December 24, 2002
Today is the day to anticipate.
Zulkey.com will be taking the day off tomorrow to open presents, eat Polish sausage at several meals, spend time with family and figure out how new electronics work. I wish you the best, with lots of warmth and safety and fun and love.
Send me the tales of your worst New Years Eve ever, and that's what I'll run prior to 2003. Come on. I'll count it as your Christmas present to me.
Thanks to my contributors today. They know what Christmas is for. Helping me out.
From Liz McArdle:
It goes something like this (keeping in mind there are 30 something of us). . . Everybody has a Kris Kringle for whom they buy a present (this year cousins can have aunts and such). My mom likes to come up with some completely arbitrary method of opening presents. We've done height order, which is awkward for the shorter males, age order, both increasing and decreasing and by family, alphabetical order, etc. I think my mom's worst suggestion yet was alphabetical by middle name, reversed. Clearly the Tanqueray was talking. So one by one we open presents and everyone watches and screams and oohhhs and ahhs for each one. No joke, LOUD oohhss and ahhs-- that's our favorite part but also the part which strangers to the system may find most alarming. So that's the fiasco that goes on chez nous.
From Annie Logue:
My grandfather was English. My mother used to try to recreate a traditional English Christmas dinner: roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, Brussel sprouts, plum pudding.
Many of the people in my hometown were of Italian descent. Can I tell you how much it hurt that they got to have 12 kinds of cookies for dessert on Christmas day, and my mother served something that had ingredients special-ordered from the butcher? For dessert?
No wonder I'm a vegetarian with Christmas issues.
From Peter Morgan:
My parents and I will be driving down to Durham
to spend Christmas with my sister Katie and her husband Jim. But Katie is
a medical resident and doesn't have off until the 28th. So Christmas will
now be celebrated on the 29th. Mark your calendar. We don't have too many
traditions. When possible, we like to go to a candle-light service on
Christmas Eve...but that's not really likely for this year. On Christmas morning
we open our stockings first, during breakfast, then move on to the tree. This
was more of a special thing when we celebrated christmas at my
Mom's parents, as they had sliding french doors separating the dining room
from the living room. We didn't even get to see the tree until our plates
were clean. Every year somebody tells the story of my first real Christmas
when I was four: I thought that the stockings were the extent of the
christmas gifts, and was perfectly satisfied. when the doors were rolled back
to reveal the tree and presents beneath I apparently did a dance of pure joy,
hopping around the room in my footie-pajamas. Every subsequent year my Grandmother
tries to get me to recreate that magical moment and I stubbornly refuse.
From Jane Irony Doe:
My family is dysfunctional, and as much as I love them, I can only take them
in small doses. The holidays are always a time of stress for me and my boyfriend
because he feels the same way about HIS family.
For my family, it is an unspoken and undisputed tradition to spend Christmas
Eve, or "noche buena", at my Godmother's house -- which is also
now my Uncle's house, since he fell in love with her, left his wife, convinced
my Godmother to get a divorce and then married her.
The gathering consists of my Mom, my Dad, my Younger Brother and the girlfriend
of the moment (if he can guilt trip her into spending Christmas Eve with him
instead of her family), my Godmother, my Uncle, my three Cousins, myself and
my boyfriend, and a handful of old people whose names I can never remember
and who never seem to age. They have attended this Christmas Eve party every
year for as long as I could remember.
The evening goes like this: My Mom arrives early to hang out and help. She
inevitable ends up in the backyard talking about current family events and
gossip in hushed voices with my uncle as he watches the grill. My father arrives
late, sits down on the couch in front of the big-screen TV and passes out,
not to be heard from again until the meal is served. After the meal he will
resume his position on the couch. My younger brother arrives with girlfriend
in tow, they hang around for the food and leave shortly after -- that is,
if they haven't left before eating because they get into a fight. My boyfriend
and I arrive (hopefully) as the food is being served. We make nice with everyone,
roll our eyes when the question about marriage comes up again for the fourth
year in a row. We leave after dessert, pausing politely for a few minutes
so it's not so obviously an "eat-and-run". In the car, we high-five
each other and celebrate successfully avoiding engaging in prolonged conversation
with anyone, thus maintaining our sanity intact.
