LaurieWrites

Bluest Sky

I wrote the e-mail of my life yesterday morning to the love of my life thus far. It was final and (alarmingly) sane. It involved disconnection a la the phone company coming to cut the wires and it means we'll never correspond or speak again unless I unwittingly end up in the same place he does and we are the only ones there who haven't been incapacitated and one of us needs the other one to call 911. DAMN. I hated having to do it but alas it is time and it was done on my terms and yes, oh, yes, I know it is good, although not so good when you're in it. And while I was writing it I cried, and while I was reading it over before I sent it, I cried, and afterwards I cried a little bit too, because there's nothing like crying to make me cry more, and also at that point I was exhausted from thinking and trying to make things right that couldn't be righted. Crying is apparently my body's way of releasing stress and anxiety, and as annoying as it is, thank God I can do it, because if not I'd probably eat ten Snickers bars a day and mainline moonshine to get by.

Not really.

After the crying and the sending and the mental replay of the past 24 hours to make sure I was cool with the choice I'd made, I felt okay. I may have been born at night but not last night, and I may be dumb but I'm not stupid. Time to love yourself more and whatnot. So I talked to my mother, hung out with my roommates' dog for a while, and then my roommate (who is ultimately one of the most comforting people I know, just because of the ease with which he navigates the world) and cleaned out the first layer of junk in my car, that has just been a terrible sinkhole lately.  Then I went out with two of my favorite girls whose careers and lives I'll follow forever, and we had some good conversation and chicken wings. Then I dropped one of them off at a friend's house, and drove home. I sat in my favorite chair and read and took a bath and talked to another friend for a long time who I love so dearly, had some wine I'd saved just for such an occasion, and I finally went to sleep. 

I've grasped onto a Martin Luther King quote lately: "unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality." It's providing me a lot of comfort now. I can safely say that in contributing to the denouement of this most long and arduous situation in my life, I've been completely honest, and awash with unconditional love. That means that I didn't want anything. There was nothing left to want. I just still felt love for this darling person, and that was fine, and I wanted desperately to leave it on those terms. I really do believe that it's hard to start something else, whether it's a meeting with a student, a romantic relationship, or a chapter in a life, without ending the previous one well. That energy carries over, and I don't want all the messed up energy associated with the worst times in this relationship. And while being open with that has KICKED MY ASS, it has also left me feeling completely okay with who I am and what I've chosen to do, and I figure that can only serve me well in the future. I said what I meant, and I meant what I said. I said I had love, I said I had pain, I said what I needed to say, with no intention or expectation of receiving anything back. And that is, I think, the first time I can say that I've done that, in the context of this most important relationship, or any one I've had that's involved a man and some romantic something or other.

This has really, really sucked, friends, but it's set me up for good stuff. I still hate being an adult though. Can't lie. 

Today was recovery. Today was trying to talk myself into working through my stuff that's due for school this week, in spite of having absolutely no interest in attending to that task. And then! Good news! Tonight after I got in from walking to the gym and working out and walking back, in this kind of fragmented yet earnest attempt at training myself to work out, I called my cousin and I asked her to do the Avon breast cancer 3-day walk with me in October, and she said yes. We're going to do it together! We're going to walk for her mom, who is a survivor, and thanks to some excellent medical care after a move to North Carolina, is living some happy retirement years with my uncle down there. This was a blessing, the conversation and my cousin's immediate, "Yes. Sign me up. I'm there." She is six months younger than I am, my first and oldest friend. It made me so happy. It compounded the feeling of hope that I got from the walk to the gym, and then (don't laugh) reading the Obama coverage in Rolling Ston while I was on the stair machine that made me want to blow off school and join his campaign. It made me feel like the summer and fall and all the days after, although they'll be the requisite mix of ups and downs...that they're moving on to better things.

I just can't wait for all the beautiful things I'm going to see.

Links to Dar Williams's cover of the Kinks' "Better Things"

Here's wishing you the bluest sky
And hoping something better comes tomorrow
Hoping all the verses rhyme,
And the very best of choruses to
Follow all the doubt and sadness
I know that better things are on their way.
Here's hoping that the days ahead
Won't be as bitter as the ones behind you
Be an optimist instead,
And somehow happiness will find you.
Forget what happened yesterday,
I know that better things are on their way.
It's really good to see you rocking out
And having fun,
Living like you've just begun.
Accept your life and what it brings,
I hope tomorrow you find better things.
I know tomorrow you'll find better things.
Here's wishing you the bluest sky
And hoping something better comes tomorrow
Hoping all the verses rhyme,
And the very best of choruses to
Follow all the drudge and sadness
I know that better things are on the way.
I know you've got a lot of good things happening up ahead.
The past is gone, it's all been said.
So here's to what the future brings,
I know tomorrow you'll find better things.
I know tomorrow you'll find better things.

