Tuesday, 01 December 2015 —
Tonight I sat at the wine bar and checked my Twitter feed. I was going through the feed only to realize that Twitter has become a mere newsfeed of headlines for me. I have no emotional connections to it anymore except that I have been a Twitter user since 2008 or some shit (that’s what my profile says). The new season of “The Housewives of Beverly Hills” started tonight on Bravo and I instantly wanted to finish my whiskey (yes, I drink whiskey in a wine bar) and go watch the premier. There was a time in my life when tweeting meant something. There was a time when people actually followed me on Twitter, didn’t just retweet.
Tonight there was a musical of “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer” in town and I had intended to go see the show, but never made it to the box office to get tickets. I’m a bit pissed at myself for not being proactive and going the extra mile. I would have attended alone tonight since Chris was bartending, but it would have been fun nonetheless. I love Christmas! There’s something everyone should know about me: I am “Mister Holiday”… any holiday! I had a guest come to the salon this week and say, “wow, I was surprised that you actually had a Christmas tree in your shop.”
I thought to myself, “Why?”
“I thought you celebrated Chanukah.”
It’s true that I don’t celebrate baby Jesus at Christmastime, but I do celebrate the spirit of giving and Father Christmas and all the fun shit that people shame you for. Yes, I own a crystal nativity set, but I do not display it. I also own a menorah and I don’t put that out either. I don’t celebrate any religion at this time of the year. I tend to revert to what I grew up with: food and wish lists. That’s it. The decorations alone are enough for me. The music is angelic and a reminder that every year Christmas will come and even if Father Christmas doesn’t actually exist, maybe there is a being out there that grants wishes at one time each year. It’s not God, it’s not Mom or Dad, it’s someone else looking out for us and rewarding us ALL for being good boys and girls (even naughty loud mouths like me). That’s why I have a Christmas tree in my salon.
As I get older and I see all the people that shame holidays and hold sadness in their hearts at this time of year, I realize that no one has the authority to tell THEM to be festive, nor do they have the right to tell me what Christmas means to me. For me, Christmas is Mariah Carey’s 1994 Christmas album and sipping whiskey listening to Dean Martin and pretending that one day I’ll be as famous as the pair of them and be able to give back to my fellow man. As I get older and look at all my holiday traditions (even the ones outside of Christmas), I realize that I am sad that I don’t have children. I wish I had a son to show the menorah to that I DO have at my home or that I could decorate the tree with my daughter or that I could get the decorations out of storage with my children and partner. Will that day come? Maybe, maybe not. Those are questions no one can answer. A little Christmas carol or a bauble I bought on sale at the mall sometimes take away the sting and sometimes all those things remind me that whether I am single, married, a parent or none of those things that Christmas has always meant the world to me.
When I left the wine bar tonight freshly buzzed, I looked at the night and felt the crisp air and thought to myself that there is something truly humbling at this time of the year: some people struggle to buy presents and some don’t blink. Some people are like me and they don’t care. They give to charity, they put up their trees and they walk into the winter night knowing that whatever happens is as cool as the breeze that chills them. Inside, I know the year is over and I am so glad that 2015 is coming to a screeching halt. I have not enjoyed this year very much. It’s very true that Chris and I are happy with one another and that the salon is doing well, but it’s very well-known that I want to close the chapter the last twelve months have written. There’s been too many fights, too much social media and too much chaos. I thought a man in his thirties would live a calm life, but it turns out that I’m just as dramatic as the ladies on Bravo‘s “Real Housewives” series. That is a revelation I officially swallowed this year: I love drama!
As I turned off the TV tonight and finished watching the premier of “the Housewives”, I sat thinking to myself that I missed my calling as a reality show star and that I have been looking to the wrong entertainers for inspiration. I can watch the shows, but I don’t have to act like the characters. Chris recently pointed out to me that at the soul-level, I am not this ego bitch that I personify; I love family, I love traditions, I love being the one that surprises people and laughing at silly jokes and cooking and sharing my life with others. Maybe that Christmas tree in my salon signifies more than Christmas, maybe it shows that at the end of the day (or the year, in this case), I always go back to my roots and what feels good to me.