Santa Baby

We have officially kicked off the holiday season. That means that I begin listening to Christmas music in the car during my extended 2 and one half minute commute to work. I am more than just a little ashamed to admit that I love Christmas music. Judy Garland singing "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" with all of that 1940's angst, always makes me cry. I smile at Dean Martin working hard to ply his date with alcohol and kisses as she repeatedly says "no" to spending what I'm sure would be a chaste night with him in front of the fire in "Baby it's Cold Outside" Yeah......that song would never fly today.

I sing along with them all.....really badly. To say that I can't sing is an understatement too vast to be easily grasped by the human mind. It would be equal to saying that the great San Francisco earthquake was reeeeeaaally inconvenient. I mean that I seriously can't sing. I discovered to my great amusement this year that my singing "Santa Baby" will cause the dogs to break in to a wrestling match complete with snarling and neck biting. "Santa baby....slip a sable under the tree.....for me"......grrrrrrrr.....snort snort....grrrrr......jingle jingle go the dog tags...."hurry down the chimney tonight" the dogs suddenly rush off for an impromptu lap or two around my tiny townhouse. Sad but true. I am convinced that if I were to actually finish the entire song, the dogs would explode in to a great mushroom cloud of fur.

The music is one of the last great enjoyments I have of the holiday season. I don't put up trees anymore. I discovered that cats are designed by the Gods to remove any and all ornaments and lights in the bottom two thirds of a Christmas tree. My ordinarily stunning tree decorated with a collection of ornaments symbolic of our little family history was reduced to a giant, really sad looking cat toy. Worse......they would climb underneath and pee on the festive Santa tree skirt. I now go to Hilary's house if I need a tree fix. She is the keeper of the ornaments not destroyed or otherwise peed upon by the Godless heathen four-legged freeloaders who occupy my home. Yeah....you know who you are........you there.....sleeping in the sunny spot looking cute and all......bastard animals.

So aside from my ability to induce seizure activity with my lilting and dulcet tones, I do enjoy my Christmas music. For me.......the fun is now...the music.....the lights.......family and friends.....coffee with Vicki......cinnamon rolls with Hilary.....shopping.....pretty paper and bows.....all "It's a Wonderful Life" all the time. The actual event is a bit anticlimactic really. OK.....I know what you're thinking. "Does she buy presents for the freeloaders?" The answer is "No" I figure that as long as I can't deduct them on my tax returns, they're lucky to get freakin' fed. Do I really need to buy a gift for Nickolai who systematically removed the stuffing from all my bed pillows? or Misha who pooped in the bathtub? or Quatro, who stalked, hunted, and then killed an entire 5 pound bag of potatoes? I don't think so.

"Santa baby.....a '54 convertible too, light blue.......I'll wait up for you dear....Santa baby....hurry down the chimney tonight"

Well......that's one way to empty the sunny spot. Nap time!