Make a WISH BABY

Light rock favorite stuck in my head today:

"You're the Biggest Part of Me", Ambrosia.

Oh my God, Ambrosia. Ambrosia. What a pretty little name. WHAT A BADASS SONG. lol.

(Please note that the link is from PoemHunter, and I love how they included all the background lyrics and emotive stuff...just beautiful.)
(And also, because I'm really not cool on any level, I can't front. I really do like this song, but I can't help it. Blame my mother and the radio.)

MAKE A LIST BABY
OF THE THANGS I'll DO FOR YOU!

Kind of bossy, now that I think about it. Make a wish. Make a list. Dude. Whatever. ; ) Calm down, Ambrosia.

WONKA

I don't want this bed, but I find it fascinating.

I don't want it because in spite of my love for all things Roald Dahl and Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, I don't need a big-ass metal WONKA screaming at me in 2,000 point font on my bed, or really even anywhere in my bedroom. And also, this might be just me, but if you happen to be sharing your bed, and perhaps engaging in some activity best enhanced by a Marvin Gaye cd, I think it might just be a bit unnerving to be either staring at a big WONKA in 2,000 point font at the time, or thinking that someone else is.

There's something really wrong about that.

In other Wonka news (and yes I am a person for whom it is entirely possible that two Wonka newsbriefs exist simultaneously. Suck on THAT Everlasting Gobstopper.) I bought one of my favorite things that I've bought in recent memory this weekend: the 25th anniversary reissue of the soundtrack to Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.

(Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, the Tim Burton film, is dead to me, by the way. I can barely speak of it, so I won't.)

I've been listening to this cd in my car all weekend and have really been loving it. It has the several different versions of the Oompa Loompa song that were in the movie, plus a lot of the best dialogue, and, of course, "Pure Imagination."

"Come with me and you'll be
In a world of pure imagination
Take a look and you'll see
Into your imagination

We'll begin with a spin
Trav'ling in the world of my creation
What we'll see will defy
Explanation

If you want to view paradise
Simply look around and view it
Anything you want to, do it
Want to change the world, there's nothing to it

There is no life I know
To compare with pure imagination
Living there, you'll be free
If you truly wish to be

If you want to view paradise
Simply look around and view it
Anything you want to, do it
Want to change the world, there's nothing to it

There is no life I know
To compare with pure imagination
Living there, you'll be free
If you truly wish to be"

Sigh. Love it.

When pianos try to be guitars.

"Girls you've got to know
when it's time to turn the page.
When you're only wet
because of the rain." 

If you like Tori Amos you'll like the videos I linked above. And even if you don't, it's pretty cool to watch two pretty different renditions of the same song. (I like the second link the best.) I think I noted here at one point that I'd bought her box set a few months ago, and I never do that. I'm much more a cd/album girl who reluctantly downloads because I'm essentially a sucker for that which is on my desktop, and there they put it! They just put it right there, for me to buy. How nice of those thieves nice people.

By the way, speaking of which, could the little bitches who decided to remove The Office from iTunes please stand up and be recognized? I mean, really. So much joy for so many people? The networks deserve this strike (and how awesome to see Tina Fey and Seth Myers on the front page of Washingtonpost.com a couple of days ago.)

Okay, sorry, getting the chocolate of television in my music peanut butter there...sorry. I've been having a little trouble connecting to some of my music lately. It could just be the silly busy-ness, I don't know. Everything feels like a little bit more of a chore than it should. This is what usually has me leaving Delilah on the radio on the way home (or, COUGH, Kenny Chesney, who looked like a guy from my IT department at work on the CMAs last night. And by the way, SO OVER CARRIE UNDERWOOD. Who even USES the tired construction of "If you'd told me two years ago I'd be here tonight..." GAH! Stop it. Stop. Also, I love that she called country music a "format", as in "I am so proud to be in this format. That must mean she really feels it. Can you imagine Dolly Parton saying that? Or June Carter Cash? "AHM so PROUD to be in this here FORMAYAT." Whatever. Barf. Jesus take the wheel, indeed. Just steer her and her ilk somewhere else, far far away. Get her lessons from Jennifer Nettles or someone else who has real talent and heart for the gig. Corporate tools. And I wonder if they're legally required to thank American Idol in perpetuity when they win awards? That seemed really genuine.)

