long long long long long long ways from the life I’d envisioned or would want for myself. Let’s get real: need.

I was at Costco the other day. Commented to one of the food-demo gals or possibly a passing customer: “There is a Santa. But there is no God.”

The words just spilled out of my mouth, as they oft do. Taking me by surprise, not in content but articulate expression.

I DO believe in Santa.

And I do and I don’t believe in God.

It’s complicated. I believe in part that there’s a God. But he’s not a loving or good God. Evidence abounds. Plus I have personal proof.

I hesitate to outright say I believe in God but he’s bad. I’d say vengeful and bad in the sense of not-good.

Anyways, ’tis the season of reflecting on big matters and the big man upstairs.

Thinking ahead, I need life to be better to me than it’s been. I need more from life than I’ve gotten or received. 2017 is an especially significant one for various reasons. I can’t have my decade in my 60s — 60th birthday in March! — as a repeat, rather, continuation, of my 50s. Or 40s. Two decades to “wipe off the proverbial personal map.”

Thing is, how do I get what I want. When what I want does not exist. Does not exist in this town (or most).

Fuck.

So much for any lingering good cheer of Christmas! 😀 😀

Best shut up before this takes on a rambling quality and let this post just traaaaailllllll offfffffff ………

Btw, about that headline. Every year I receive one present: homemade cookies from my son. So I ask: Without a gift to exchange or return — aka the National Pasttime of millionS of Americans beginning today — can it really be called Christmas?!?

I think not.

And I think so.

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Where’s Silent Night when ya need it?

Merry Christmas to all!

And how’s your holidays? More peaceful than mine, I hope (haha).

I’m at a Starbucks (since both my jobs are closed today; otherwise I’d be working ..working and alcohol — best salves to forget it’s Christmas!).

It’s busy here but not unruly.

Until apparently a family of 10 entered. Took 3-4 tables and chairs just down from me.

A group with 2-3 kids, boys, probably brothers or cousins, ages around 5-7.

Are they hyped up on Christmas treats?

Or simply the result of shitty parenting?

Either way, they’re obnoxious loud misbehaving B-R-A-T-S! Punching each other, playing, doing what kids do. *In their own homes.*

Not in public. Certainly not if you’re a good parent.

So these rambunctious boys are screaming up a storm. Rolling around on the floor.

Yes, you read that right. ROLLING AROUND ON THE FLOOR. At Starbucks.

Not a damn adult in the group doing a damn thing about it. Well, one guy, probably the father, “told” them to behave.

As effective as telling the Pope to go hang out in a brothel.

Bad example. It’s been done. But you get the point.

Passing by, I shot them a look. An expressionless detached on-point look. A look that shouted: “Completely unacceptable.”

Put another way: “You’re the fucking assholes. And the rest of us here in Starbucks trying to have a jolly relaxing Christmas: Not.”

At my table, I stuffed in earbuds far as they’d go without damaging ear canals. Cranked Pandora as loud as it could go.

Still not loud enough to drown the Boy Monsters and their shitty parents.

Shot a few more direct looks.

I mean REALLY people!! Kids SHOUTING AND TUMBLING AROUND ON THE GROUND IN A PUBLIC PLACE. DOES THAT SEEM ACCEPTABLE???

Don’t answer that.

In today’s American society, it is. Dare point it out to a parent, ask them to quiet ’em own, put a leash on them puppies, consider the patrons … all falls on deaf and attacking ears.

I know. Because I politely but firmly SPEAK UP. And the response is NEVER good! As if I’d just announced I’d run over their dog.

(cancel cancel)

Finally, The OBNOXIOUS level of the Brant Tumbling Boy grew too much even for the (apparent) father.

He escorted them outside for a brief “talking to.”

Now, I did send direct messages nonverbally with dead-on glances that communicated in no uncertain terms that they were OUT OF LINE.

And they caught those looks.

So I’d LIKE to think that those messages had an effect. Maybe awoke them from the stupor of their self-importance. Reminded them for a fleeting moment that this is a public cafe, not their private living room.

I’d like to think that my direct but silent looks made an impact.

Truth is, it’s certain I did.

On this late Christmas afternoon, I’d like to think I contributed my small part to Peace for All.

Or at least those at this here Starbucks.

Merry Christmas, all. Peaceful may it be.

Pffffffffft goes the party

The party’s over. As of today. Christmas Eve.

Remember when you were a kid and the minute the parents were away, the cat did play?

Perhaps alcohol “or other substances” were involved. If not, rambunctiousness definitely was!

It was as if … correctional officers (COs)unlocked all the doors on a cell block … walked out … and left the prisoners to play!

Well, that’s the image that works. I had a particularly brutal childhood. Your mileage certainly will differ!

My current living situation needs to end. Pronto. As in by the start of the year — if only someone with a room to rent out appears! So far it hasn’t happened. But there’s, what, a week left in the year? I keep looking every day.

Point is, my roommate’s been away for a week. Today he returns. I’d almost rather have a root canal. I’ve had plenty so the procedure doesn’t bother me. The loss of any/another tooth on the other hand … that’s a whole other story.

When the roommate walks out the door on a trip (he travels occasionally, bring relief to the domestic situation), I don’t hasten to the liquor cabinet first thing. I’m not 11. I’m 59. I can drink any time I wish AND buy it!

But the WEIGHT of the situation (one that’s no longer positive for me) is lifted.

The oppressiveness is eased.

Then he comes back. Literally just as we speak!

And the COs have re-entered the building …

So there ya have it, Santa. No pressure or anything. That request for a new good place to live (and by year’s end is best) — the one desire on my Wish List that I posted the other day — still stands.

I want out. I need out. He wants me out. Get me out, Santa!

Please make the start of 2017 merry and bright and brimming with possibilities and positive change!

Thank you thank you thank you!

love,

a lifelong admirer and believer

me

p.s. prisoners out from under the thumb and playing even for a day feels so liberating! free! i’m not a convicted felon, as you know, santa, but have certainly lived too much of life like one! as you know. i’d sure like that to end as well but that’s a whole other complicated topic, eh …

p.s.s. thank you again, santa, for listening and gifting me with a door out, literally 🙂