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phosfateSo. Christmas.
My two nephews look like Paul McCartney and Elijah Wood. And don't think that's not disconcerting when they come up the front walk. Three nieces are all Buffys. Sit up straight, don't make me poke you. Millie the dog, the one relative we can all agree on, the family equivalent of fresh! hot! cookies! Girls' parents, Kim and David. Boys' parents, Don and Kathy. Kathy may spell her name with a C. I've never been quite clear on that point. Mom. Me.
Girls: "Are you gonna say it?"
Me: "Not now. It's too soon. You don't want to ruin it."
The back doorbell rings. We're not expecting anybody, but maybe it's the neighbors needing emergency dog-sitting. I open the back door, and there's...I am so not making this up...Santa Claus. And some woman dressed for Dickens in the Market who is apparently Mrs Claus.
Ann: Hello?
Santa: Hi! We're here!
Mrs Clause: Hello!
Ann: . . .
Santa: Is Gracie here?
Ann: . . .
Ann: MOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!! (But there's a houseful of people and her hearing is spotty at the best of times, so I'm on my own.)
Santa: Is this not the Olsens?
Ann: Er...they're...next door. Over there.
Santa: Oh! I'm sorry, we've got the wrong house.
Ann: That's okay. You go down the drive and around the corner and you have to go in back 'cause she'll hurt you if you try to use the front door.
Mrs Claus: That's why we came back here.
Ann: Good job. Just the wrong house, is all.
Santa: Well, while we're here, is there anybody we can visit?
Ann:...
Ann: Uh, they're all teenagers, you really don't want to--
Santa: We'll visit with them! Everybody loves Santa!
Ann: ...
I stay in the kitchen while they troop into the living room and do some kind of schtick. I always forget, Tell them you're Jewish, Ann!
They come back through the kitchen and leave.
Ann: G'night. Um, thanks for stopping by.
Santa: HO HO HO!
Mrs Clause: Merry Christmas, dear.
Ann: Okay.
And they leave. I go back into the living room, where there's a general air of What the Hell?
David: Who were they?
Ann: I have no fucking idea.
The girls, all het up and ready to drive, insist on going to get the pizza. Their parents attempt to discourage them, because their parents are not stupid. I tell them all to stop arguing because THEY'RE RUINING CHRISTMAS!!! which pleases the girls no end, and they go get the pizza.
So. Pizza. Presents. Talky-talk.
Song this year: Chorus of "Hey Jude," with finger puppets.
Conversation stopper: Emily asks where Tasha is. Uh, dead, Em. For going on three years now.
For some reason several of the more embarrassing family stories were broken out toward the end of the evening, giving the boys a whole new perspective on just how fucked up their genetic inheritance has the potential to be. I will not tell tales out of school, mostly because they're damn long and I don't want to type them, but AOL Keywords include: "$100,000 inside the wall," "Asleep on the railroad tracks," "It's between you and your God, John!" and "It turned out she'd been his fiancee. They'd had a big engagement party. He never even spoke to her again after our first date. Nobody told me."
Good times.
My two nephews look like Paul McCartney and Elijah Wood. And don't think that's not disconcerting when they come up the front walk. Three nieces are all Buffys. Sit up straight, don't make me poke you. Millie the dog, the one relative we can all agree on, the family equivalent of fresh! hot! cookies! Girls' parents, Kim and David. Boys' parents, Don and Kathy. Kathy may spell her name with a C. I've never been quite clear on that point. Mom. Me.
Girls: "Are you gonna say it?"
Me: "Not now. It's too soon. You don't want to ruin it."
The back doorbell rings. We're not expecting anybody, but maybe it's the neighbors needing emergency dog-sitting. I open the back door, and there's...I am so not making this up...Santa Claus. And some woman dressed for Dickens in the Market who is apparently Mrs Claus.
Ann: Hello?
Santa: Hi! We're here!
Mrs Clause: Hello!
Ann: . . .
Santa: Is Gracie here?
Ann: . . .
Ann: MOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!! (But there's a houseful of people and her hearing is spotty at the best of times, so I'm on my own.)
Santa: Is this not the Olsens?
Ann: Er...they're...next door. Over there.
Santa: Oh! I'm sorry, we've got the wrong house.
Ann: That's okay. You go down the drive and around the corner and you have to go in back 'cause she'll hurt you if you try to use the front door.
Mrs Claus: That's why we came back here.
