Mood:
specialTopic: It's all about me
This is where I step out on the stage (little blue blanket optional), the spot comes on, and I tell a little Christmas tale about the joy of giving, peace on Earth, and other warm fuzzies. Only in this case it has nothing to do with the true meaning of Christmas, and like basically everything on this little chunk of webby goodness I plan to make it all about me. Get your cocoa.
In a way, this is sort of a continuation of the bit about birthday gifts. I have weird issues about gifts - I don't know if it's an inherent genetical deal, a strange warped bit of childhood nurturing that has matured into a quiet neurosis, or some sort of Leonine deal I have yet to figure out. The 1st thing is that though I love gifts I am a bit uncomfortable receiving them. Not that you'd notice - the majority of the things I own are gifts in some way or another. If someone tells me they're going to give me something, the answer is almost inevitably 'no, don't do that.' I know a part of it has to do with my pack-rat mentality; I find it very hard to get rid of things, and something being a gift from someone makes it twice as hard. Then there is the usual unworthiness blah angsty crap that we won't get into here.
However, there are times when gifts become expected (sometimes mandatory). During those times those gifts come with a very specific indicator of the time: gift wrap. Now I know gift wrap is cute and fun, and it eventually becomes trash (usually...), but it also serves a very specific purpose, one that speaks directly to my 2nd issue with gifts - surprise. Why would you go to the trouble to make a gift difficult to identify on first sight if you expected the recipient to know what it was in the first place? I mean, if all you wanted was decoration, you could just put a big fuckin' bow on it and save a tree or two, right? Well that's the trouble here. I love surprises. (The good kind anyway, and no I don't cotton to the idea of a surprise party, so you can quit hiding behind the couch and set fire to that stupid horn thing, thankyouverymuch.) I am also very hard to surprise (especially in the good way). It doesn't help that almost everyone I know inclined to give me a gift seems to love making it as difficult as possible for me to be surprised, but I don't mind that so much. The real trouble here is - I'm really fucking picky! It's not that I turn my nose up at whatever I'm given - I love the gift no matter what, because the old saying is quite true: It's the thought that counts. The thing of it is, I like very specific things and asking me what those things are pretty much ruins the surprise factor. And I think it is the height of stupidity to take me shopping, have me pick out my gift, and then wrap the damn thing in paper and make me wait until the appropriate time to tear the paper off and thank you for it. Yes, thank you for the gift, I love ya. Save a tree.
So here we are in Christmas land, surrounded by sappy music (which has been thankfully minimal for me - I try to stick to snappy seasonal swing) and psychotic shoppers all on the quest for the perfect gift for that special someone, and a tasteful (cheap) something they can bag up for the name they drew at the office. The hubby and I were fantastically lucky to have gotten our gift gathering done just before the madness set in. Before we left the mall with the last prize in hand the inevitable question came up: "So what do you want, sweetie?" Here is issue number 3 about gifts. I love Christmas, I grew up with it and you would have to be a horribly twisted gothic child of pure damnation and sticky evil to hate a holiday where you are allowed to eat all the sugary badness you want and then you get a ton of toys you don't need (and maybe even don't deserve, you rotten little bastard). I still love that - really, please spoil me more. But despite my refusal to grow up and be all adult about it, I have a more mature attitude about the giftage nowadays. I don't get into the holy aspects of Christmas - it's not my bag. To me the joy now is decorating the house (and bitching about it), picking out a couple things just perfect for someone, visiting with family and friends, and enjoying the pure bliss of Christmas and memories of Christmas past shining in my heart. If I'm going to have to pick out my own gift I may as well wait until the after Christmas sales and get more bang for my buck - I don't want to pollute the pleasure I get out of the holiday with practical matters.
So there you go - my holiday issues all wrapped up and tied with a bow that's a little abrasive but it certainly gets the job done. The hubby is probably going to drive himself crazy trying to figure out what to get me, thinking that our love demands the perfect overpriced thing that he thinks is great and beautiful, despite my telling him that all I want is for him to be at peace and know I love him. And yes, there's one of them under the tree right now, wrapped up and pretty, with his name on it - from me.
So sue me - I'm a sappy little shit myself sometimes. May your holiday be blessed and beautiful, may your gifts touch the hearts of those you love, and maybe - just maybe one day - there will indeed be peace and love enough for us all.
