Gingerbread House Foreclosure
My poor nephew Zach. Last year he stumbled upon a video of Santa being shot on Christmas Eve, and here he is discovering that his gingerbread house has gone into foreclosure. I fear if Santa doesn’t get him that Playstation he’s dying for, the only bailout he’ll need is from jail.
Here’s wishing everybody a Mele Kalikimaka!
I Really Need To Grow Up
I was reading through a travel journal I kept on a trip around the country my family took when I was 10 and thought I’d share a few excerpts:
“We went to McDonald’s for breakfast. I had hotcakes & sausage.”
“We went to a nearby KOA campground to their drug store and I got a lot of comics.”
“The Grand Canyon was beautiful. The shades of rock were pretty colors. The length could make you sick.”
“The Petrified Forest was nothing like we expected. All it was was wood everywhere, no forest or trees.”
“We were right next to a waterslide. We went on it for an hour. I somehow always ended up going backwards. When we were supposed to get out I kept going for a 1/2 hour. I could’ve gone longer but I figured I better get home.”
“The arcade was gnarly. Today I got 2 or 3 free pinball games. Lucky me.”
“I got over 100,000 on a soccer pinball game. I also got 3 free games to play. I’m having a lucky streak.”
“The pool had a slide and diving board. The game room was gnarly.”
“We were all getting a bit cranky. While everyone set up, John and I had to stay in the car. What a bummer.” (Note: for the life of me, I can’t figure out why that was a bummer).
“The other day I played the funniest joke on Jodi…”
“John met 3 friends, 2 were total babes.”
All the identification information was filled in except for my weight and I abandoned the journal after just two weeks. Basically, what I learned from reading this and checking out the pictures is that, other than declaring myself a Christian and showing some maternal instincts in keeping my first smurf warm while I froze my ass off on top of the Empire State Building, I haven’t changed all that much since I was 10.
Why Buy When You Can Lease?
I thought the following story was kind of funny in a twisted sort of way. If this law had been in effect when I was younger, there’s no question I would have spent my teen years as a ward of the state:
Nine siblings are among 11 children as old as 17 who were left at Omaha hospitals Wednesday under Nebraska’s unique and new safe haven law, which allows caregivers to abandon babies and teenagers alike at hospitals without fear of prosecution.
(Full story)
Ho Ho Horror
I know it’s a little late to be sharing yuletide tales and I usually avoid second-hand stories, but I love these too much not to put them in print.
The first one occurred on Christmas Eve as I was en route to my sister’s house for the holidays. She was busy preparing for Christmas and her two kids were a bit rambunctious so she went to the NORAD website where they track Santa’s travels and set the computer to play videos of the various places he’d already visited that night. A little while later, terrified Zach, 6, ran into the kitchen and cried, “They shot Santa!” My sister asked him to explain and he said that Santa was peeing on a wall and some guy came out and shot Santa. So she returned to the computer to check out what videos had played and realized that the NORAD videos are now hosted on YouTube and that after the regular videos had played, Zach had navigated his way through other videos and sure enough, there was one showing exactly what he had described. I’m pretty sure that on the list of traumatic childhood events, seeing Santa get shot and killed on Christmas Eve is actually above seeing one’s own parents get shot and killed. I know the typical American response in such a situation would be to sue NORAD and YouTube for emotional distress but my sister settled for telling him that it wasn’t real and then putting parental controls on the computers.
The next day I confirmed the story with Zach and he told me it made him cry. I asked why and he said, “Because I was worried about Santa… and if I’d be getting any presents.”
The second story occurred last year and it’s another urination story involving my nephews. Just before Christmas the family had driven from their home near Phoenix up to Flagstaff and along the way Zach really had to pee. With no services around, they had to pull over to the side of the road. The younger one, Jake, was three at the time and insisted he didn’t have to pee. Then he caught sight of the action and decided he needed to participate and squealed, “Pee on the tree!” and ran out to join the fun. On the drive home he recognized the same area and asked, “Pee on the tree?” So they indulged his white trash impulses. Once home, the novelty hadn’t worn off and he continued to ask if he could “pee on the trees” in their backyard and his little tush was just too cute for his parents to say no. Then they purchased their enormous Christmas tree. My sister walked into the living room to find Jake in his firing position as he asked innocently, “Pee on the tree?”
My sister managed to avoid a Golden Christmas and she maintains she’s thankful for it but I still think it would have been worth the clean up if he’d actually gone through with it.
With that, let me wish everybody a Happee New Year!
