Blah Hambug! (or just a big, deep sigh whenever anyone says "Happy Holidays" to you)

Happy Holidays Everyone! You may have been caught up in the dizzying swirl of last minute shopping, the barrage of cheerful yuletide music, the endless holiday parties and the mandatory hangovers they bring.

I, however, have not. I haven't exactly been screaming BAH anything from my windows, or thanking a young handicapped child, who was lovingly called "Tiny."

But, I did succumb to the barrage of cheerful yuletide music. Just yesterday, I bought Mariah Carey's "All I Want For Christmas Is You" for .69 cents on iTunes. (I love a good sale!) And while I'm on the subject of music: John Denver and the Muppets is the essential Christmas album. Hilarious and yet has heart. (Kind of like me, you say?! Oh you!)

Back to my point, though, I have just not been in the mood this year. I saw the Rockefeller Tree in NYC when my friends came to visit. And for the first time ever, I didn't really care.

I didn't even put my Christmas tree up until late in the season.

It was a lot of work putting it up this year ... but it was worth it! 

And my tree really has added something to my place. Whenever I think of the Christmas season, I look over at the tree. And every time I end up looking at those martini glasses and realize how dusty they are because I never drink martinis.

I also have a Snoopy snow globe that plays their Christmas song. I put that out, too. To complete the look, I have left my holly berry wreath up year round on my apartment door so I have something festive to come home to instead of a dull door.

The decorations are set. I think it's rather smart of me that I won't have much clean up come December 26th, or February 6th (which is when you probably take down your tree).

I didn't send a Christmas card out this year, and a result of not sending, I received my fewest cards ever in return this year. I was incredibly impressed by the people who did send this year. I think it's an honest-to-God awesome feat to send Christmas cards. The coordination of the task! Buying stamps alone should win you some kind of prize. I haven't bought a stamp since probably 2010.

I did, however, finally get around to posting my yearly Facebook Christmas Card. This year was the 3rd Annual! It is a vintage picture I find online on some site, and through my 20 minute search, I choose just the right image. Each year, has some perky 1950s female archetype wishing you a happy holidays, but always through gritted teeth.

I would post all 3 of them here, but I am sure it would be considered a copyright infringement of some sorts and I would spend the New Year locked in a place without windows. And since I am delicate flower who needs sunlight, you should just pick an image of a 1950s-type family or woman, and imagine something sarcastic. Every year, it's a hit!

Next year, I may just really stick it to Hallmark altogether and just post an a picture of me and some cactus. Nothing says the holidays like the desert!

I guess my feeling isn't BAH ... it's just BLAH! Apathy toward the holidays. It always comes and goes in an instant when you look back. (except for that week between Christmas and New Years. God, just bring it already!)

The holidays do not have the same meaning from when you are 6 years old and it's the most amazing day of the year (besides your birthday). And really, that's true about most things. When you're "tiny," everything seems special and magical. Summer was this incredibly long, epic season of warm months and now, it's Fall before I blink.

I miss the child-like wanting for a snowy Christmas. If it snows this year, I will just worry about driving my rental car safely down I-95.

I miss craving Egg Nog on November 20 something (whatever day after Thanksgiving is). When I look at Egg Nog, I think ... well there's one way to an early grave and how many calories is it if I just look at it?

But, if it will make you happy, I can run down the street in my night gown, yelling about some three ghosts that came to visit me. How I learned the errors of my blah ways and how I won't make fun of anyone named Dickens ever again. You may wonder what fun medication I am on. But when I ask the newspaper boy to tell me what day it is, you will understand.

Love,
Greg

Flakes ... And I Ain't Talking Snow

Snowflakes are special. No two are alike, I am told.

Gay Flakes, though, well... they are all the same. They may look different, but trust me. They are all the same.

Now, keep in mind: Gay Flakes is not the name of your latest and favorite brand of breakfast cereal. (Although it would probably would be quite tasty and would probably have a useless toy in the box.)

Gay Flakes are actually a quirky, little breed of men. (And I do mean little. ZING!)

Gay Flakes are a group of men who you may have a great first date with, only never to hear from them again. Don't confuse these men with Straight Flakes, where you may have had a subpar date and they forget to shave before the date. Gay Flakes are more dapper. It must be all that shiny packaging in the cereal aisle.

Gay Flakes are that smiley, happy, flirty, cute, group of guys. They say great things. They create and hold conversation. They talk the talk. Great talk. The walking of the walk, well... not so much.

We all know the type. You may even be this type. And it's ok. I am sure there is a support group for you.

However, the truly disappointing aspect of these flakes is that we will never see or hear from them again. They disappear. Much like snow. And perhaps, like snow, they have melted away? The beauty of the snow fall, which only lasted a few hours, has come and gone. Some snow plow came barreling down and pushed them all away.

I'd like to say that's true. It's not. Gay Flakes are not affected by weather. (Although, when summer comes, good luck finding a Gay Flake who isn't in his speedo and away on Fire Island. ZING!)

Gay Flakes are simply a breed of men who just LOVE you on the first date. "Oh, we have to do this again! Are you free tomorrow?!"

"Um . . . sure . . ."

And then the text the next day. "I'm going to have cancel - I feel like crap and I'm getting sent home from work..... I'm so sorry!!!!! :("

Sick. The "I'm sick" line. I used that when I was 23. We've all grown up since then. But, whatever, I take it in stride.

He's not a Gay Flake. Not him. He's perfect. He won't melt away.

He even wrote after the initial text that, "I will make this up too you." Sure, he doesn't know the proper use or spelling of the preposition "to." But, he can't be a Gay Flake. He may not be smart, but not a flake.

But he is. The texts become fewer and fewer. "He's just sick," I say.

Now, at this point I have had one too many Egg Nog boilermakers (I'm not sure if this is such a thing, I just make stuff up.) But, I am so determined that he is not a Gay Flake at this moment, that I will say anything to myself. "Men really are great. This guy is proof." This is my "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus" time.

Sure, Christmas is coming, and this is the time when all gays hibernate and commingle with any male they can find through March, so my chances of finding a live one to date for months on hand have to be good, right?

Sadly, I was never a good hunter. I didn't bag a live one this time. Besides, I never looked good in an orange hunting vest or a John Deere hat. Sorry, Ashton Kutcher.

With my hunting skills deteriorating by the minute, I was blindly aware of the reduced interest from him in the texts. He makes a plan to see me on Sunday, but the follow up is rather lacking.

"When? Where?," I say, much like a lost Red Riding Hood. We agree on Sunday, but the details are still firmly lacking. I hold hope. The first date was extraordinary. Without going into detail, his flirtation was felt all the way from three counties over.

Finally, I ask on Saturday, "are we still on?"

To which the text message replies, "Yes!!" What an energetic and non detailed answer! But I take the enthusiasm of the agreement and run with it.

Sadly, "yes!!" was the last I ever heard from this little Gay Flake. He melted. Or was sucked into that black hole we heard about on the news. Either way, Gay Flakes burn bright and fade fast. So, appreciate them for the novelty of their smiles, their earnest view, their eagerness. Don't fall for it, though, because they will likely be gone just in time for another hunting season to begin.

And I'm huntin' wabbits, next time.