Monthly Archives: December 2015

Celebrity Sunday, Holidannys

CELEBRITY SUNDAY: KYLIE, COLTON, BATMAN AND THE BIRTH OF YEEZUS

THE FIRST “CELEBRITY SUNDAY!” Let the people know! Now, if you didn’t know—you didn’t know—Celebrity Sunday is your recap of the top events in pop culture of this last week. Wow, that’s a little bit convoluted. Basically, it’s everything you have and haven’t heard re pop culture!

So without any further ado, here’s the weekly recap!

(Okay, we all know that I’m going to talk about Kim Kardashian having her new baby, but I’m not starting with it, so stop freaking out).

1). The release of a teaser and full-length trailer for Batman v Superman:

Okay so I’m not a massive superhero fan, but this is still cool and newsy, because it’s Superman and Batman, aka every nerd’s wet dream. However, from an extremely outside perspective, the trailer was messy, confusing, and not very clear. It had a lot of throwing shade between Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne, and Jesse Eisenberg in a “The Californians” wig and then suddenly a mud-monster and then Wonder Woman, and I was just like, “What? Hon? What’s happening here?”

Seeing Ben Affleck as Bruce Wayne was weird because he was very suave and I always imagine Ben as the quintessential good boy from Boston, but he was looking old and not in a cute way. Clark Kent was hot as per usual. The teaser looked good though; it’s interesting to see Superman portrayed in a villainous light, and you almost root for Batman. Who knows? Maybe it’ll end up being a rom-com. That’s possible.

 

2). Kylie Jenner appears on the cover of Interview magazine, and causes controversy:

Kylie Jenner, ingénue and scion of the Kardashian-Jenner clan, was recently photographed on the cover of Interview magazine. The photoshoot is eerie, portraying a plasticized Kylie being carried around and propped up like a massive, hellish Barbie. Her face, already altered by her plumped-up lips, looks glacially placid and especially plastic. However, the controversy comes in when the cover portrayed her in a wheelchair, the leather choker around her neck almost reminiscent of a neck brace. Critics have called the photograph “ableist” and frankly, it does seem incredibly inappropriate and insensitive.

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The magazine defended their choice by saying, “The Kylie Jenner cover by Steven Klein…places Kylie in a variety of positions of power and control and exploring her image as an object of vast media scrutiny.” And I understand their intent, but I think it could’ve been done without using a wheelchair as a prop. The other poses—her astride a tuxedo-wearing man, being carried around stiff-limbed as an homage to Allen Jones, and in a latex bodysuit perched on a pedestal—explore her sexuality, her own power, and the powerlessness she has as a media object.

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I think the magazine does an excellent job of portraying Kylie as we see her, but having an actual in-depth and honest discussion with her. I just think they fucked up with that cover.

3). Sandra Bullock Adopts Another Child:

Sandra Bullock has confirmed that she has adopted her second child, a 3-year-old girl named Laila. The actress adopted her son Louis in 2010. The news comes just as the adoption has been finalized, but apparently the process has been going on for a few years. Sandra first fostered her daughter before officially adopting her. I’m so happy for the new family who will be celebrating their first Christmas all together! Congrats, Bullock fam!

4). Colton Haynes admits he has anxiety:

This is something close to my heart. Colton Haynes—Teen Wolf, Arrow—has disclosed, through a series of Tweets, that he suffers from extreme anxiety. Since he was in the fifth grade, the actor has suffered from the illness, causing fainting, hyperventilating, and sometimes even seizures. While the stigma surrounding mental illnesses is diminishing, a well-known and well-accepted actor like Colton, who is probably traditionally depicted as “having it all,” really helps to erase any stigma. Illnesses like anxiety, OCD or depression can completely destruct lives, but through medication or therapy, they can be managed. As someone who suffers from anxiety and depression, it’s nice to see other people come forward and say, “I have this too, but it’s not my whole being. It’s not me.”

If you or someone who you know suffers from a mental illness, I encourage you to take action, do your research, and seek out help. It is manageable and treatable, and should not incapacitate your ability to have a happy, healthy life.

