Saturday, December 6, 2008

The Perfect Saturday Night

I wish I could drink lying down. I'd love to be on my back on the couch, sipping a cup of coffee (organic fair-trade coffee, turbinado sugar, plain soy creamer), finishing up a Stephen King short story. There'd be a bolster under my knees. Well, as long as I'm at it, I may as well have my feet soaking in a tub of hot water spiked with peppermint oil and Epsom salts.

Yes. Mmmm ... that's my idea of an ideal Saturday night, at least if I've spent the day at a show, sitting near my canopy, riding that razor's edge between being alert to a customer and being overbearing to a customer. When she says, "How long did it take you to paint that car?" is she really interested or has she simply been trained to Make Nice? They say to answer your young child's sex questions by giving the briefest truth you can, and not elaborating. Perhaps I'll apply that rule to the questions I get at shows.

Don't ask me why I'm calling it a "show." It's a sale. Oh. But I suppose someone has to buy something in order for it to qualify as a "sale." I did get a hot dog combo for two bucks, though, so I can't complain. (Well, of course I can. I just choose not to. This time ... this one time.)

I was the last one to leave, but I also left early. I got to The Longhouse with half an hour to spare. They were having their open house and holiday sale. I'm sorry I missed so much of it. It feels like family over there. I ate cookies and took Isabelle, a deaf French bulldog, for a walk. She's about the size of the cat, but she's got the strength of a four-by-four -- a black one.

I bought a Christmas card from Mo. I'm not sure what I think of it, but I bought two of them and know where at least one is going. It's a picture of Mary giving birth to Baby Jesus. There's no actual placenta, but Mary's legs have assumed the position. And that's not a halo around His head -- that's labia.

I want to tell you Mo's whole name and tell you how to reach her, but it turns out that I only have her email address, which I would give to some of you (and you know who you are), but not to others of you (but you don't know who you are; you never do, do you?).

Speaking of Christmas, here's Amazon celebrating The 12 Days of Holiday. What? What did you just say? Doesn't that just make you want to slap someone?

I've got my December calendar on the wall, of course, but I can't read the teeny print in the boxes from my chair. December 26 through 31 have FULL boxes, lots of text. I get up and peer. It's describing the six, I guess, days of Kwanzaa. I suppose it could continue in my next calendar. I googled the holiday because I don't want to be completely ignorant, but my feet are not in the mood for actual education here.

What caught my attention, though, is that Dr. Maulana Karenga, an American, is the creator of Kwanzaa. Imagine that. Imagine creating a holiday. Granted, I don't know anyone who celebrates Kwanzaa, but the website says "millions" do, both here in the States and in Africa. Still, I really like the idea of creating a holiday. I wonder if we could make our birthdays holidays. Kwanzaa has seven principles (which makes me suspect that it does, in fact, have seven days) and probably seven symbols too ... candles, food, a flag ...

So on my birthday, I could create a holiday that has symbols, too, and special colors. Maybe a bird. Since I'm so verbose, I think a set of lips should be one of my symbols. Maybe my friends would help celebrate by showing up with those big red wax lips they used to sell at Halloween. I'm an afrophile, so perhaps they'd also have to dress in African clothing. The point is, they'd have to do what I say. I'd have to make up a name for my holiday. Barbalozza, perhaps, transposing the O and A in my last name. And if I say the official Barbalozza bird is a woodpecker, then it would be so. Maybe you'd show up at the celebration with woodpecker feathers in your hair. Or I'd be serving woodpecker soup.

Yeah. I'm liking this!

I had a similar thought last Thursday at my writers' club. I've belonged for a year and just found out that we have a president. Well, I think that whoever is voted in as "president" should get to choose his or her title. If I'm made the leader of the club, then I'd want to be the czarina. Maybe you'd want to be the emperor or majority leader. It would be up to you. I think the only restriction should be that you have to hold the title for a year. You can't be changing it every month.

Do you think my blood sugar is too low?


olga kruse said...

Writhing in pain gets tiresome. So I checked the Nattering Chatter and as usual the Natterer made me laugh - out loud, in the dark, by myself. Yes. I love whatever the Natterer wanders through and especially when I learn stuff; yes, I do. Birthdays were invented by the Americans. I guess it had something to do with celebrating living another year in the wilderness. Thanks again for always making me smile and oftentimes, laugh out loud. A fan.

PsychMajor said...

Hmm, interesting idea I just heard about birthdays is that they were invented for astrology must have a date of birth to work with in order to create an astrological chart.