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As we all head (or stumble) into yet another Holiday season, I am reminded of all the Holidays past, and have decided that this year is going to be just a little bit different when it comes to getting along with, and dare I say “enjoying” the Family. Now, if your family is anything like mine, they are a cast of characters who can at times be a bit off-putting, slightly delirious, definitely absent-minded and in no time, drunk! Armed with my best intentions, I have previously headed into these family gatherings with a lot of skepticism, a shred of hope that somehow it will be different this year, and always, ALWAYS with an emotional bodysuit of armor to defend myself against the inevitable attacks of guilt and shame. Don’t get me wrong, we usually have a lot of fun, albeit the self-depracating, poking fun at each other, telling famously embarrasing stories kind of fun, but there IS fun to be had at Christmastime, IF you are prepared. So this year is going to be different, because I’ve got a few things figured out, and I intend to have my stay with my family be comfortable, unnerving and maybe just a little bit joyful. The first thing I figured out is a big one if I want to avoid an all out war. Don’t discuss politics! It’s still hard for me to believe that small minded, ignorant, racist people exist, much less in my own not-so-slightly extended family. So no matter how excited I am about the recent election, I will keep my joy to myself as extra back-up joy just in case I get railed on later in the day for trying to recycle. The second thing I have learned over the years is that Grandkids and even Grandpuppies are infinitely more important than I, and their well being and comfort is of utmost importance regardless of whether I just ran a marathon or won the Nobel Peace Prize. In my parents home, a ten-year- olds crappy artwork is always way more spectacular.  A host of other little inconveniences of course pop up throughout the visit, and I am prepared for those too… I have learned to become friends with my parent’s dial-up computer. It takes twenty more ridiculously long minutes to check my email than I am used to, but I have to get over the fact that my parents are a little behind the times technologically, and thats O.K. Also, I now will ignore the miriad of ugly photos hanging up throughout the house that seem to chronicle all of my awkward years to a tee, they never miss a beat or a ridiculous hairstyle. Finally, I have learned to dress in layers as my parents house will always be 10 degrees colder than I am used too, then miraculously skyrocket to dizzying degrees of heat within mere minutes. So now I always have a sweater on hand and good clean socks on my feet (but I still refuse to purchase those annoying “festive” socks with raindeers and santas and shit on them). So keeping all these realizations in mind, I will be heading into another Holiday season with the Family. Bound with my new intelligence, I’m thinking I might be able to get way with leaving the full armored bodysuit at home this year (after all it is $15 to check extra bags) and just be a little smarter and more strategic when it comes to avoiding the emotional landmines that are placed in the general surroundings of the family homestead. With my new found game plan, I begin to pack my bags and prepare to battle the demons of the quintessential dysfunctional family, and brave the emotional massacre that just might be Christmas 2008. As I lay the last of my ten cashmere sweaters on top of the suitcase, I pause and question whether I should throw in my bullet proof vest, just in case. After all, there is a reason they say that family is connected by blood and in my house, no truer words were ever spoken.

Ever since I was a little girl growing up in the late seventies I have always dreamed about being any of the following…The Breck Girl, Farrah Faucet, Dorothy Hammil, or Little Orphan Annie. So what do these seemingly random characters have in common? They all had great HAIR. Coming from the not-so “bouncin’ and behavin’” hair category, I have always envied women for their precious locks and continue to this day to seek out products that will make me feel like those women from the old shampoo commercials. While I gleefully sported the “bowl cut” in my youth, I have, throughout the years, gone from one tragic hairstyle to the next, miraculously depicting the look of the times with no regard to what style would look best on me, but rather what every other “cool” girl was doing. From perms to peroxide I tried it all, and despite the ridiculous nature of most of my hairdo’s I managed to keep up with the times and trends throughout most of the 80′s. Due to severe financial restrictions in my 20′s, I often employed my friends to cut my hair for me or frequented such high-end establishments as Bo-Rics to take care of my styling needs and I am proud to say that I have yet to be stabbed by scissors or suffer from an infection brought on by dirty combs and brushes (that blue shit really works.) Today, I still don’t spend more than 60 bucks for a haircut and never color or highlight my hair simply because I don’t have the discipline to maintain root control. But this does not mean that I don’t love hair and the women (and men) who have the best of it. I think we all need to take a little more time to appreciate what God placed on top of our heads, thick, thin, straight or curly and take care of our locks because it’s the one thing that makes us unique and special whether we are happy with them or not. So let’s do our part and enjoy a “Good Hair Day” and be grateful for what we got, even if it’s nothing at all, because as we all know by now, it’s “Hair today. Gone tomorrow.”

I’ve been thinking lately of becoming a vegetarian. Well, maybe not a full blown veggie but somewhere along the lines of no red meat, no poultry, but maybe fish and eggs. This is no small task for me being raised with a “meat and potatoes” Midwest mentality and to be honest, I’m scared shitless. Where will all the good times go? Sunday brunch will never be the same without a side of bacon and that sloppy hangover hamburger will never be as good as a sloppy veggie burger. But I think it is time to become a more “conscious eater.” I’m not talking about eating slowly and tasting every morsel that goes into your mouth and chewing “mindfully,” I am talking about being aware of where our food comes from and the horrors that go into putting meat on the table. Just pick up any book on the topic (“Fast Food Nation” comes to mind) or watch any documentary on the subject and you will be appalled at the cruelty and filth that permeates the meatpacking industry. It’s disgusting really that we eat animals to begin with, but that they die painfully at our own hands so that we can have that Big Mac is downright evil. Now, having said this and realizing how wrong it is the kill and eat animals, I still find it ridiculously hard to turn down a steak dinner or even a turkey sandwich, but I’m going to take baby steps here and just start giving up one thing at a time. Having to give up anything for me is traumatizing. I tried a couple of months ago to stop using artificial sweetner and that lasted about 2 days, so this is going to be a real challenge. Not to mention Thanksgiving is just around the corner, and although I would rather starve than eat Tofu turkey (I’m sorry that’s just not right) I’m going to do my best to just say “No” to meat. I’m scared its true, but then I think about all those poor suffering animals and I say to myself, “Don’t be such a chicken.”

