A Kid At Christmas

It's Christmas Day and, like always, I spent last night at my mother's house. It's a tradition that I spend the night at Mom's on Christmas Eve so I'm there bright and early in the morning to see how Santa squeezed down the chimney with all those gifts and decorated under the tree.
As I've gotten older, the magic of Christmas has slowly faded away however there are certain staples of this holiday that I need to keep alive because of the tradition of it. For starters, this tree has transitioned from a large, color-lighted evergreen holding the memorable ornaments of our past to a store-bought Charlie Brown trademarked "tree" that holds one ornament. GASP!
What normally happens is on Christmas Eve I lay my head upon a special Christmas Eve pillowcase that I've had for, what seems, like forever.
Then, once we've all woken up, we scan through the gift boxes and bags and start ripping that paper off and throwing that tissue paper on the floor. We typically do one gift at a time so it stretches it out a little longer and we can actually see what everyone has received.
Then, of course, I have cookies for breakfast.
Well, apparently, those traditions have totally faded away.
I got home from a family member's Christmas Eve gathering last night at about midnight. Mom and Jim had already gone to bed so I tiptoed to my room to see my plain-Jane, everyday pillowcase. GASP!
What's a girl to do? Do I wake up my mother to remind her that it's bedtime on Christmas Eve? Do I ransack her home in the dark to try to find the magic pillowcase myself? Do I just stay awake in the living room and wait for Santa to arrive?
I end up just going to bed like normal and pray for a good ending to this, obvious, risky choice.
At 8:30am, I hear the alarm I set the night before and, then, I sprung out of bed because I hear the sounds of gift paper crinkling. GASP!
Did they start without me? Why would they do this? If they couldn't wait any longer, why wouldn't they just wake me up?
I walk out and promptly tell my mother of her huge pillowcase mistake and that they're ruining Christmas by starting without me to which my mother says, "I told you she'd be mad."
What the heck is going on here? What has happened to Christmas? Why do I sound like a claymation character?
Don't they know that Christmas is special and that the tradition surrounding it is what makes it amazing? I love being a kid at Christmas. I love watching the Christmas classics on television. I still smile while watching Santa Claus is Comin' to Town and still sing along with the Heatmiser.
I love seeing the smiles on others faces as they open gifts in their pajamas while A Christmas Story is on the television. I love watching my mother decide which new pair of jeans and which sweater to wear that afternoon to my uncle's house and me, inevitably, giving her fashion advice - "You're not wearing that together, are you?" It's become a tradition. Just call me Rachel Zoe.
It's things like that that I look forward to and it's sad that those few things have...just gone away. Next year, I'm taking charge and doing it all myself. I'll be damned if these things just slip away.
Now, I'm off to eat peanut butter cookies with the Hershey kiss in the middle. Merry Christmas!

Attn: Department Of Child & Family Services

For years, I have claimed to have worked with some of the most ridiculous people on Earth. Many of you have heard the crazy stories of things that have happened in the office or quotes that people have said and you, most likely, think I'm kidding. You probably think that I'm making it up...or, at least, exaggerating the truth.
Well, here's another one for the books...
This afternoon was my department's annual pizza lunch and Yankee Swap. We ordered from Pizza Pie-er (yum!) and booked ourselves a conference room so we had PLENTY of space to fill with nonsensical conversation.
The grab gifts were as follows: $10 Dunkin Donuts gift card and some Lindt chocolate truffles; two 5"x7" silver picture frames; a popcorn maker; a foot massaging slipper thing and a Starbucks gift bag; a holiday Pyrex serving dish; a Crate & Barrel candy dish and some chocolates; two holiday movies and some movie candy; a set of four wine glasses; and, finally, a bottle of pinot grigio.
I've played different versions of a Yankee Swap. The way we played today was everyone picks a number. Number one picks a gift. Then, number two picks a gift and opens it. They can decide to steal number one's gift if they choose...and so on. Then, at the very end, number one can pick any gift they want.
This year, I picked number seven. When we're dealing with just nine people, number seven is not great.
I had a choice between the gift I brought, a rumored Chia Obama and something in a penguin bag. I chose the penguin bag. In the bag were the two picture frames. Because I'm trying to declutter my house and get rid of my frames, I decided to steal the bottle of pinot from a team leader. Thank you very much.
After me, the most ridiculous of my ridiculous coworkers opened the four wine glasses (not Chia Obama) and deliberated for what seemed like 10 minutes about whether she wanted to keep the wine glasses for herself or steal my bottle of wine...not because she drinks wine...but...wait for it...because her underage daughters drink wine.
There were a lot of strained eyeballs in that room and my good friend not-so-softly whispered to me, "Isn't that illegal?"
I'm not saying I didn't drink before I was 21 years old. I'm not saying that my parents never let me try a sip of beer or a sip of wine or a mixed drink before my 21st birthday. What I AM saying is that bringing home a bottle of pinot grigio from a work holiday party for your boozehound daughters just doesn't seem right to me.
On the bright side, my boss, number one, decided to steal the gift I brought from someone else to end the game. Hell yeah! I knew that How The Grinch Stole Christmas, Four Christmases, Goobers, Twizzlers, Reese's Pieces, Junior Mints and Swedish Fish were the way to go. I win!

"That Number's A Little High"

Being the good person that I am, after work last night, I went to the Rhode Island Blood Center to donate blood. I arrived at about 6:15pm and was surprised to see a crowd in the waiting room. After a few minutes, "Patricia" was called into the interview room by a young Asian girl with flaming red hair. She asked me the normal blood donation interview questions to confirm that I was, indeed, Patricia. I passed.
She then pricked my finger and ran the blood through that mystery machine. It's, clearly, a mystery because I have no idea what it actually does. I passed.
She then took my temperature. I passed.
Finally, she took my blood pressure. 124/90. She states, "That bottom number is a little high."
This is the only time I've EVER had a response like that.
It's ironic because for the first time in a very long time I'm actually watching what I eat and exercising regularly. How do I now need to watch this?
After 3 minutes of research, I learned that diastolic blood pressure (the bottom number) measures the pressure in your blood vessels between heartbeats, when your heart is resting.
Perhaps I'm just stressed? Well, after news of this, I'm more stressed than I was originally.

Trading Spaces

This has been QUITE the week. Work was just hellish and I haven't gotten much sleep. I left work promptly at 430pm today and successfully made it home without being hit by a car. All I wanted to do when I arrived home was jump in some sweats and vegetate on the couch. I did do this but not before I found some strange woman attempting to use her key to get into my neighbor's condo.
She looks at me as I open the door to the hallway and, not recognizing me, says, "Am I on the wrong floor?"
Silently in my head, I say, "How the hell do I know, lady?"
Then, she looks at the number on the door across the hall from me and says, "Oh, yes, I am. I'm not well." She then takes my neighbor's "Welcome" door mat that she had moved in front of my door and puts it back in place where she found it originally and hustles past me. I was convinced that Paige Davis from Trading Spaces was going to jump out from behind a door and tell me I had to paint my neighbor's place and reupholster their old loveseat. Ugh, that would've been bad. I just wanted to nap.