Oh dear. Attack of the parenthetical statement. Got all fired up about Carrie there. What was I saying? OH YES. I've been listening to Delilah prattle on pop-psychology style about her eight children and take calls from despondent listeners and listening to Kenny instead of something a bit more...inspiring in a good way, maybe? Today this madness ends. Girlyman tonight - two shows if I can manage to stay awake. Bruce Springsteen on Monday, which I'm promised will be awesome. Also, my mom is going and we're in the general admission section, which should be entertaining regardless.

Also, my friend Dawn Avery is performing a lot this month, including shows at the National Museum of the American Indian this weekend. The Washington Post wrote a very nice piece about her today, with a big picture, even. I'm very pleased, because sometimes the Style section's focus on local music is...umm, not there. If you're in the DC area, I recommend checking this event out, because  she is truly an inspiration (not a word I throw around by any means. Real ones are rare.) Also, it's free! And the Museum's Cafe is one of the best places to eat on the Mall. I'm serious. It's broken down by region, with food from different tribal traditions. And can you say "Any excuse to eat fry bread is a good one?"

On a totally different side of a very unusual coin, this article from Popmatters about "Britney as Trainwreck" is actually quite well-written. Thanks, Josh Timmerman.

"Even with Botox and other less-than-seamless cosmetic alternatives to aging gracefully, Britney’s always had a built-in shelf-life, short of miraculous, Madonna-esque image reinvention. From “Gimme More“’s already-notorious declaration that “it‘s Britney, bitch!” (e.g., “I‘m still here!”) to probable follow-up single “Piece of Me“’s acidic self-examination (“I’m Miss Bad Media Karma / another day, another drama”), Blackout is the sound of Britney realizing that maybe she wasn’t in on the joke all these years, after all, and consequently raging against the machine.

And maybe the machine wins."

The conclusion isn't that simple, and I'm with him. I'm kind of pulling for her myself.

By the way, you can still download the new Radiohead record, "In Rainbows" for whatever price you want to pay, even if that's free dollars and no cents.  Seriously. Are you broke? Radiohead cares about you. Genius move on their part, or maybe just nice.

Shake the dust off of your wings

"To Live is To Fly" was written by Townes van Zandt and recorded by the Cowboy Junkies on "Black-Eyed Man", a record released in 1992. I was 21 - maybe 22 by the time I found it, because my first memories of it are from 1993. This album changed the way I experienced music, and in some ways the way I interpreted relationships, which sounds a little crazy but I guess you had to be there.

Michael Timmins plays guitar and writes most of the songs they record. Many of them are amazing story songs - a weird mix of Southern gothic and dimestore novel that somehow works for a family band from Toronto. The Junkies have a thing for Townes, though, and this is one of his songs that they've recorded.

Sister Margo Timmins sings, drinks tea onstage, and looks hot in wrap sweaters. She's one of my personal artistic idols, and is also very friendly when you meet her in person, and not overtly in that fake, vaguely
creeped out way, either. She's lovely.

Today, this song is here for K. A few of my K's, in fact. God love us all. 

To Live is to Fly, by Townes Van Zandt

Won't say I love you babe,
I won't say I need you babe
But I am gonna get you babe
and I will not do you wrong
Living's mostly wasting time
and I waste my share of mine
but it never feels too good so let's not take too long

You're soft as glass
and I'm a gentle man
we got the sky to talk about
and the world to lie upon
days up and down they come
like rain on a conga drum
forget most, remember some,
but don't turn some away
Everything is not enough
nothing is too much to bear
where you been is good and gone
all you keep's the getting there

To live is to fly low and high
so shake the dust off of your wings
and the sleep out of your eyes

It's goodbye to all my friends
its time to go again
think of all the poetry
and all the pickin' down the line
I'll miss the system here
the bottom's low and the treble's clear
but it don't pay to think too much
on the things you leave behind

I may be gone but it won't be long
I'll be bringing back the melody
and all the rhythm that I find

We all got holes to fill
and them holes are all that's real
some fall on you like a storm,
sometimes you dig your own
but choice is yours to make...
and time is yours to take
some dive into the sea,
some toil upon the stone

To live is to fly low and high
so shake the dust off of your wings
and the sleep out of your eyes

Free fall

"Im' gonna glide down over Mulholland. 
I wanna write her
name in the sky.
I'm gonna free fall out into
nothin', gonna leave this world for a while."