Remembering The Wrong Terry Schiavo
Friday marks the one-year anniversary of Terri Shiavo’s death. I was totally fascinated by the case last year, keeping 24-hour death watch on FOX news. Yeah, I confess- when I watch the news (which I rarely do because it’s more disgraceful than my crappy reality shows), I watch FOX. FOX “news” is hysterical, partly because the anchors have a sense of humor but mostly because they’re completely unabashed in their bias. FOX is not for the easily influenced but since I don’t fall under that description, I think it’s safe for me to watch.
The whole ordeal prompted me to put my own dying wishes in writing and give them to my sister but I think a public blog is an even better place to make those wishes known, just in case my sister gets sucked in by some religious cult and conveniently “loses” what I wrote. It’s pretty simple: If there ever comes a time when I’m asked whether I want to live or die and I can’t give a decipherable answer, put me down. I don’t care how many balloons my eyes seem to follow or if someone thinks the fact that I winked when George Clooney appeared on tv is a sign, if I can’t say or write “I wanna live!”, pull the plug, hold a pillow over my face, stick a little sumpin’ sumpin’ in my IV – just let me go. I’m not one of those people who thinks life itself is precious, it’s the quality of life that makes it precious. Fortunately, nobody in my family is interested in being my caretaker so I don’t have to worry about anybody putting up a fight. My dad even offered to buy a gun and shoot me (a little too wistfully, I might add).
So back to Terri. With the anniversary of Terri’s death approaching I’ve come across this photo tribute to her many times, which is featured on her family’s website in her honor, Terri’s Fight. I understand that people want to remember someone at their best. But in a situation like this, where her family fought so hard to convince the courts and the world that she was a viable human being in her PVS state, I’m curious why they didn’t choose a photo of her in that condition. It wasn’t the young, vibrant, gorgeous girl who pulled at America’s heart strings. It was the woman lying helplessly in her bed as both sides tugged at her that did. I’m sure most people agree with the family that starving and dehydrating her was an inhumane way to end her life, regardless of whether or not she felt pain. So THAT’s the photo they need to show: The one of the shriveled up woman on day 14 without food or water. The Terri Schinder Schiavo Foundation won’t be able to change people’s dying wishes but a powerful photo like that could encourage changes as to how those wishes are carried out.
Rock On Granny
My mom wants to create a “Where’s Waldo” book for my nephew by scanning an actual Waldo page then digitally superimposing my nephew as Waldo. But she’s concerned she could get in trouble for copyright infringement. While I respect the high moralities of my parents, they’re both retired now and I say it’s time to live on the edge a little bit and finally throw caution to the wind: light up a doobie, give a cop the finger, go to a swingers party, get arrested, tell their younger daughter to “fuck off.” You know, do all the things they’ve probably always wanted to do.
When you reach a point in life where your actions can’t really screw your future, why play by the rules? Once you’re in your 60′s there’s no reason a game of “I Never” shouldn’t have you wasted before it’s even your turn. Then when it is your turn, you should be so stumped that you have to get really specific: “I never bungee jumped naked. No wait. I never bungee jumped naked off the Golden Gate bridge. No wait. I never bungee jumped naked off the Golden Gate Bridge while an anti-war march was taking place… in the last decade.” Someone with really fun friends, might even notice one or two take a swig.
If you’re retired and you set an alarm clock in the morning or if you care even the slightest what your credit rating is, you need to hit an after hours rave and shoot up a little heroin with a former child star. Even if you don’t have a great time, at least you’ll have something more exciting than grandkids and HMO’s to talk about at your next dinner party.
(Speaking of Waldo and all kinds of copyright infringements, shortly after Bush ambushed Iraq, I created a “Where’s Saddam?” game. It’s a bit out of date and the quality isn’t great but some games just take you back).
That Damn Family Christmas Card
I have a good relationship with my parents but one area of discord over the years has revolved around Mom’s annual Christmas card. It’s always a time-consuming creative endeavor that’s sent to everybody who has voluntarily (and sometimes not) provided my parents with their home address.
The problem I have is that the little blurb on me never seems to portray me accurately, or at least, not in the best light possible. For example, one year when I’d traveled overseas to entertain military troops and was writing for a national magazine, my portion only mentioned that I’d bartended for Wolfgang Puck. Last year’s card said that I made frequent trips to Arizona to see my nephews (i.e. Jenée has no life of her own).