Ann: Good job. Just the wrong house, is all.
Santa: Well, while we're here, is there anybody we can visit?
Ann:...
Ann: Uh, they're all teenagers, you really don't want to--
Santa: We'll visit with them! Everybody loves Santa!
Ann: ...
I stay in the kitchen while they troop into the living room and do some kind of schtick. I always forget, Tell them you're Jewish, Ann!
They come back through the kitchen and leave.
Ann: G'night. Um, thanks for stopping by.
Santa: HO HO HO!
Mrs Clause: Merry Christmas, dear.
Ann: Okay.
And they leave. I go back into the living room, where there's a general air of What the Hell?
David: Who were they?
Ann: I have no fucking idea.
The girls, all het up and ready to drive, insist on going to get the pizza. Their parents attempt to discourage them, because their parents are not stupid. I tell them all to stop arguing because THEY'RE RUINING CHRISTMAS!!! which pleases the girls no end, and they go get the pizza.
So. Pizza. Presents. Talky-talk.
Song this year: Chorus of "Hey Jude," with finger puppets.
Conversation stopper: Emily asks where Tasha is. Uh, dead, Em. For going on three years now.
For some reason several of the more embarrassing family stories were broken out toward the end of the evening, giving the boys a whole new perspective on just how fucked up their genetic inheritance has the potential to be. I will not tell tales out of school, mostly because they're damn long and I don't want to type them, but AOL Keywords include: "$100,000 inside the wall," "Asleep on the railroad tracks," "It's between you and your God, John!" and "It turned out she'd been his fiancee. They'd had a big engagement party. He never even spoke to her again after our first date. Nobody told me."
Good times.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2002-12-27 10:51 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2002-12-27 11:01 am (UTC)http://www.livejournal.com/talkread.bml?itemid=17472034&nc=5
(no subject)
Date: 2002-12-27 11:13 am (UTC)But you get little Elijah Wood and Paul McCartney nephews, and Buffy neices! And Charlotte just gets some orc-hobbit cousins. But being the only part of the family in this country has its advantages.
(no subject)
Date: 2002-12-27 11:15 am (UTC)You've RUINED Christmas! Just RUINED it.
Date: 2002-12-27 12:16 pm (UTC)For some reason, here in the Bible-belt, that doesn't stop 'em. It just seems to egg them on.
Our Christmas conversation involved Art Bell, large amounts of stuffing and you want to watch the second half of Scully's daughter Emily episode?
"I've never seen one made out of clay. They're always wood or plastic." --Mike
Date: 2002-12-27 12:28 pm (UTC)There's nothing quite so festive as seeing Scully's daughter turn into a coffin full of dust. It's to Christmas what "Home" is to Thanksgiving.
Re: "I've never seen one made out of clay. They're always wood or plastic." --Mike
Date: 2002-12-27 12:52 pm (UTC)Personally, I enjoyed watching the "Ghosts who Stole Christmas" again. But then again, you can't beat that magic moment when Emily's blood knocks out the doctor. Though, you do want to beat Scully's brother with a 5-iron.
We also enjoyed that episode with the Nephilim. You know, the 7-fingered chicks.
Re: "I've never seen one made out of clay. They're always wood or plastic." --Mike
Was there a marathon that I missed or something?
Re: "I've never seen one made out of clay. They're always wood or plastic." --Mike
Date: 2002-12-27 01:15 pm (UTC)I couldn't have said it better. Actually, Christmas eve, they (SciFi or FX, I can't remember which) ran four "holiday" episodes of X-Files. My sister taped them because she's gotten the X-Files bug and so we'd have something to watch on Christmas day. Yeah, a new holiday tradition.
Re: "I've never seen one made out of clay. They're always wood or plastic." --Mike
Date: 2002-12-27 01:16 pm (UTC)Re: "I've never seen one made out of clay. They're always wood or plastic." --Mike
(no subject)
Your family just has to demostrate...
(no subject)
You said it!
Date: 2002-12-27 04:58 pm (UTC)Re: You said it!
Don't answer that.
(no subject)
Date: 2002-12-27 06:07 pm (UTC)Oh, and Merry Belated Christmas.
(no subject)
Date: 2002-12-27 07:46 pm (UTC)I love that shirt. Is that a Moondog Original[TM]?
(no subject)
Date: 2002-12-27 06:51 pm (UTC)(no subject)