Lauren attempts holiday cheer

Disclaimer: The following was a brief stint at holiday cheer gone horribly awry. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the hatred, maybe it was the fact that I resented wasting past holidays in horrendous situations simply out of obligation. Or, no. It was the alcohol. I don't think it quite expresses that incapturable Christmas spirit, but that's open to interpretation I suppose.

Dear Marcy and Dick,

Greetings from rural Japan! I know you both had qualms about my accepting a teaching position miles from anything or one familiar, but you have no cause to worry. The town is fantastic, the people accommodating, the daily situations awkward enough to make me smile (mostly out of embarrassment.) I hear from my parents that you’re off on yet another cruise for the holidays. I send with you my cheer and wishes for a very Merry Christmas…despite the fact that Christmas is hard to fathom here. I haven’t celebrated a traditional Christmas in quite some time. Surely you remember last Christmas, as I was donning a tan in the Virgin Islands, soaking up your ingratiating hospitality and daily doses of insults, and the Christmas before, spent questioning my sanity and pacifist ideals in Hell-frozen-over, or, my bad, I think they changed the name to Michigan. What? You don’t remember? How could you forget? The last night you threw a cocktail party for all of your nouveau-riche friends and neighbors. I was forced to attend at gunpoint, or close enough, familial obligation, and wore all black…I was mourning the loss of fun I suppose. You, Marcy, claimed I was dressed like hired help, and as such, should get in the kitchen and help my mother. My mother! My own mother was in the kitchen preparing for your party, surely you recall, for that goes above and beyond sisterly love.

Personally, I wouldn’t domesticate myself for anyone, especially not you and your sycophantic, pedophile, thinks-he’s-god’s-gift-to-women, perv of a husband. I trailed my mother though, in hopes that my pitiful pout would reveal to her some need for sympathy. She wore the same face. Neither of us liked the situation, but it was preferable to hide in the kitchen than to mingle with the socialites. I began to open a bottle of champagne, mainly in hopes to guzzle it down without anyone being the wiser, and because it was the only task I was qualified to do at the time. Dick, remember this…you noticed and told me to leave it for my brother, who was underage, and oblivious to the miracle of alcohol in such situations. Instead, I was to cut radishes. I pleaded ignorance. You tried to show me the “proper” way to cut a radish. I cut my finger. You called me a disaster. I resisted the urge to left hook your grizzly face, to turn your head so quickly you’d question the source, to force you to realize the internal wrath you are capable of producing in people, turning their insides into pits of flaming hatred and disgust. I wanted to run upstairs and hide in the guest room, question the practicality of pacifism in a world full of haughty rich, hide from the inebriated, maddening crowd below. Yet Marcy you saw right through my ploy and dragged me down the stairs, introduced me to the tall son of your Greek neighbors, a twenty-nine year old lighting technician currently residing outside of Hollywood. I don’t know if you were trying to play matchmaker, or if you just wanted to brag about me…which I find terribly irritating considering you degrade me at every possible chance, surely you have your reasons. I had to chat with this guy for an hour. Now, I know an hour seems fairly short, though had you stuck around to really get to know him, you’d realize just how interminable sixty minutes can truly be. I ended up getting rather sloshed that Christmas, sneaking outside the house into the accruing snow, with nothing but an increasing BAC to keep me warm. I was sick for a week after, hung over on the plane ride home, pissed off for the next few days. I bet you never knew.

So, I guess what I’m getting at is, I sincerely hope your holiday season is filled with as much cheer and fun the past few have been for me. Thanks for all of your hospitality over the years. Merry Christmas!

Oh, and a Happy New Year.

While you're at it, piss off for denying me a graduation present simply because you didn’t agree with my decision to move to Japan. For harassing Ted Kennedy after Christmas service to chat with me about my experience…as if the man didn’t have enough people asking for handouts and favors. For annually plopping steak on my plate, knowing damn well I’m a vegetarian, simply because, I think, you like to see that look of utter repulsion and nausea sweep over my face. For claiming three majors will amount to nothing but indecisiveness.

Keep in touch!

Love,
Lauren

p.s. Miss you.