It’s not that Mom deliberately discounts my activities for the year, she just makes odd choices sometimes. And it’s not always in regards to my recap. A couple years ago, my brother worked on the season’s number one new tv show. Mom’s card that year mentioned how he’d moved into a new apartment with a lovely view of the Mormon church. If I recall correctly, the card included a picture of that view and none of my brother. But I’m the bad sheep because I complain about that stuff and my siblings don’t. I strongly suspect their Christmas envelopes weigh more than mine.
So yesterday I received this year’s card. It’s a small booklet and each page contains a photo in an ornament and around the ornament is a couple lines about some of my parent’s activities through the year. With so little room for text, I figured it was impossible for me to get screwed this time.
I was wrong.
First of all, my name is written as “Jenee.” I’m used to people leaving out my accent mark and, while I always notice, it usually doesn’t bother me. But she’s the one who gave me the name with the accent mark. She’s the one that sentenced me to a life of having to press “Alt 1-3-0″ every time I type my name (and on my laptop, I have to press “fn” and “num lock” as well). All I’m asking is that my own Mama spell it right.
The bit on me contains all of five words and Mom probably thought she was safe from my ire. Unfortunately, those five words happen to be, “Jenee (right) & friend Carrie” on top of a picture of me posed very cozily with an old friend. Now, if I were to receive this card from someone, I’d probably think, “Hmmm… Jenée’s not married… she’s a comic…she’s always been pretty tough… the picture could have easily been cropped to just her face but it wasn’t so there must be a reason why her ‘friend’ was included in the family Christmas card. I guess this is her mom’s way of announcing Jenée’s a big dyke.” Not that there’s anything wrong with being a big dyke, I’ve just found that sort of marketing isn’t particularly effective for meeting men (well, lesbians definitely attract guys’ attention but can only hold it for maybe 5-10 minutes at a time).
On top of it all, it’s not even a good picture of me!
I didn’t say anything to Mom this time, mostly because I don’t think any of her friends have hot single sons who need to know the truth. But it sure would be nice if she’d give me final script approval in the future so the world could finally learn about my torrid affair with George Clooney and this cure for cancer that I found.
No Ho Ho Ho’s
This is the first Christmas I’ve missed with my nephews and I’m pretty bummed. The older one, Zach, and I always track Santa’s travels on the Norad website then leave cookies and carrots for Santa and his reindeer. I’m worried he won’t believe in Santa much longer because he’s closing in on the wise old age of five and has a lot of questions. Last year he wondered how big fat Santa gets down the chimney. This year Zach was anxious to sit on Santa’s lap at school but his dad refused to wait in line so he said they could head over to the mall and meet Santa. Most kids his age would accept that without question, but young Zachary Holmes turned on his light sabre and grilled Dad on how Santa could possibly be in two places at the same time. I’m sure later today Zach will notice the half-eaten cookies and carrots and immediately send them off for DNA testing.
With the stores already closed, I’m second-guessing some of my gift selections. In the past, shopping for my nephews was always a breeze. This year while cruising the kiddie aisles I struggled to find anything they don’t already have. What do you get the pre-schoolers who have everything? I ended up getting them soccer boppers even though the box says they’re for ages seven and up. I figured, how dangerous can they be? Then I told a friend about the gift and he said years ago his drunk dad and uncle brawled with soccer boppers and his uncle broke his dad’s nose. That really doesn’t tell me if soccer boppers are too dangerous for a two and four-year-old just that they probably shouldn’t be used while intoxicated. So instead of returning the gift, I think I’ll just add a breathalyzer to it.
For my parents, I purchased Sirius satellite radio for their car. I don’t think they’re big radio people but I know Dad will love all the sports coverage and Mom will enjoy the Martha Stewart channel. Plus, it sounds like they plan to make frequent trips to Arizona next year and after 40 years together, I’m sure they welcome anything other than conversation to pass the time. But I just saw a commercial for the Playboy channel and discovered it costs exactly the same per month as the satellite radio subscription. And I realized that after 40 years together, THAT’s probably what they’d welcome more than anything. However, my parents are the type who repeatedly comment on the last gift you gave them. I don’t think I could bear to hear them tell me how much they enjoyed Memoirs of a Gay Slut and The Liar, the Bitch and the Whore Probe. Satellite radio it shall be.
Maybe next year, I’ll save myself some trouble and give the present everybody can use: gift cards to the 99 cent store. Then my parents can tell me how much they love using their new shampoo and toothpaste and impress me with all the Spanish they learned in the process.
