Things I wish I didn't overhear on Christmas

• I was laying in bed at 10:30 pm in Washington DC. The flight didn't go so well. There was so much turbulence that the insides of my stomach had become the outsides of my stomach. Twice. And there were no barf bags on our row of the airplane, so Abraham and I were the collateral damage. The airplane steward meekly handed me a wet paper towel. To make things worse, the traffic circles of DC had me resting my head out the window of Abraham's sister's car. So I was laying in bed while the rest of Abraham's family was visiting in the living room. I heard two words very distinctly, "Propose" and "Christmas," followed by an exasperated Abraham, "SHHH."


• Propose... Christmas? But Abraham is Jewish. I knew he wouldn't propose on Christmas in front of just one half of my broken family. My mother didn't put up a tree this year. My father told me no one else was coming to his house on Christmas. I put the thought out of my mind, and, frankly, I forgot about it.


• We had finished Christmas at my mother's house and I began the hour-long drive to my father's. Abraham was pretty insistent that I find a gas station to stop at so he could buy some beer. It struck me as odd because my mother makes him more nervous than my father does, and he didn't even drink at my mother's. Abraham got beer and began drinking it immediately at my father's house.


• By this time we had been traveling extensively for the past 6 days visiting our different families in 4 different states. I was fatigued. My head drooped into the couch pillows with my cosmopolitan in hand. I was fighting a bad cold. Abraham said he was going outside to visit with my father while he grilled the steaks. Abraham is shy and has never spoken to any of my family one on one, but I wasn't being any worthwhile company myself.


• In the car while we were driving home, Abraham announced that my father wanted to meet his parents. Apparently my father even offered to drive halfway up the East coast to meet them. My father is a very outgoing person, and I was a little surprised I didn't hear my father say this five times at the dinner table. I never heard him say it at all. 


• Abraham's mother kept phoning him. Once when we were at my father's house, once in the car as we drove home and once again when we reached his home. The only person to call like that is my mother, not his. Abraham walked out of the bedroom and closed the door behind him. Usually he talks to his mom on speakerphone.


• And then it hit me: the beer... talking to my father alone outside... my father wanting to meet his parents... his mother's incessant phone calls... the secrecy... propose... Christmas... 


• Abraham had asked my father permission to marry me.  

DDF Revolve 400X Micro-Polishing System

For most of my twenties, I was able to eat whatever I want and fall into bed with a full face of smudged makeup without any skin repercussions. This is not true anymore in my thirties. I’ve had to invest in night cream and a skin cleanser and a skin exfoliator.

Products are expensive. I went to one of those in-home product shows and was introduced to a skin care line that cost over $230. Trying to be polite I asked the consultant if she only had one product to sell, which one would it be.

“All of them,” she smiled.

“Let me rephrase this,” I said curtly. “If you could only afford to buy one item, which would it be?”

“All of them. It’s such a great deal.”

It’s not a great deal. It’s $230.00 for crap I didn’t know I needed before entering the room. I’ve stayed with the basics, my skin cleanser and skin exfoliator.

Doctor’s Dermatology Formula, or DDF, is a Proctor & Gamble company, the parent company over many of your favorite personal care brands. DDF is releasing into the competitive skin care market its new cleansing system, called the DDF Revolve 400X Micro-Polishing System, which, get this, is a skin cleanser and skin exfoliator in one.

The premise behind the device is simple:

For deep cleaning, use it once a day with the cleansing brush.
For exfoliation, use it twice a week with the foam exfoliator and polishing crystals.

The device adapts to your skin’s sensitivity needs. Just change the rotation speed. To discover your personalized recommended skin care regime with the DDF Revolve 400X Micro-Polishing System, use the DDF Skin Consultation Tool.

That stupid skin consultant lady said her skin care line cost $230.00. Competitors’ cleaning systems retail for $120.00 – 150.00. DDF is running a special offer on the DDF Revolve 400X Micro-Polishing System. From now through January 31st, enter code DDFMICRODERMA and get the system for $45.00 US, including free shipping. This is over 50% off the retail cost! The system includes the DDF Micro-Polisher, Cleansing Brush, Foam Exfoliator and a tube of the Polishing Crystals.

Reindeer Games

I didn't know I was dating a Grinch.