5). Mary-Kate Olsen marries Olivier Sarkozy:

50% of the Olsen twins are now married, and she did it in an intimate Manhattan ceremony to the brother of the former French President. How goddamn chic. Apparently the only décor was bowls of cigarettes which is 50% ew, and 50% so eleganza. So cool. Mary-Kate, you’re so cool.

6). Amy Schumer and Serena Williams appear in a body-positive photo-shoot:

The high-powered force behind Inside Amy Schumer and Trainwreck appeared alongside tennis superstar in the 2016 Pirelli Calendar. Shot by Annie Leibovitz, the calendar usually features nude models, but this year chose to honor 12 women who excel in their various fields. Amy looks like her hair was done to the nines, and she’s holding a coffee cup. Serena is posed powerfully against a wall. Both women have been targeted for not endorsing “traditional” beauty standards—Amy for being average-sized and Serena for having a “man body”—so it’s amazing to see them literally give no fucks and take pride in their bodies. They look amazing and confident and strong, and inspire not only me but probably thousands of others by living honestly and confidently.

7). There was an information breach for fans buying tickets to Adele’s tour:

Adele’s limited tour through the UK and Europe started off with a bump. Fans, when going through the website to buy tickets, discovered that other people’s information was already put into the payment section. The website also features re-routes that stopped fans from purchasing. However, the problems were allegedly fixed. Additionally, despite adding more tour dates, every show is sold out, and 95% of the population is still crying in the bathrooms of their respective workplaces that we weren’t able to get tickets. I’m not okay. Not even a little bit.

8). Instagram releases its Top 10 Most-Liked Instagram posts for 2015:

Taylor Swift has five photos on the list, but surprisingly the most-liked photo—with 3.2 million likes—is that photo of Kendall Jenner with her hair in artsy hearts. Rounding out the list with two photos of Kendall and Taylor and her cats is Kylie Jenner holding up her diploma and Selena Gomez in a sweater. Truly iconic. But I can’t help but wonder how Kim didn’t get on the list. Or me, for that matter. Are we being blackballed? Does Instagram see us as a threat? I need to get Eva Chen on the phone stat. this is unacceptable. Also, I didn’t realize that Calvin Harris was so hot? But he is? And I’m into it.

9). A teaser trailer for the new season of Game of Thrones has been released:

While it doesn’t confirm that Jon Snow is back, he’s coming back. Most of the clip was just flashbacks to previous seasons of ~wAcKIneSs~ and ~WiLd anTIcs~ so that’s obviously very exciting, with a voiceover of some old dude and Bran Stark. I’m, like, annoyed that Bran is back because this season was great without him and he’s such a downer and so angsty, but it’s like going to the dentist. Unless you want to be gumming on some Jell-O, you have to get through the annoying painful things. Hopefully we see more of Daario Naharis’ cute butt. We should make a petition. Does anyone have any puff-paint or Sharpies?

 

10). KIM KARDASHIAN WEST HAS HAD HER BABY:

I’m so glad I didn’t decide to pre-write this and that I’m so good at procrastinating, because last night (Saturday), Kim Kardashian West and her husband Kanye West welcomed to this earth a baby boy. They haven’t released any name yet for the petite bundle of joy, but I’m actually kind of partial to “Wild.” As long as it’s not goddamn Easton or South, I’ll be fine. But I still vote for Ocean West. I heard that Kanye wants to name him Yeezus, which isn’t even that crazy for them.

After a difficul time conceiving, multiple surgeries—including one to “clean out the uterus”—Kim got pregnant. The pregnancy had its ups—that black lace Givenchy gown—and its downs—the resurgence of last year’s Met Gala carpet-pattern dress—as well as health scares—diabetes and the baby in breech—but Kim delivered a healthy baby and is doing well, despite going into labor three weeks shy of her Christmas Day delivery date. But I guess that they want to differentiate this coming of the Son of God from the last coming of the Son of God, which was like, idk, 2000 years ago or something. Who even knows who “Jesus” is? What’s even his Instagram??

