There are only two seasons in the Valley of the Sun–hot and Bruno Mars hot–thus I have come to rely on marketing cues for seasonal changes. Fall arrives when the barrage of pumpkin-flavored products hit the shelves, so you can eat, bake, lick, and snort yourself into a Thanksgiving Day coma a month before and after the holiday.
Likewise, when I begin to hear “Well, the weather outside is frightening…” and it’s 75 and sunny, I know winter is approaching north of where I stand and Christmas season will be upon us. The local sign holder on the corner will be forced to wear a Santa costume, stumbling around in the blazing heat like broke Winthrop in Trading Places, waving an ad that reads: Yee-Haw! Hot Tubs for Sale at Blizzard Prices! And The Salvation Army will be ringing their bells outside of a Walgreens as I stop to purchase my $5.99 sunglasses that will inevitable end up in some bathroom stall, right atop of the toilet paper dispenser in my attempt to correct the underhand rotation. Over the top, people!
So 2014 was the year my 6-year-old decided to question the man in red as he appeared in three different locations with various beard lengths, weight gain, sobriety and distinct aromas of beef and cheese. Santa helpers, I always reply. I admit, during Christmas I sit on a throne of lies, trying to keep track of the web I have woven so that she may enjoy a few more years of blissful make-believe. I am the catcher in the rye, positioning these damn elves on the shelves in clever little hiding spots trying not to make eye contact because you’ll swear their eyes are shifting. Total creepers, they are.
But Christmas is over and now that the remote control helicopters have all crashed and burned and the newly minted Barbie has been stripped of her Vegas clothes and lays naked in her plastic penthouse sipping cocktails next to a headless Ken, I’m able to pry open my laptop and reflect on events, and list some necessary changes for the New Year.
- Do more of this: write, write, write.
- Less of this: bitch, bitch, bitch.
- Yell more of this: You can do this!
- Yell less of this: Pull your freakin’ car over you lunatic and learn how to drive!
- Tell my son more of this: I know your disgruntled disposition is due to fluctuating hormones typical in adolescent, teenage boys and I understand.
- Tell my son less of this: Somewhere there is a kid in China that would love your first world problems.
- Laugh at this: New Yorker cartoons.
- Laugh less at this: Look! There goes the Steamin’ Weenie food van! AAAAhh-haaa-haaa!
- Cook more of this: green stuff.
- Cook less of this: brown stuff.
Happy New Year’s, and may all your resolutions be obtainable with an app!