I celebrate both Christmas and Hanukkah. And by "celebrate" I mean that I like to grossly overeat with loved ones. At multiple households.So this is the first year in over a decade that I am not reenacting the movie "Four Christmases" (which I haven't seen, but really... do I need to?), meaning I am not driving hundreds of miles to see everyone in a car so packed I cannot see out the windows. Instead I'm staying home and (some) family is coming to me. It's awesome! (Though I'll miss everyone I won't be overeating with.)
When I was a student and extremely poor, the usual routine was extremely stressful. I didn't have time to get presents until after exams which usually meant ALL shopping was done Christmas eve. Yes. That would be me, in the 24-hour Walmart rubbing my red, watery, fatigued eyes and desperately searching for something both useful AND thoughtful among all the cheap crap and strewn merchandise. (This basically meant getting everyone pens and batteries.)
One year Dan and I finished shopping at 2am, hauled our loot noisily up the stairs to our apartment and began an epic present-wrapping session that didn't end until dawn. (Yes, I have a big family. All are on the list.)
I set the clock for 6am, one hour later, and fell into a coma, desperate for some semblance of rest after an exhausting week of finals, during which I built up a sleep deficit rivaling tortured prisoners. I remember nothing after bedding down.
I don't remember the clock going off. I don't remember the phone ringing. I don't remember getting up and answering it. I don't even remember saying "Hello?" but I must have done this because I found myself sitting straight up in bed with the phone somehow attached to my ear and my Dad saying, "You're still THERE?"
Holy #$@! I just missed my family event! They were two hours away and here I was, rubbing the beginnings of pinkeye encrustations* from reddened eyes in my terribly rundown state as I groggily processed the epic holiday FAIL that just happened. I still needed to shower, pack and eat and the car wasn't even loaded yet. Even if I'd gotten into it at that *instant*, it'd still be too late. He was soon leaving for his own version of "Four Christmases." FAIL. I missed Christmas morning.
Luckily my dad's a great guy and (after the initial disappointment) moved heaven and earth with his other plans so we could still see eachother later. He never held a grudge about it (did I mention he's awesome?) but I think everyone else whose plans got bumped is STILL irritated with me to this day.
If I only had this story, It'd be enough. But wait! There's more!
The next year brought another close call with the gods of FAIL that so enjoy meddling in my life.
As usual, we finished shopping on Christmas eve and came home for an epic present-wrapping session. This time we planned to hop in the car right then and there. (None of this sleep crap. Sleep is for the weak!) We began driving, this time a four-hour drive from Maryland to NJ. It was sleeting and snowing but Dan's aging Isuzu continued to impress us, pluckily carting us up the I95 corridor despite the terrible weather beating down from the sky.
And then... the windshield wipers died. THIS, to happen now, of all times. We curled our hands out the window and ineffectually pawed at the glass with fingertips and a scraper, courting frostbite, until we could safely pull over.
So there we were, stranded at a rest station in northern Maryland. It's not like you can easily find help on Christmas eve at 2am. Who do you even call?
So Dan did the next best thing. He attempted to fix it himself. Without even having all the right tools, he took out the motor, disassembled it and began scraping the electrical contacts. It took two hours but he fixed it! We got back in the car at 4am and continued north. Exhausted but determined not to miss this year's gathering.
The terrible snowstorm made the going slow so we didn't arrive until 8am. But we didn't miss it!
So there you go. Two years of hellish commuting I don't care to repeat. But tomorrow I won't even have to. Happy holidays!
*Beware of touching *anything* in Walmart and then rubbing your eyes...
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