I get it. Time passeth me by….

I spent the New Year weekend (after Saturday) allowing my hair to regain it’s natural oil balance (i.e., no shower). It’s great once you get past the homeless person phase. Unfortunately, I had to go to work today and, thus, introduced chemicals back into my hair.

I went to a party on New Years where we wrote down what we wanted to let go of on biodegradable helium balloons and then released them to they sky. I wrote some really boring items to let go of on my card, like “Fear” and “Lack of faith.” So unoriginal.

Fortunately, the balloon I actually released contained a message I needed to hear, “Let go of negative self-talk and resentment.” At midnight we let go of all the balloons and watched them fly up into the sky. It was beautiful.

Just for today, I can release the old.

Good thing TSA doesn’t scan for corn husks. If so, the packet of frozen tamales my mom gave me would surely be gone.

She also gave me a tin of homemade cookies. It doesn’t matter how much I tell my mom that I don’t eat sugar or flour (total lie) she will employ her CIA tactics to get me to ingest anything. (She didn’t really work for the CIA…but she should). The process goes something like this:

“Would you like a cookie?” she asks innocently.

“No, thank you Mom. I’m trying to cut down on sugar.”

“Are you sure? I made them….”

“Mom, sugar is a drug that leads to an addictive process,” I reply. I attempt to educate her.

“Oh, ok…But they have [INSERT DELICIOUS INGREDIENTS] in them.”

“No, Mom. I said I’m not eating sugar!”

“Oh, Ok.”

Silent pause. [NOTE: This is part of her tactics].

“They also have [INSERT SOMETHING HEALTHY...EX. RAISINS].”

“No, thank you.”

She eats one.

“These came out really good.”

“Fine! I’ll eat a cookie!”

I tell myself that I have no choice while enjoying my [INSERT HIGH CALORIC DESERT] and that my metabolism processes food made from my mother faster while retaining more nutrition.

And then I have three more.

Just for today, I can eat my mom’s cooking.

Attention: Family….I love you, but you can stop sending me presents. I know you’re just being generous to the younger generation, but I’m going to be 40. I swear, I won’t feel slighted. Dad, in particularly, please…no more ethnic jewelry. I don’t know what to do with my arsenal of large, necklaces with big pendants from around the world. It’s not that I don’t find a necklace made from recycled coke bottles an inspiring gesture of ecological resourcefulness. But I don’t wear large necklaces. Quite frankly, I don’t have the rack for them. I’m monogamous with a silver chain.

Just for today, I can speak my truth about gifts.

My mother has an iron will. It could smooth the crease in my forehead (and I’m sure she’d oblige). Nothing will stop her from celebrating Christmas. Not even ten degree weather. I have to admire that kind of commitment. However, for me (emphasis on the words, “FOR ME”…as in “NO JUDGEMENT HERE, JUST A DESIRE TO SIT IN THE WARM HOTEL AND DRINK A HOT ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGE”) no Christmas display could possibly be worth becoming a human ice cube. The problems began when I didn’t cop to this upfront. Life lesson from Christmas #39: Communication is paramount to personal happiness.

I did enjoy mass, though. However, the church should fire their costume designer. The star costumes made the kids look like members of the KKK.

Just for today, I can speak my truth on Christmas.

After TSA legally robbed me of my silk infusion hair oil (I guess the agent had a case of winter frizz), and I got on the plane, I found myself sitting across the aisle from the actress who read the lead in my play. We kept staring at each other casually until it began to feel like a Seinfeld episode. Neither one of us wanted to be the weirdo who asks, “Do I know you?” and then when the answer is “No” has to feel the embarrassment of having revealed the emotional tangents of her mind. The interaction inevitably leads the to some form of the thought “Are you that desperate for human connection?” (Uh…yes).

Thank God the flight attendant came by and we were forced to look each other in the eye. She said she had initially noticed my New Yorker magazine and was jealous that I was reading something for my brain instead of a beauty magazine hell bent on terrorizing the reader into spending half her savings on treatments.

Coincidentally (fortuitously, ironically, mysteriously…however you choose to file away such occurrences), I was working on the play that she read.

I took the whole event as a sign. For what…I don’t know.

Just for today, I believe in a higher power.

I think the holidays would be more fun if people gave gifts to people they never really see or talk to (and I don’t mean relatives). And I don’t mean strangers. I mean people we sort of bumped into for a period of time…at work or in zumba class, and exchanged a passing soulful conversation or survived a miserable job together.

I bought my high school Spanish teacher a box of chocolates. This man inspired me like no other…although I’m not sure what he inspired me to do. I’m super lazy when it comes to Spanish (though my accent rocks). He once kicked me out of his class for being late, but that didn’t help my life-long lateness problem…Mr. Schrump was just this very loud, very gay, opera singer, actor, compulsive smoker and punner who totally got me. He’s probably pushing 80 now.

Just for today, I feel aligned with the spirit of giving.

…can lead to a holiday depression. It sort of sneaks up on you. One minute I’m enjoying my cream cheese frosted red velvet, and the next I’ve got black mascara dripping down my face . (Sidenote: cupcake baking is the business to be in. Ten cents to make, 2000% profit…why do I not have those business skeeels?!)

I don’t want to feel sorry for myself. All I’ll say is that I almost killed my tree with my overheated apartment. Fortunately, I was able to resuscitate it with a my hedge clips and water. Poor thing. All it wanted was a temperate place to shine some X-mas spirit.

Just for today, I can get through my holiday depression.