Okay, that is neither an entirely fair nor accurate statement. He's not a Grinch. He's a Jew, and Christmas is not his holiday. Within the next year or so, it will no longer be my holiday but a tradition I celebrate with my parents.

But Abraham, he hates Christmas. He cannot walk past a trimmed tree or holiday decoration without making a snarky comment. He groans at every carol. And don't show him the Lexus commercials with the big red bows. It's enough to make him shout in anger.

I don't know his reasoning for hating the holiday. My guess is that it's so commercialized and in your face and excluding of him.

I love the holiday. Christmas will be the hardest thing that I will have to give up when I convert. I love making cookies and drinking hot apple cider. I love acknowledging the season by decorating the house. My Christmas dishes are the only thing I inherited from my paternal grandmother. (I'm not getting rid of her dishes.)

I thought about it. I can still make the cookies and drink the wassail. I can still acknowledge the season. Hang a blue wreath on my door. But the one thing I cannot part with is my Christmas tree.

My Christmas tree is my living history. It has the ornaments I collected throughout the years. The one of my alma mater. The dangling picture of the Femme Fatale frightened next to a very unconvincing Santa. The fabric gingerbread man from my childhood. I just can't give it up. I feel like to give up my tree would be denying who I was and where I came from.

Abraham and I are supposed to be creating a life together, not me melding into his life. So when I very carefully explained the importance of the Christmas tree, he sighed and agreed we could have one. I ordered a beautiful, handmade, stained-glass Star of David for the tree topper. I dug out of the closet his single ornament of South Park's Kyle holding a Menorah and hung it front and center. This tree wouldn't be mine; it would be ours.

This morning, before I went to work, I admired our tree. And then I looked closer. Abraham had purchased his own ornaments and hung them up without telling me. They were shiny plastic stars and bells of his alma mater.

"They never let poor Rudolph join in any reindeer games," I whispered softly.

Ghosts of Boyfriends' Past

I've been having this dream lately where I successively date a few of my ex-boyfriends. Ghosts of boyfriends' past, if you will.

In my dreams time has elapsed since I've dated them. It's present day in my alternate universe. We indeed broke up like we did in real life, but for some reason we are getting back together.

***

My first love is fat. He's severely overweight, just as he was in high school before we had started dating. He may be even heavier. The reason he's so fat is because he's eating his feelings. He's not happy and I'm not happy with him. We know we aren't right for each other, which is a shame.

It really is a shame that we didn't make it. He was a pretty thoughtful boyfriend until he joined a fraternity and started drinking so much in college. He and alcohol were a bad mix, as his father was an alcoholic. It was hard watching the descent into alcoholism watching him transform from someone I loved into someone I didn't.

I didn't start drinking until we broke up, and he told me I had finally become the person he wanted: drunk. Obviously there are lingering issues there. But the beginning—the person he used to be—there was no reason why we couldn't have lasted.

But here he is in my dreams fat and unhappy. Whatever the reason is, we just aren't right for each other. He's not quitting on me though, he's just eating, eating, eating. Containers of icing. Raw cake batter. And it's up to me to pull the plug and let the relationship die.

***

Mark, the reason I started this blog and the person whose existence I forget about the most (seriously, my parents mention him and I'm like who?), is back. I usually call him up after all of these years. Seven years, to be exact. And I call him up after seven years, not knowing a thing about him or where he is in life, and I ask to get back together with him. He sighs. He's reluctant. But he agrees.

Apparently he still has his old job and he's holding a training with the sales staff. Then he's on the road for work. Then he's visiting his parents. He never has time for me. I never see him in my dream: he's always on the other end of the phone line, very similar to our relationship. Finally I wised up to realize that he's not seeing me because he doesn't want to see me. He's back with me, but not the way I wanted him to be. I call him up and break up with him on the phone without ever seeing him.

***

Valdosta looks at his phone. "My favorite bartender is serving tonight," he says as he makes a grab for his coat.

"But you just got here," I protest. He literally just got here. I was cutting vegetables for dinner.

Valdosta shrugs. He'd rather be drinking with his friends.

I'm disappointed. I'm beyond disappointed. This is the first time I've seen him in two weeks and it lasted less than 10 minutes.

I look down at the white laminated counter. "You don't like me anymore, do you." It wasn't a question.

"No," he says quietly. This isn't like the first breakup where he tells me he cherishes me. This is cold. If I had left things alone with him, I could have had nice memories, but I had to drag it out.

