It’s no surprise that the holiday season has brought an even greater bitterness upon Gizzy and I. But, here it is, Christmas Eve, and I’m finally getting into the holiday spirit after many nights of drinking and watching Christmas Vacation.
Today, I wanted to acknowledge two things that have really kept me alive this Christmas season (besides the alcohol and Chevy Chase).
1. The Christmas Queen
And no, I’m not talking about Lucy. See:
Charlie Brown: There’s no time for foolishness. We’ve got to get on with our play!
Lucy: That’s right! What about my part? What about the Christmas Queen, hmm? Are you going to let all this beauty go to waste? You do think I’m beautiful, don’t you, Charlie Brown? (no response) You didn’t answer right away. You had to think about it first, didn’t you? If you really thought I was beautiful, you would have spoken right up. (storms off) I know when I’ve been insulted! I know when I’ve been insulted!
Charlie Brown: Good grief.
I’m talking about Mariah Carey. Gizzy completely disagrees. Do I love Mariah Carey? No. Do I understand why and how Mariah Carey is so popular amongst blacks? Absolutely not. Do I want to do Nick Cannon? Hell no. Do her Christmas jingles get stuck in my head to the point of no return? YES.
I would be lying if I said I never danced around my kitchen, snapping my fingers to this little ditty:
To be honest, I think I want to BE Mariah Carey (that is, if I couldn’t be Kim Zolsiak). Who doesn’t remember the episode of MTV Cribs, where we got to see her house that was effin amazing. Oh and the view she has of New York City? To die for! Then she casually mentions that on the night of her CD release, the empire state building was lighting up a special magenta to honor the event.
How’s that for funsies? Like oh yeah, the Eiffel Tower is just going to blast off L-U-C-K-Y fireworks one night to celebrate the fact that I’ve got a new zit on my chin.
Like I said, I don’t want to fuck Nick Cannon, nor carry his twin babies, but sure I’ll take her hizzie and sell a line of perfumes to every tweenie bopper in urban America. And I’ll even take the lil bout of crazy she had that afternoon she dropped by TRL—we all get a lil Wild ‘N Out from time to time (see how that works?).
I’ve mentioned it before that I enjoy watching QVC, but I’ve never ordered anything from it. I know, it’s really strange. But this is one of the many perks of being single (I do what I want because I’m a gangsta, Miss Katie).
I started watching QVC last Christmas season for whatever reason, there was probably nothing else on or something. And I got hooked. Then I stopped watching it for awhile, and now it’s back in full swing…I watch it all. the. time.
I love host Lisa Robertson. Former Miss Tennessee. She just seems cool. Other than that, I can’t pinpoint what it is that I like about QVC. I think it’s the fact that there’s no commercials, no drama, no one’s getting married or talking about weddings or children, everything is just perfect.
One night last week, I came home from work, ready for an evening of overpriced CZs and sequined tunics, plopped down in my chair, and saw something I’d never seen on QVC before: real emotion.
Tears of sadness.
Host Lisa Mason was apparently leaving the network, and that segment was her last. However, since I was unaware of this, I was shocked when she was simply selling a string of pearls, and then someone called in and she started crying. Like an ugly girl.
And then her coworkers wheeled out this huge ass sheet cake that said goodbye and Lisa was still crying and saying God bless you, and someone came out with roses.
Finally, she said that she was leaving to pursue other things—meaning she wrote a book about God (no, seriously she did).
But anyway, check out this homage to Lisa Robertson (not Mason) someone made:
Thankfully, I’m on a nice break from work—they let us leave at lunch on Wednesday and I don’t go back until January 3. Hells yeah. Wednesday, I was in the worst mood, I just wanted to go home and sleep. So I did, when I was rudely awakened by a call from my leasing office.
“Lucky, you have a delivery.”
Wtf? I’ve already received gifts from my family and wasn’t expecting anything else. So I got my lazy ass out of bed and went to the office. The lady said there was no package for me.
“Okay, well then why did you just call me and wake me up for this shit?”
“Oh, YOU’RE LUCKY?!?”
“In the flesh.”
“You didn’t get a package, you got FLOWERS. Sorry, I was trying to keep them on my desk and pretend they were mine.”
It wasn’t some meager collection of greenery. This was legit:
There it is on my dining table. Who in the hell got me flowers? My mom? My aunt? Ummm no…a man. A man that I’ve only met once, only been texting with, never even kissed him.
I mentioned Tuesday night that I was a little bummed I wouldn’t be around my family for the holidays. He promptly called a mutual friend, got my address, and placed the order for the flowers. He lives 5 hours away, mind you.
Needless to say, I am impressed. No one has ever done something so sweet! Especially just for nothing. Somehow, it passed Gizzy’s test (she has so many, you know).
So with that, my Christmas is a bit brighter. But that doesn’t mean I won’t be getting shit-housed tomorrow. Pass the peppermint shot glasses!