It's a day where I really wanted to stay in bed and listen to Tom Petty, but I didn't, because I love my essay class and I'm going to miss it next week anyway when I'm in Texas, so I had to get there this morning. I don't feel like my writing is in good shape at all, and when I get in that headspace, it's difficult to get out of it because of the mental pressure beget by mental pressure, right? I have so much to write and so much to say that I don't really get much down these days, because I don't know where to begin. I sit down at the computer and two hours later I know way too much about the music played at Anna Nicole Smith's funeral and cry over dead teenagers I've never met, but am nowhere closer to getting my work done.

It's a time when I really need to talk to myself in a soundproof room, or talk to one of the like, three people currently in my life who are so awesome that they can handle the volume of my verbal output when it gets really intense. Do you know how hard that is to find when you talk as much as I'm capable of talking, although I'm not really sure why I need to talk that much sometimes? I can burn people out pretty fast if I'm not careful, although I do try to switch up my pitch and tone when I'm in these spaces, just so my voice won't be like a mallet to the side of anyone's head. Seriously, since I've stopped crying as much as I seemed to need to do for awhile there, I've started replacing it with the flapping of my big, fat jaws. I called my friend Jeremy last night because I was going to be randomly in his town for a basketball game with some friends, and when I got him on the phone on my way there, I blurted out whatever I was going to tell him so fast that when I was done he said, "I'm not sure exactly WHAT you said, so bear with me, but I'm THINKING this is what you're up to. Are you coming to town and do you want to get some drinks?" Everyone should have this sort of person - multiples, if possible - in his or her life, and it's helpful if they still take your calls - and occasionally offer to grab a few beers with you.

It's boring to say it, but I'm so tired. This week was really grueling and incredibly LONG, although I know they all only include 168 hours. By Wednesday I was convinced it was Friday, and it took me until the real Friday to determine that indeed I cannot save the universe, which is disappointing yet very true. I got a little crazy in my head about that, because if there's one thing I like to do it's try to take care of people in my life, and not just in a gross, codependent way either. I like to solve problems and I don't like the people I care about to be unhappy. We were asked to find my grandmother a home other than the assisted living she's been in for almost seven years, and the way it went down was quite unfortunate. If you're interested in more details, I've written about it here, because my land, how I do go ON.   I hope that it doesn't sound like whining. I'm thinking so much about the concept of death lately that it could conceivably bring me down, so I'm really trying to reach out in the best and healthiest directions to keep my center in the middle of whatever this is.

These feelings and events are pretty much why I chose "Freefallin'" for the song of the day, and also because I heard it on the way home last night, and it really affected me, which it usually does, I have to say. The transition that I've quoted above, into the Mulholland line, is just beautiful. The song is so resigned.

In other news, I'd encourage you to get the new Patty Griffin record if you need some accompaniment for your dreams.   

Twenty lifetimes

Girlyman will release a new album in early March. They will play a cd release show at Jammin' Java later in the month, and I'll be there with my friends. This time I've invited several people to come - not necessarily with me if they don't want to, but just to hear this band, because I think everyone should who loves good music.

This morning I was driving to work, and a song from their first album made me cry again. It's called "The Shape I Found You In", and I think it's brought tears to my eyes every time I've ever heard it. This happens mostly in a good way, because if there's anything some music is good for, it's emotional connection and release. Some of their music is quite bouncy and happy, so it's not all tear-in-my-beer kind of stuff at all. It's just that their words are so genuine and often I find myself thinking when I hear them that at some point in my life I've felt just LIKE that, even if it's a very different sort of situation on the surface. And who really knows what anyone is representing in art - songs, stories, some pictures - anyway? It's all conjecture to a point. But then again, I've always been able to find something personal is some very universal things. Like, the line about Christmas Eve in this song is so perfect and brutal that I can't even stand to listen to it almost. That's the part where I always lose it, no matter what, mostly because I so pray not to have the need for rope ladders or bomb shelters or safety nets next time I venture down a similar road, although I know that's asking a lot from this human condition. And especially because now this human is conditioned to know better.

