Wicked Witch Good, Holiday Bitch Bad

Well, it looks like my accidental obsession with the pop-culturally paranormal has expanded from vampires to witches.  I’m still getting my vampire fix through Crepusculo and Buffy, and will be for ages as reading in Spanish takes a while (even if it all roughly translates to “he furrowed his brow,” “I stared at his gorgeous face,” “he’s a vampire but gosh, I love him anyway”) and seven seasons of television is a lot (especially when you own it forever and do want to get out of the house occasionally).  For the English book club I’m reading The Witches of Eastwick, which I oh-so-innocently have brought to work to read during breaks.  After reading an orgy scene this morning, I’m pretty sure the only thing that could make me blush harder would be if one of the nuns says “oh, I’ve read that.”  It’s not unlikely.  As if that’s not enough, the social highlight of my week was seeing Wicked with my mother.  It was amazing (mom said “she has a Barbra Streisand voice!” That is her highest form of compliment), and somehow, despite reading the book and listening to the soundtrack for years and being uncomfortably familiar with the plot of The Wizard of Oz, I didn’t know how it ended.

Anyway.  I’ve decided I don’t want to be a bitch for Christmas.  So instead of continuing my usual anti-Christmas music rant, or complaining about how I’m tired of being the Christmas puppetmaster, or fighting pedestrian and automobile traffic to shop for junk for other people, I’m just going to be at peace.  Fortunately, I can achieve this peace through online shopping.  No lines, no cars, no music, just me and my credit card number, which I have unfortunately memorized.  There’s other stuff, too.  For once, I’m going to accept my limitations and know that I cannot both hand-make Christmas cards and ever send them to anyone.  For once, I’m going to stop trying to outsmart the cycle of gift giving (ie, trying to “win” at Christmas presents by giving someone something just slightly cooler than whatever they give me, with the impossible goal of feeling both gracious and smug at once).  I’m just going to do what I can do, and give what I can give, and not trample anyone to death, literally or figuratively, in the process.

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