Happy Blogukah

Hanukah, Hannukah, Hanukkah, Chanukah…how many words have ten thousand possible spellings? (That was rhetorical. Please don’t spend all day trying to think of more. Although you know you totally will now. You’re welcome.) I think I seriously just finally learned how to spell the name of That Lovely Holiday from my friend’s Facebook status update. There’s just no excuse for that, given that I’ve spent the past six years living in a city where I seem to be the only person with a Christmas tree. Not to mention the fact that I should probably stop relying on Facebook for my cultural education. There’s other stuff that can do that for me, like Wikipedia and Tyra Banks.

So between differentiating between PS3 and Wii to please the adult boys in my life, trying to find the MAC lipstick that my mom wants when they are infuriatingly organized by random letters and numbers, and “This is a back massager, right? I didn’t just buy my grandmother a vibrator, right?”, it must be Christmas, kids. On that note, yay! I know, I’m so obnoxious I’m bordering on claymation, but I love this time of year. Especially since life isn’t a big bag of suck like it was this time last year. But moving on…

One of my favorite things about the holiday season so far this year has been this, chronicled hilariously by my friend. If you’re curious about what a particularly feisty (and, incidentally, my favorite) 9-year-old might say to Santa, check it out.

As far as gifts go, my favorite one that I plan to give this year is the video from my dad’s surprise 40th birthday that I had converted from VHS to DVD. A guy that my mom went to high school with has a videography company and he did it for me. Something tells me that I shouldn’t ask her childhood friend to also convert all the tacky Skinimax movies that I’ve accumulated over the past twelve couple years. Although he probably converted all of his already, so how could he judge me? I realize I’m into a weird area now.

The original idea was to convert it for obvious sentimental reasons, but touching family moments aside, holy CRAP, it’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen, mostly because my mom hired her 115-year-old aunt and her organist husband to DJ the party. The two of them did used to have a legit DJ-ing business and all, but I imagine they were hired them because the price was right (read: free) and because who wouldn’t want your 115-year-old aunt and her organist husband to get this party started?

I’m not kidding when I tell you that Auntie, tricked out in a head-to-toe rhinestone-soaked monstrosity, not only sang I Just Called To Say I Love You to a likely (hopefully) half-drunk crowd, but also serenaded my dad with Won’t You Come Home Bill Bailey, substituting his name in for the title character. Although that is most definitely how you would rock the casbah in the roaring 20s, I just can’t imagine that it’s what a bunch of late-30s early-40s party people are looking for on their one night out all month with a babysitter at home rooting through their drawers for dirty stuff. Did I mention that Rhinestone Auntie also made these people do the chicken dance and the Hokey Pokey? And during an unsolicited tribute to my dad, a man she probably last saw when she was seated at the “not sure where to put this relative” table at his wedding, she lovingly said, “He comes into a room, says hello, and doesn’t say another word.” Well, can you blame him? I’d be terrified of you too, you glittery cougar.

But wait! There’s more. The “party” was in a church basement, my mom had a coral pantsuit and a straight up fro, and there was a cowboy in attendance, hat and all. Man, why can’t my parents still be friends with the cowboy? I wish I could sit by his knee and hear life lessons about horse wrangling and appropriate attire for parties in the 80s and such.

To be fair, there’s a clip of me on the video wearing a pink and white striped dress and doing a very enthusiastic dance routine to Walk Like An Egyptian with my friend Katie. And giving the emphatic answer “two VCRs!” to the question, “What present would you most like to give Daddy for his birthday?”

But enough about me. Did I mention the forced chicken dance, people?

4 Responses to “Happy Blogukah”


  1. 1 Craig December 22, 2008 at 9:46 am

    To be fair, there really is only one spelling until it gets written in a language with a different alphabet. At that point, you’re just trying to get something that looks like it will be pronounced correctly.

    MAC lipstick? Seriously, is there anything that Steve Jobs won’t sell now?

    Also, if your grandmother is much like every other grandmother, she’ll still call the back massager a vibrator and not realize that there’s anything weird about it. Few things make you feel more uncomfortable than old people saying, “I’m sore; I’m going to have to use the vibrator tonight.” (Ok, I just gagged a little, so I’m moving on.)

    If that party is even half as awesome as you just described, you may be giving the best gift ever.

  2. 2 Stefanie December 22, 2008 at 10:04 am

    Well, there’s cancelled/canceled and blonde/blond, but I’m gonna stop thinking about it now.

    And I think it goes without saying that that party should be on YouTube. Maybe your mom’s childhood friend could help you with that, too?

  3. 3 Dutchess of Kickball December 22, 2008 at 10:36 am

    Dude, this video needs to be on youtube.

  4. 4 Red December 29, 2008 at 2:54 pm

    Craig, thanks for alleviating my concerns. I’m glad I’m not the only one who buys sex toys for elderly family members. Wait, what?

    Stefanie, hee, I should’ve guessed you’d come up with some! And yeah, it really does!

    Dutchess, see above! How do I do it?


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