Thou Shall Not Lie (If You’re Bad At It)
I had lunch with Dad yesterday and he mentioned he had to pick Mom up from the hospital later in the afternoon.
“Mom’s in the hospital?” I asked.
He answered, “Oh, thought I told everybody. She’s been in since we got back from our trip.”
Nice to know how easily I’m forgotten in the information loop. It reminds me of the Curb Your Enthusiasm episode where Larry’s mom died and nobody notified him because they didn’t want to ruin his trip to New York. Then they told him how great the funeral was! Hilarious. Whether Dad not telling me was accidental or intentional, I really can’t blame him. The last time Mom was in the hospital I didn’t know about it for several days because I never checked my phone messages (I hate the phone that much).
Anyway, when the folks left China, Mom was sick but didn’t tell the authorities because she and Dad didn’t want to get stuck over there. As soon as they returned, she went to the doctor, barely said the word “China” then was wrapped in a face mask and sent to another hospital to test for Bird Flu (“They haven’t heard a peep from her,” was Dad’s contribution). Looks like she’s fine.
I was shocked by my parents’ dishonesty. They are the most honest people I’ve ever encountered- honest to a fault. They’re the type who would turn me in if they knew I’d done something wrong. Maybe these weren’t the best circumstances for them to begin a life of deceit, but I was sort of proud of them. Frankly, I think lying has gotten too bad of a rap. Not that I condone lying, but at the same time, I don’t think it’s inherently bad the way religions have made it out to be. There are times when DIShonesty is the best policy. Like when a little child can’t sleep because she’s afraid somebody will break into the house and kill her. Do you tell her, “Well, it’s a possibility and it does seem to happen quite a bit, but it hasn’t happened in this neighborhood yet, so you’re probably safe?” No, you tell her it could never ever happen so that she can have some peace of mind. Let’s face it, if she ever finds out you lied, she probably won’t be able to call you on it.
Right now my sister is utilizing the most effective lie ever created to incite good behavior in other human beings: the ‘ol “Santa doesn’t bring gifts to kids who act up” lie. Pure genius! For a few glorious weeks, kids around the world do their homework and chores, they don’t try to kill their siblings and they don’t backtalk their parents. All out of the fear they won’t get Christmas presents. Life in the month of December is the closest we’ll ever get to Utopia. Don’t tell me that particular fib’s a bad thing.
But I wonder how Christians rationalize the whole Santa lie. I know they do because the lines to sit on Santa’s lap are way too long to all be atheists. As far as I know, there aren’t any clauses in the Ten Commandments to allow for little white lies. Perhaps it’s because there wasn’t enough room on the tablet to explain special circumstances or maybe it’s because its dictates were set in stone (hey, is that where that expression comes from)? I just don’t understand how people can subscribe to a particular religion with its plethora of rules when they can’t even abide by the top ten list. It’s the reason I want to smack people who list “honesty” as one of the most important traits in themselves and in others. They’re so full of shit.
I’ve told my share of lies over the years- mostly to the CHP- sometimes to protect others and sometimes to save my own ass. But I think my track record’s been pretty good as far as dishonesty not adversely affecting anybody else. I don’t need to follow the Ten Commandments when the Golden Rule sums it all up without all those unreasonable specifics.
The Folks Are Shaking It Up In China
Today started out kind of stressful for me when I read the headline that there had been a serious earthquake in Beijing. Mom emailed us yesterday saying she and Dad are where else? Beijing. That’s about right. Two native Los Angelinos visit China and within 24 hours the area experiences its worst earthquake in 50 years. It actually wasn’t an enormous quake. At 5.7 on the Richter scale, people in L.A. probably wouldn’t even stop what they’re doing, but it caused quite a lot of damage over there, even collapsing some buildings. Knowing Mom’s track record of injuries in foreign countries, I knew it was quite possible a little jolt could send her hurling to the pavement.
I spent about half an hour searching for the itinerary Mom made for me. I almost threw it away after she gave it to me, but she’d spent so much time on it, I couldn’t. It’s not really just an itinerary, it’s more of a travel brochure with pictures of their destinations. Mom likes to make things like that. After discovering they were scheduled to visit a portion of the Great Wall today, it took about another half hour to figure out where it is in proximity to the worst hit earthquake zone. It appears they were a safe distance away, assuming they didn’t make any changes to their schedule.
In this day and age of cell phones, it’s very frustrating to not be able to contact someone in a situation like this. Even worse is the feeling I had before I found the itinerary, not knowing where they were or how I could possibly locate them. I’m sure they’re fine, but this is one daily recap I’ll especially look forward to receiving.