You were spoken for
I spent twenty lifetimes at your door
But your heart was busy within
Building bomb shelters under your skin
That's the shape I found you in
That's the shape I found you in

I was calling to you
It was one thing I knew how to do
But my heart tried to cheat
Building safety nets under my feet
So if I fell I would fall right in
That's the shape you found me in

You were delivered to me
We were closed as the stores on Christmas Eve
So I felt around in the dark
Building rope ladders into your heart
Climbing hand over hand to get in
That's the shape I found you in
That's the shape I found you in
- Ty Greenstein, 2002

If to me your vibe can do all this

I've decided that Stevie Wonder would make a great boyfriend, in spite of the grammar challenges reflected in the title of this post (which still aren't as bad as John Cougar Mellencamp's proclamation that, no he cannot forget from where it is that he comes from. I'll just never get over that.) Why Stevie, you say? Well, because not only does he speak enough French to come up with "cherie amour", he also wants to call just to say "I love you," and when he finally shows up, he's got some candy kisses for your lips, yes he's got some honeysuckle chocolate dripping kisses full of love for you. I mean, my Lord. I could do without the screaming, the "DO YOU WANT SOME CANDY? DO YOU WANT SOME HO-NEY-SUCK-LE????" That's a little much, and I'm likely to make a bad face when a boy screams like that and that'll turn into an uncomfortable silence that turns into a quietly pissed off conversation, and oh wow do I not miss THAT shit. Anyway, digression. And the candy honeysuckle shoutout is kind of a stupid question, at that, because, well duh. Who wouldn't? Anything that drips chocolate is pretty good for me. You can just leave it by the door on your way out, actually.

"Do I Do", song of the day, and "Superstition" and "That Girl," too, because I can't decide between those tonight. If you don't like the groove you can turn the record off.

This post brought to you by the cumulative impact of two months of Pumpkin Spice Lattes

Okay, rightio, it's almost this big old holiday that we all go on and on about for two months out of the year. And I know I'm supposed to be full of big, luxurious love for everything and everyone but I'm falling a bit short in that particular category. I'm not Scroogey, I'm just...here. And I guess that's better than so many alternatives so I simply shouldn't complain. But that doesn't stop me from...ruminating aloud. 

Part of it is that this Christmas day is going to be odd and new and different in my family, and this was really helpful to read today. It's from Blogher, a site I write for that has so much good stuff on it that I could spend much more time on it than I do, but I'm glad I hit up this post. Sometimes my brain is a little off-kilter and it needs to be kicked back into place.

So much has changed since I was a child, which is certainly normal, but so much has changed in the fabric of my extended family in very recent years that sometimes it's difficult to reconcile what was with what is at all. When my grandfather was alive, there was a closeness and to some extent there still is, but it's different. People have moved onto other situations and there's distance where there wasn't. I don't have much to offer in the way of stability myself these days, so I shouldn't complain, but I can't shake some of the things I think and feel about it. I'm trying really hard to embrace change these days, and most of the time I'm successful. That means I'm excited about it, or merely content, or even neutral. Other times I'm just pisssed off about it, or confused, or sad, or in deep, dark, comforting-for-the-moment denial. Today it's easier to be those things because I'm getting sick, I'm racing around trying to meet some deadlines that are totally self-inflicted because I'm an ass and didn't plan far enough ahead, and I'm really just physically tired. These are days that breed the winter of my discontent, which sucks. Blahblahblah, whine whine whine.

So what am I doing, in the meantime, to try to channel some of the goodies while making my way through the occasional emotional and physical muck?

I am making people laugh at every turn, have to admit. I've been on some kind of binge of commentary that seems to be going over quite well with my crew at work, which is comprised of people who also make me laugh, which is an incredible, wonderful blessing (a word I don't throw around. We're having a good time with it, stressful as it can get, and that's good, because I like when people laugh.

I'm listening to lots of different holiday music, which sounds basic, but this year I'm doing it like it's my job. If I cannot in fact be barenaked for the holidays, I can indeed be "Barenaked for the Holidays." It's a great album and "Hanukkah Blessings" ties with "Elf's Lament" for my favorite song on it, so look at me being all ecumenical and shit. I also remain quite true to Bing Crosby, and the Elton John Christmas album from last year, and the new one called "Santa Baby" that they're hawking this season at Starbucks. And of course there's the South Park record..."Mr. Hankey's Christmas Classics," that's sort of a twisted tradition in our house at this point. Stress relief, that's what it's all about.

