Ah, memories

For a special edition to coordinate with our regularly published edition during Christmas week, the newspaper staff where I work was asked to write about our favorite Christmas memories. It took a couple of days to come up with something that was suitable for newsprint. Accompanying a picture of little April holding Papa Smurf and sitting on Santa's lap was the following story. Enjoy.

For most people, December invokes memories of hot chocolate in front of a fire, sleigh rides, and maybe even a Christmas carol or two. I'm not most people. The onslaught of dazzling garland, fancy ornaments and multicolored strands of lights adorning Christmas trees always make me remember a cold December evening involving two strangers and a lone pine tree.

It was the night of a holiday concert at my high school, and I was in my junior year. My friends Cara and Dave, self-proclaimed A/V geeks, had just finished filming the concert for school records, and then we were on our way to drop off Dave at his home out in the country. We made our way slowly, as the night was foggy and the roads were quite icy. About a quarter of a mile before Dave's house, near a Christmas tree farm, we saw two people standing along the side of the road, looking out into the fog as if they were waiting for someone. We left Dave safely at his house and made our slow return to town.

At the stop sign, Cara and I made sure we didn't see any oncoming headlights penetrating the fog, and we were just about to pull out when suddenly the back doors opened and the dome light came on. Two strange people, a young man and young woman, whom we later realized were the same two we'd seen earlier in front of the tree farm, hopped into the backseat. The man was frantically pulling a pine tree into the car. Cara and I stared in shock, my eyes meeting the startled gaze of the woman. She squeaked and jumped back out of the car. The man looked at us with both puzzlement and dread as he realized we apparently weren't the ride they had been waiting for. He shoved the tree back out, and he and the young woman disappeared into the fog.

The rest of the ride back to my house was punctuated with moments of laughter and bewilderment as we struggled to come to terms with the strange encounter. Had it really happened? Had they been figments of our imagination? The moment of truth was revealed when we opened the back doors and found a seat filled with fresh pine needles and an abandoned yellow flashlight.

So enjoy your candy-cane and mistletoe-filled memories. As for me, December will always call to mind visions of a cold, foggy night, good friends, and Christmas tree thieves.

Hope you enjoyed this very true story. My co-workers got a laugh, and I hope you did, too. A belated merry Christmas to you all, and good tidings in 2008!

"You guys, I'm hungry. I know when my stomach growls there's trouble."

I must have been really disappointed after opening all my presents last night that I didn't get Guitar Hero, because this morning I woke up with this Goonies quote on repeat in my mind:

"Yeah, but you know what? This one, this one right here. This was my dream, my wish. And it didn't come true. So I'm taking it back. I'm taking them all back."

STUFF!

Currently obsessed with:

BOOKS!

MOVIES!

(Dear Lame Narrator, his name is Gerard, not Jared. Get it right or pay the consequences.)

TV SERIES!

WANTING THINGS!

Small vampire bottle.

Vampire pocket tissue holder.

Snowcake, from LUSH.

Eye shadow for blue eyes, from Sephora.

Vera Wang Princess fragrance and lipgloss, from Sephora.

"He's just gonna keep on loving her. She's gotta be sore. I appreciate the sentiment, but enough!"

Note to parents everywhere: Never bring your 3-year-old to Wal-Mart. Ever. For one, your arms and wrists will be extremely sore the next day just from trying to subdue a wildly hysterical, shrieking, fighting toddler terrorist. Also, everyone will stop and stare at you while you fight to maintain your bear-hug grip so that said toddler terrorist doesn't escape as you try to take her out to the car to calm the fuck down. People will glare at you as if you are trying to kidnap your child, or in my case, niece, but they won't try and stop you because no one wants to get involved. Also, I might have snapped their heads off.

Ah, memories.

Is it time for conversations yet? Yes, I believe it is.

Kristen: What about that one movie? Mr. Magorium's something Emporium.
April: Wonder Emporium.
Kristen: Whatever.
April: You can remember Magorium and Emporium, but not Wonder?
Kristen: That's how I roll.
(5 minutes later)
Kristen: Mr. Magorium's Wonderful Emporium.
April: Wonder. Not Wonderful.
Kristen: Shut up.

Kristen: Boy crotches gross me out.
April: Even Colin Meloy's?
Kristen: Oh, no. His would be shining like the morning sun.

Aaron: (answering phone) Hello? (listens) Hey is for horses.
April: Gay is for Aaron.

I had more, but I forgot my list at home. *sigh* Blogging is hard work.

A few highlights from the Twin Cities trip:

At Friends 2B Made (yes, that's what it's called), I made a little doll (like this) for Jersey for Christmas. I dressed her in this outfit, which is almost identical to one that Jersey wears, and I even picked out a pajama set so Jerz could change her. Anyway, the girl who worked there? Totally psycho. She grabbed the doll out of my hands and started making it dance! And gave it a creepy voice. Then she talked to it. There was more weirdie things, but I can't remember. Kristen and I were quite disturbed and kept giving each other wide-eyed looks.

Our first night at the hotel, we decided to order in room service because it was already dark out and we didn't want to try to maneuver through an unfamiliar city. After I ordered (I lost rock/paper/scissors against Kristen), the guy on the other end of the line goes, "Are you eating all of this yourself, ma'am? *snicker*" har har Then he assures me it'll be up in 20 minutes. The menu insists that if the dinner isn't served within 30 minutes of ordering, the meal is free. Almost an hour later, the food finally arrives. The girl delivering the tray strikes up a conversation about where we're from--like unusually interested. She presents me the bill, which is around $45. I mention the hotel guarantee about the free meal. I point out the statement on the menu and reiterate that I'd called 50 minutes earlier. So we got ourselves a free meal. With cold fries and a gross dessert.

In the parking garage at the Mall of America, Kristen parked us in an area designated as Hawaii.
Kristen: Can you remember that we parked in Hawaii 15?
Me: *singing* It's not Hawaii Five-Oh, it's Hawaii One-Five!

Coupled with driving in an unfamiliar city, we had to negotiate detours due to the I35 W bridge that had collapsed a few months ago. We drove past one area where you could see wreckage that had been carefully removed and stored in order to later inspect. I was in charge of reading our mapquest directions while Kristen drove.
Me: Oh, look. You can see the wreckage from the--
Kristen: *yells* PAY ATTENTION!
Me: Oh, yeah. Take that exit. Sheesh.

At Urban Outfitters, I got myself a cute business card holder:


I also got a cute purple and silver wallet that was 50% off because a sticker had peeled off the silver in one one-inch square on the inside. Also got some adult Mad Libs for general merriment.

At LUSH I was bombarded by at least five different sales girls in the 10 minutes I was there. Argh. Just let me shop in peace! Anyway, I did end up buying three different soaps: Sultana for myself, Rock Star for my mom, and some rose stuff for myself, sister and someone else I can't name in case they happen to read my blog. Let's hope my sister doesn't read this before Christmas, either.

And dudes, I had the most delicious iced Nesquik chocolate drink at this little booth in MOA. So awesome. I crave it now. Crave. It. Must go check to see if there's a recipe online.

Also? Did I mention? At our fancy hotel, Kristen totally walked so hard into a set of automatic doors that she knocked them off the track. Yeah. It. Was. Awesome! I laughed a lot.

Tonight we took Jersey to see Santa at the newspaper, where they were taking pictures. Santa had on the rattiest costume ever, with a yellow-gray (and real) beard, cracked gloves that looked like they'd been in storage for 30 years, and matted, grayish fur on his suit. For shame, Santa. For shame.