Turns Out, Today’s Thanksgiving
I’m such a dumbass.
I didn’t realize until last night that today’s Thanksgiving. The thing is, I don’t live by a calendar so I never know what day it is. I can keep track of the holidays that always fall on a specific day but not the ones that fall on some randomly determined day to suit the Holiday Decider’s vacation schedule.
I’m usually clued into the irregular holidays by the fact that the bank’s closed or I didn’t get mail or traffic in Hollywood was particularly busy late the night before. Though sometimes several days have passed before I wonder, “Did I miss President’s Day?”
Thanksgiving’s always been easy to remember because the family gets together and there are various phone calls and emails regarding times and what to bring. But this year, Mom and Dad are in Hong Kong, my brother’s with his new wife’s family in Oregon and my other siblings stayed home in Arizona. That left just my aunt and grandpa in the area. The nice thing would have been for me to take them out to dinner. Well, in theory. I’m really not sure if my company is considered a treat to them. Aunt Sandy’s pretty cool but grandpa doesn’t say much. That might be because he doesn’t like the rest of the family’s topics of conversation or because we’re all so damn loud he can’t get a word in.
Had I realized before last night that today is Thanksgiving, I might have cooked myself a turkey. Although, it’s been a good two or three years since my oven’s been turned on so it may no longer be suitable for cooking. Instead I dined at Jack-in-the-Box. I know I shouldn’t have since I just ate at Burger King a few days ago. But I remembered that the only other time I didn’t have turkey on Thanksgiving was in college and on that occasion, I went to Jack-in-the-Box. Since today’s all about tradition, it just seemed right to create an alternate Thanksgiving tradition. I was tempted to save face by ordering with a French accent, then realized I don’t give a damn what the cashier thinks. I just requested my side of ranch, took the handful of unwanted ketchup and enjoyed my turkey day chicken sandwich alone.
Trippin’
The folks are vacationing in Asia right now and they send email recaps of their days. What a difference those recaps are from the ones I receive from friends on vacation. My parents are up at the crack of dawn while my friends go to bed at the crack of dawn. My parents visit botanical gardens while my friends visit beer gardens. My parents vomit from local viral infections while my friends vomit from local, well, beer gardens. Mom and Dad’s remedy for illness is to skip the day’s tours and rest while my friends’ remedy is to switch to weed for the day.
Very different trips indeed.
Most of the pictures my parents send are scenery shots. I don’t know why they bother. No matter where you are in the world or what you’re looking at, some professional photographer has probably taken a better picture of it. I tend to prefer my friends’ photos, which also show scenery… in the background, but it’s usually easy to miss since the foreground often involves some sort of nudity or potentially illegal activities (I’m a comic- how classy do you expect my friends to be)?
In the latest email, Mom mentioned dining with a couple named Marge and Berwyl. She didn’t say much about them, but I can only guess Marge has a delicious recipe for apple pie while Berwyl can recommend a good tax man. Dinner with Marge and Berwyl surely involves such topics of conversation as home remedies for hemorrhoids and the war in Iraq (Berwyl’s pro, Marge goes along with whatever Berwyl believes). After a pleasant evening, the group probably made plans to visit local shrines together the next day.
My friends also meet new people on vacation, but whatever names they’re given are likely to be either fake or “stage names.” A night out with “Iceman” and “Roxy” probably involves a heated debate on the proper way to roll and some mention of whether any of them have “done something like this before.” After a pleasant evening, “Iceman” and “Roxy” probably slipped out under cover of darkness with half my friends’ belongings in hand, never to be seen again.
I’m not saying that one style of vacationing is better than the other since both my friends and parents thoroughly enjoy their trips. The bonus for me is that I get to hear very different perspectives of the same destinations. But I have to admit, one style’s recap is a tad more fun to live vicariously through.
Old School Halloween Costumes
My four-year-old nephew got a Power Rangers costume for Halloween that he’s been wearing for the last month or so. He has no idea how fortunate he is to have a costume he can enjoy for more than one night. When I was a kid, Dad used to take us to Thrifty’s where we had about 10 minutes to decide which $1.99 piece of splendor it would be that year. I don’t even know if they still make those costumes, the ones with the hard plastic mask and painted apron. Those costumes brought a lot of excitement to Halloween. Would this be the year I suffocate trying to breathe out the pin-sized hole? Would the slightest spark to the apron send me shooting in the air like a firecracker?
Free candy was a good enough reason to risk it.