I'm also not doing things I don't want to do. I made a decision not to do some things for Christmas that probably I would have done last year. I'm simply opting out, and this is unusual for me because I'm a terrible opter-outer. I'm a grit-my-teeth-and-bear-it kind of person when it comes to obligations of the familial variety, especially, but I'm finally reaching a point where I don't think I have to do that, just because I'm one of the ones without children or a spouse or in-laws. That just doesn't have to translate to "yo-yo whose plans can change at any time." Pardon me, but fuck that noise. Sometimes it seems that because I'm untethered to other human beings, I have more obligations almost, because it's assumed that I'm free to bounce around wherever, and I've always felt compelled to do that. The truth is, that if I want to sit on my ass by my tree and be with my DOG on Christmas this year in the house where I live, I'm doing it. As much as I've always been led to believe that it will "break someone's heart," I know it won't. And it doesn't mean that I don't love them or care about them or that they don't feel the same way about me. I'm just really, really ready for some control over my own time, even if that means watching "Christmas Vacation" and "Scrooged" and lighting a candle and making phone calls. This has as much to do with the general vibe in my extended circle as anything else...where things can start to feel more like a hassle than a blessing or a joy, and I don't believe that that's the way it should be. Regardless of what you believe in terms of the "reason for the season," if you're going to commemorate it in any way, it should be a good one.

That said, I am making time for some of the people who have made my year so much better in so many ways. Those are the people who deserve my time and to whom I wish to give it. This includes my parents and my sister, of course, but also my friends in real life and far away. I had a great dinner out with some of my favorite people last night, and look forward to Christmas Eve with some more. Lately I've had occasion to find out that the most important people are the ones who really back up what they say with what they do. I always knew this, but it's true that there are people in our lives who actively support us, and those are the most important ones.

I'm posting to the Advent Calendar contest group on Flickr, and am sad that we've had nothing approximating winter weather so I could really have some fun with it. The other photographers are kicking my ass, but it's been a nice daily diversion.

I'm also doing that thing I do where I commiserate with retail workers, and this year it's going swell! You know, the job sucks. I've done it. It's terrible. You're held to terribly high standards for working in substandard conditions. You have to ask people invasive personal questions about their contact information, which is NOT YOUR IDEA, and you're monitored and punished if you don't do it. You make approximately seven dollars per hour. You stand for hours, and pick up crap that people leave in heaps, and sometimes you even have to clean the bathroom. So when I go out shopping, I generally chat briefly with the person ringing me up, and ask them how they're holding up, and tell them I've been in their shoes many days, and I have to say that it generally is a great interaction. It makes them feel better and I usually have something to smile about when I leave the store. Last night I was in Nordstrom Rack, which has the most unpleasant aesthetic value of any store I've been in lately save for the Germantown Wal-Mart. And the clerk was a beautiful girl who was still smiling and genuine, and after she told me that she was generally over Christmas and only cared about gifts for her little brothers, I TOLD her to find a store that suited her better. I told her she needed a bright and shiny environment. And she was like, "You know.....I've considered it." And I was like, "Do it! Do it! The real Nordstrom!" because she really looked like she belonged there and not in the yellow flourescent weirdness that was this particular store. Anyway, it was nice.

Okay, and now I'm really not going to bust out with "Merry Christmas movie house!" Swear to God. But I could, because I like the movies.

Merry Christmas...mmmkay

A surefire way to get yourself noticed in the Liz Claiborne Outlet Store in Lancaster, PA:

When the version of "Carol of the Bells", sung by what sounds like Point of Grace or SheDaisy or some such girl band of infidels, creeps into your head straight from the in-store music, find yourself, er, ENHANCING the tune by blurting out "All seem to say, DING DONG MMMKAY" just like Mr. Mackey from South Park. And do it over and over, and don't really consciously realize this until the song is just about over. And find yourself in a fit of giggles, repeating "Hark hear the bells, 'mmmkay" all by yourself, all the way to the car, garnering several more funny outlet-mall stares (and not making that whole having-to-pee-really-bad thing any easier.)

Happy freaking holidays, Mr. Hat.

(Oh, and I realized I never disclosed the number of "Feliz Navidads" in the song of the same name, as I've fallen down terribly on the yuletide song blogging. It's 21...21 times he wants to wish you a merry Spanglish Christmas. But doesn't it feel like more? Doesn't it?)