Santa works for the NSA

Around Christmas season, there are always a few things that make me laugh and/or weep for humanity. Ok, you got me, I mostly laugh because I think humanity deserves whatever it gets.

Thanks to a Smothers Brothers song, I cannot hear the words:”You better watch out,You better not cry,You better not pout,I’m telling you why” without adding the words “Santa Claus is dead…”. I have only accidentally sung those words near children twice. I have only “accidentally” sung the song near a parent with no children around three times. It is always hilarious. People get remarkably offended at the thought, kids around, or not.

Since I moved to the Denver area a few years ago, one of my favorite Christmas pass-times has had do go away. In the San Francisco Bay Area, Mall parking lots were always full. I had two modes of operation in those malls. Both were fun.

Mode #1 was: Arrive at the mall at about 6 am and park as close to the front as possible, then take a nap. At about 9 am, I would go eat some breakfast and then wander slowly around the mall. I would walk outside with one package, walk to my car in the full parking lot and get cars to follow me. I would then place my one package in the car and lock it back up and walk back into the mall, waving at people.

Mode 2 was more fun. I would park waaay in the back of the mall and go buy a couple things. I would come out with a couple packages and wander up a row of the parking lot. I would have a confused look on my face (I know what you are thinking, ‘As opposed to…?’). I would pretend to walk towards a couple random cars, then quickly zip between the aisles to walk down another. I would keep doing this, walking out of the way (people could pass me if they wanted) up and down aisles and walking to wrong cars until I could get three or four cars following. Then I would walk to the end of the last aisle and get in my car. I got flipped off soooo much for taking a walk around a parking lot. Let me be clear, I never indicated for people to follow me, never told anyone what I was doing, and was never asked if I was leaving. During the “season of giving” I was flipped off by people for taking a walk around a parking lot. Merry Christmas!

Unfortunately, Denver malls have ample parking, so the games are not as fun.

I listen to different Christmas Carols than the average. I have a pretty large collection of heavy metal, goth/industrial, jazz, and punk Christmas Carols. No one wants to listen to these songs but me. That is ok, everyone else doesn’t know what they are missing. They can go back to listening to the date rape-y “Baby, it’s cold outside”. Because I listen to so many “covers” of Christmas songs, I make up my own lyrics to the Christmas standards. “I’m dreaming or a multicultural and multi-ethnic Christmas…just like the ones I used to know” or my “Middle Eastern” version of “Deck the Halls”, “Deck the halls with boughs of holly. Fa-lalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalala”. That always makes me laugh, no mater how unfunny you think it is. (You are wrong, it is hilarious)

My favorite part of Christmas is changing my Facebook profile picture to the image of the Christmas card that I got while I was in the Navy. Our supply ship broke down or was diverted, so we didn’t receive any packages. All we could receive were letters. To try and ease the burden, the fleet received Christmas cards addressed “To any soldier or sailor”

The card that I got was this:

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This was the card I received from an elementary school student in Arkansas. Since it was an elementary school student, I assume they were trying to say “dorky”. This card slipped by the “ever vigilant” elementary school teacher and ended up in my hands. It makes me laugh every single time. It has been almost 20 years and I laugh every time. I wish… oh how I wish… that I could talk to this kid today. I mean, assuming they would be willing to stop selling meth for a few minutes. Actually, I really do wish I could talk to the kid that made this. I would love to know how this desperate anger at a stranger arrived. Were they mad because of something at home?  Were they mad because they had to do this instead of something fun? Were they just mad because they had to take 2nd grade for 8 years? I am certain the kid has no memory of doing this (quick, try to remember a 2nd grade art project). Thank you, hateful little kid, for making me laugh once a year and reminding me of the true spirit of Christmas.

 

 

 

 

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