While this might potentially mark the end of Kim Kardashian pregnancy style—which was amazing this time around—I’m excited for the new baby and classic Kim Kardashian non-pregnancy style. Additionally, I immediately told my sister about it. I have literally been waiting for this day for multiple weeks, so it’s almost like this is happening to me too, and I couldn’t be more excited! Long live baby Ocean Wild Yeezus Lexus Holy Trinity West!

Also, do you think that he’ll get a pair of Adidas Yeezys, or is he too late? Pls discuss.

P.S. Bonus: This didn’t happen during the week, but Caitlyn Jenner just got bangs, and I really have a strong opinion about it. Like, why?? Why did you do that, Caitlyn?!

ANYWAY, I hope you enjoyed the first edition of Celebrity Sunday. I actually love doing this because it’s pop culture and journalism in a beautiful blend. I might continue doing this even after Holidannys ends. Would you guys like that? Answer me!

Okay, see you guys tomorrow for Miscellaneous Mondays!

HAPPY HOLIDANNYS!

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Holidannys

SEASONAL SATURDAY: A HOLIDAY RECIPE FOR FUN TIMES

So, misleadingly, this is not going to contain an actual, food-making cooking recipe. I understand that my use of the term “recipe” implies some sort of physical food consumption and previous preparation, but I promise this will be Chicken Noodle Soup for the Holiday Soul. Also, misleadingly, I never read any Chicken Noodle Soup books, despite my vast amounts of angst.

Instead, this is a recipe that I have been following to get into the Holiday Spirit (which would be a great name for an alcohol brand! Like, “Holiday Spirit: Make Getting Through the Holidays A Little Easier”):

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One-part sweaters:

So Christmas sweaters—or “jumpers” as we call them in the UK because I’m oh-so-assimilated—are the fucking bomb and I adore them. I went to Primark—essentially an H&M-Target hybrid on crack cocaine—and bought two Christmas sweaters, upping my entire collection to three sweaters. That’s almost half a week! But I really enjoy wearing them because it means you don’t have to put a lot of effort into the rest of your outfit because everyone will either be captivated by the ugly sweater, or be so repelled by the ugliness that they can’t even bear to look at you.

One-part Christmas movies:

So far, I’ve watched Home Alone and The Santa Clause, and I intend on watching Elf, A Christmas Story, the Christmas List, It’s A Wonderful Life (against my own free will), and maybe others. I have to willingly suspend my disbelief and sink back into the mindset of child-me, who was so fucking gullible, and just let the holiday magic wash over me like a warm bath.

One-part baking:

I made cookies to go along with the hot cocoa we drank as Charlie—you finally got another mention, you troll—and I watched Home Alone. And, like, I made it from a pre-packaged bag and just added butter and an egg, and still managed somehow to kind of fuck it up. I didn’t realize that there are goddamn algorithms for what kind of cookie density, mass and volume you want, and so I ended up with liquid-y, flat, not very dense sugar cookies that were delicious, but because they’re pure sugar, but had that daring edge of possible salmonella.

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One-part Christmas music:

I already wrote about my Christmas playlist, so I’m not gonna rehash everything (I’ll include a link here to my Spotify Christmas playlist) but I just have one thing to say. Kylie Minogue is great at Christmas albums. Actually, I have multiple things to say: I need Adele to make a Christmas album. And have you ever heard Lady Gaga sing “White Christmas”? It’s actually, like, so good, and I want her to make an entire Christmas album. Also Cheek To Cheek isn’t bad. There—I said it.

One-part Christmas socks:

Not much to say. Just buy them. Just do it. Shia LeBouf Just Do It. Also, wait, should Nike sue Shia for copyright infringement for saying their catchphrase? Let me know.

One-part red and green:

So today I wore fluffy, red and green Christmas socks, but tucked away behind my jeans and boots, so you didn’t see them. But I did wear a very muted forest-green flannel and a oxblood-burgundy-maroon-red-ish scarf—a blanket scarf, omg it’s so fucking big I’m obsessed—and I walked around a little sneaky Christmas elf because I was sneakily wearing Christmas colors without looking like a douchebag or a Duggar. Nailed it!