Bitch, whine, moan, complain. Bitch, bitch, whine, moan, complain, complain, complain. Whine a little more, bitch a lot and complain ’till the sun goes down. If there is one thing New Yorkers are good at it’s complaining. Whether its the earful you get on the elevator ride to work or the double finger flip off the passing biker with a big “F – You” variety you witness all too often, we city dwellers have a lot of frustrations and aren’t afraid to tell you about it. Just the other day I was walking past a couple yelling at each other on the street about their non existent sex life, right out there for everyone to hear. I’m not sure if it’s just me, but it seems our inability to keep our problems to ourselves is creating a world where no one is happy because everyone has to hear about everyone else’s bullshit. Is there no solace, no resting place for the happy and contented? There should be places to go where bitching and moaning is outlawed. Only happy people are allowed who say nice things about the world. How long would that place stay open? A day? Think about it, we live, as a matter of fact we thrive, on each others problems and complaints. The coworker who always has a beef with someone, the nagging wife or bitter mother who constantly drag you down with endless chatter about whatever it is that keeps them stuck in their misery. Why is it so much easier to be negative than positive? Why does it feel good sometimes just to let loose and rant and rave about your boss, your husband and your ridiculously loud neighbor? Are we that pent up with negative emotion that we have to spew out such hateful remarks and endless dribble over and over again? I know it’s been said many times many ways but can’t we “All just get along?”  The fact that I’m complaining about complaining makes it all the more obvious to me that something has got to change. Our country is about to elect a new President on Tuesday, hopeful one that will do what he says and bring about some necessary change. Who knows, maybe we will all wake up and realize things aren’t so bad, life really is beautiful and people are truly loving and wonderful. I think we will have a lot less to complain about with a new President in office, but I’m sure as good citizens we will find something we don’t like about him as well. After all, what’s the point of celebrating a glorious victory if you can’t have a good whine?

I’ve never considered myself to be very “popular.” I was kind of a dork in high school and didn’t really have many friends at all…and still don’t. I guess I’ve always been able to entertain myself somehow and didn’t always feel the need to be around people. As I get older however, I’m starting to feel like it might be nice to actually have a lot of friends, kind of like a popularity role reversal. Now in my thirties I want to be on the phone every night talking and laughing with my girlfriends. I want lots of invitations to things and always, I mean always have plans on Friday night. For someone who has spent many a holiday alone (including a very sad Thanksgiving in San Francisco eating graham crackers and lemonade, or the Christmas morning spent in an airport eating exceptionally dry waffles,) I would like to prevent any further special occasion disasters by securing a large number of friends who will always include me in their festivities. I’ll travel too…a wedding in Tennessee, a birthday in Wyoming, wherever the party is at, I’ll go no matter the cost or the guest list. I just want to be included. Lately I’ve been thinking it seems as though your popularity is determined by how many of these party invitations you get, usually for those Hallmark Holiday occasions like Halloween, Christmas, Fourth of July and the like. I think your “popularity score” is equivilant to the number of invites you get, on a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being pretty pathetic and 10 or more, you are like a rock star. So let’s see, today is Halloween and I’ve gotten 1, 2, 3 party invites all from very cool people with very cool places and very cool friends, who I could therefor meet and have even more very cool friends. So I guess according to my scale I’m a 3 which is pretty sad, but has potential and it’s much better than last year’s 2 invitations. Where do you stand on the popularity scale? Are you a 7 an 8? If you are you should feel pretty good about yourself and if you’re a 2…what are doing Saturday night?

Do you ever get the feeling lately that you are on a sinking ship? That no matter how hard you hold on, you are destined for an uncertain and very cold and wet future? No, I’m not talking about the dreaded upcoming winter months, I’m talking about a general feeling of uncertainty that is mudding the waters of our not-so-distant future. Everyday it seems like there is more bad news…people being laid off, deals falling through, companies going bankrupt, not to mention that capsizing stock market. It seems all we can do is offer some watered down version of self help babble like…”Well it’s time to tighten your belt,” or  ”At least you’re not so-and-so.” Blah Blah Blah. It’s all such a pathetic attempt to “be positive” with these silly cliches and one liners that are supposed to make oursleves and each other feel better but somehow totally miss the mark. What we need is a godamn Crystal Ball. The kind you can gaze into and see the future. What will happen in the next three months, three years, tomorrow? Do I jump ship or keep sailing? Should I stay in or cash out? If only we knew what lies ahead we could make better decisions today or at least be more appreciative of what we have now. I wish I had the answers. I wish that I could see ahead a bright skyline of hope awaiting our tortured and starving souls. But right now all I see is a messed-up economy, a sketchy cast of characters running the show and a price tag that’s way out of line. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.