My cousins, mentioned earlier rarely come out of their rooms. My guy cousin
hangs out in his room with HIS girlfriend of the moment, smoking pot, watching
movies or doing whatever it is that my guy cousin does with girls. Occasionally
he'll come out and ask me something about computers, because you know, since
I'm a graphic designer and work with computers, I know all there is to know
about "all things computer". My girl cousin hangs out in HER room,
chatting online with some guy she fell in love with on the internet who has
promised to come to Miami to marry her. My older cousin, if he comes at all,
will find a way to talk about his job the entire time. He fixes rather expensive,
but poorly-built luxury automobiles in a hoity-toity part of town. EIther
that, or he'll try to convince us to join whatever pyramid scheme/get-rich-quick
program he's been suckered into most recently. The random old people sit around
on the couch and watch my slumbering father and whatever is on TV.
With any luck the night is over fairly quickly and we move on to my Boyfriend's
family's house, where we eat again, and I answer, "Oh they're all doing
*great*!" when asked about my family.
After two full Cuban Noche Buena meals of pork, rice, beans, yuca, buñuelos
and turron -- and about a gallon of Sangria each -- we finally come home,
pass out on the bed, thankful the day is over, and sleep in late on Christmas
Day.
Every Winter, my parents (who are, unbeknownst to me, secret agents) die and leave me to live with my Aunt May and Uncle Ben. For a while, it's awkward, but eventually, I come to terms with my new life and realize how much I love my new family. This happens in the first few days of Christmas, let's say days 1 through 4.
On Day 5, something strange happens. On a field trip to the science museum
a radiated / genetically mutated spider slips down from it's hidden spot on
the ceiling and bites me on the hand. Fucking spiders, eh? And as soon as
the little blighter gets his fangs out of my hand, it swells up real nice
and big and purple. Boy-oh does it hurt. I mean, most families have traditions
like gathering around the Christmas tree and/or
eating turkey. Me, I get bit by a fucking fucked up spider every year.
But here's the weird bit. On Day 6, I wake up to discover that I've got super
human powers. No doubt, I've got the strength, speed, and agility of a spider!
Christmas comes early for Benny boy! December 6th also happens to be, if you
live in Texas like I do, a big day for amateur wrestling. I think you can
put two and two together to figure out what I
did with my new found powers! That's right! I kicked some backyard
wrestler ass.
Oh wait. I forgot an important part. Right after I figure out I can shoot
webs out of my wrists -- don't ask me why they don't shoot out of my ass,
I don't know -- me and my Uncle Ben have a big fight and he tells me that
with great something something comes great something else. It's happened
25 times already and I still don't remember what the crusty old man says to
me every year.
Right. So. After I whup ass at wrestling, this dude robs the wrestling promoter, and then runs right past me as I'm muggin' with some hotties. But I mean, who cares, right? T'aint my problem!
This is where the sad part happens.
On the 7th day of Christmas, I go home to find out that someone has killed
my dumb uncle. What luck! Only 18 days til the big day and my surrogate father
gets blown away. And in an ironic twist, it turns out that the robber from
the wrestling place is the guy who killed my uncle. Pah! What
luck.
Right. So. The next bits happen over the span of a few days. I get really
pissed off about my uncle being, you know, murdered, so I go and make myself
a red and blue spandex outfit and start swinging around the town, beating
up criminals. Along the way, dudes in green costumes try to
beat me up. Also, dudes in black costumes, purple costumes, more green costumes,
and a few guys in yellow costumes. Dudes are always trying to beat me up.
On the 20th day of Christmas, my Aunt May remarries to a guy who has 8 mechanical arms. This dude then proceeds to try to kill me and take over the world.
On the 21st day of Christmas, after I've proven that my Aunt's new hubby is a super criminal, Aunt May and my two little brothers all go to the mall and buy presents. Then, we spend the night wrapping them in brightly colored paper. Fun!
All this stuff culminates on, duh, December 25th. It's a big day for everyone.
I get married to this hot model named Mary Jane, we open presents, I find
out that I'm not actually me, but really a clone of me that got swapped out
at some vague point in the past (don't worry, I don't understand it either),
we have a nice ham dinner with mashed potatos and
gravy, my old costume comes to life and tries to kill me and Mary Jane, and
then we all settle down for tea and cookies under the tree.
What a tradition, eh?!