It's awkward in the kitchen. Valdosta leaves and I feel empty and ashamed.

***

I begin to slowly wake. I'm cognizant enough to know I'm laying on someone's shoulder—my boyfriend's shoulder—but I'm not cognizant enough to know who that is.

I open my eyes like Christmas morning. It's Abe. I sigh with relief. I like this boyfriend. This is a good boyfriend.

Although, I'm tangled up in him in a curious way. My head is on his shoulder, and my hands are digging into his sides as if I'm trying to grab his ribs. My face is smooshed into his neck. He's snoring, which is really, really loud with my face pressed into him.

I shake him awake. I'm not gentle about it. I wanted the snoring to stop and I wanted to interact with him to prove he was real.

Abraham wakes up. I watch him cautiously. He looks at me and he smiles. He didn't question why I abruptly shook him; he just smiled.

I don't think I was ever so happy to see someone in my life.

Interview with Abraham

What did you think of me when we first met? You didn't get that home run in kickball.

I thought, I'm so awesome, I just kicked it over everyone's heads and I'm about to score, oh wait, why is this chick standing on home plate, oh crap, I can't stop, I'm gonna run her over...and BAM.

Did you know I was The One when I was throwing up in your bathroom?

I had my doubts, but you were in the top five for sure.

What are you most looking forward to when I move in? I bet it's getting rid of half of your stuff. You can admit it. This is a safe place.

 I'm looking forward to spending your rent (errrr love) money on upgrades for my condo!

(Edit: I refuse to let him call it rent because he's my lover, not my landlord.)

Anything that I didn't ask that you want to address?

Not yet, ask me later.

What do you think your blog name is? Go on, take a guess. 

Brad

Do you have a question for Abraham? Perhaps one that he could answer when he's not busy at work?

The Bathtub

I don't know why Abraham laid against the bathtub awaiting the inevitable that drunken night. Perhaps because that's what I did. I was in unfamiliar surroundings and the toilet was too far away and I was running out of time.

I destroyed his bathmat only for it to be resurrected in the washing machine. The morning after Abe's birthday, I again lifted the bathmat off the floor and threw it in the wash.

Upon further inspection, Abraham had also taken out both shower curtains. I offered to wash these as well, but he said they were too old to salvage.

So we bought a shower curtain from Bed Bath and Beyond. And this shower curtain is the first thing that is ours.

Life Comes Full Circle Alright

This time last year Abraham and I would spend most of our time lying in bed together. We laid on his creaky hand-me-down mattress under the safety an ancient navy blue comforter. His flat, lumpy pillows left something to be desired. But the company was nice.

Every few days that we saw each other, he'd roll on his side and face me. "My birthday's coming up," he'd say "But it's not a big deal."

I knew by his frequent mentions that it was a big deal. Abraham knew he liked me--he thought of us as together by that point--and he wanted me there.

So I went. I sat at a table at our bar as friends approached him with shots. There were a lot of friends; there were a lot of shots. At the end of the night, he climbed into my car and I took him home and gave him his present.

He was less excited about his birthday this year. Thirty-six was older than he was ready to be. We pleaded with Abraham to make plans until he sighed and said we would just go to the same bar.

There were less people around this time as it wasn't one of our usual nights there. I asked the bartender to make Abraham the pinkest, fruitiest, girliest drink he knew. Someone else iced him, which is presenting him with Smirnoff Ice. But he mostly drank beer this night.

Abraham got drunk. Despite not having shots, he was drunker than he was last year. I think it was because we have calmed down quite a bit over the last year; we don't drink as heavily as we used to.

Abraham fell into my car and then kept telling me to drive slower. I was driving 35 mph. When we got to his house, he walked into his bathroom and plunked down by his bathrub.

"What are you doing?" I asked him.

"Preparing myself."

Within a minute he had his dead in the tub, vomiting.

"That's good, baby, let it out. You'll feel better." I called from the other room.

Despite the hour, I picked up my phone and texted South Carolina Bestie: Guess who is lying on the bathmat and yakking in the bathtub. Hint: it's not me.

Within a few minutes I stopped hearing him throw up. "You okay?" I called.

No response.

I peeked in the bathroom. Abraham was snoring on top of his pile of dirty laundry.

Hahaha she replied. Life comes full circle alright :)