Stir thoroughly, bake at 350° F, let cool for 12 minutes, cut and serve immediately with familial passive-aggressiveness, inane questions from relatives, an itchy sweater, and a pine tree allergy.

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Interestingly enough, getting myself into the holiday spirit has made me want to get more into the giving spirit. This year, for probably the first year ever, I actually plan on getting each of my family members a gift—not just my Secret Santa—instead of just giving them the gift of “laughter” and my “presence” which they always try to return for cash-back. They have no appreciation for my humor, and it’s frankly tragic.

I hope that if you’re into the holiday season, you’re enjoying it, and if you’re not, that you’re having a nice Saturday!

HAPPY HOLIDANNYS!

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FASHION FRIDAY: THE UNICORN HAT

When I came out as a God-fearing homosexual in the spring of 2011, I was confused. Now, in the winter of 2015, I’m still confused. I’m confused about what the fuck I was wearing back then.

Before I came out, I dressed in mom jeans and graphic tees. Frankly, my style has only improved a modicum since then, so really this blog post is redundant, but it was really bad back then. Head to toe. H2T.

After coming out of the closet, I turned around, looked at that closet and went, “Wtf? I need a wardrobe overhaul” and like any young gay on a budget and a quest for justice, I went to my local H&M and promptly spent all my summer job money on scratchy sweaters, my first denim shirt, my first denim jorts—what my sisters would call “The Beginning of the End” or the Apocalypse—and countless horrifyingly bright-colored articles of clothing.

But it wasn’t just the H&M overload. As I said before, it was a H2T catastrophe. My hair was brutally cut, my face was breaking out so badly it was swimming halfway across the Bay from Alcatraz, and my eyebrows. Oh lord. Those brows.

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When I tell people that I plucked my eyebrows to high Heaven, I don’t think they really believe me. But you guys believe me, right? I thought it was so cute to have plucked eyebrows, so I might’ve gotten a little tweezers-eager.

But the moment that always springs to mind when I picture my high school H&M style was one day in senior year. We—me and some “friends” from “high school”—went to the city—Manhattan, because I’m classy and a suburb slut—for a “fun day out.” We ate Shake Shack and walked around Central Park, eventually doing a photoshoot in front of the Jackie O Reservoir.

Picture this. We’ll start from the T.

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Bright purple lace-up Vans. A hint of neon-pink socks with a daring, electric-blue leopard print. Bright yellow corduroy pants. Zebra-print tech gloves. Brown leather jacket zipped up to my neck over a forest-green sweatshirt. Big gray scarf wrapped around my neck. Two ghostly imprints of eyebrows. And to top it all off—The Hat.

The Hat was a purchase from Amazon when a demon took my credit card and my body and went on a shopping rampage. It was a knitted, unisex—I use that term loosely—“one size fits all”—I use that phrase very loosely—unicorn wool hat with dangly ties ending in pink poofs. It became an unfortunate fixture in my life at that time, and is something I very much regret.  

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She literally made me put this in the post just so that everyone knows that we don’t look like that anymore.

I wore it a lot, and only semi-ironically. In the latter half of my high school years, I became very into unicorns. I saw it as a “Yeah, I’m reclaiming the stigma”/ “I’ll take it myself before you can turn it against me” social stance, also unicorns are very interesting animals. I fucking hate horses, by the way.

It was also during that time that I was in the flush of my first blog. “The Amazing Unicorn Files” was a brief snapshot of an attention-seeking monster, and I’m not talking about Lindsay Lohan. It was me. Or a version of me.

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On TAUF, which I never called it, so idk why I’m starting now, I was a wildly sassy—a term I absolutely loathe—freak of neon nature. I look upon that blog, and that boy, fondly, but with the careful distance you give a low-budget reality star on a talk show. Respectful, but very wary.

I think in ten years, I might be embarrassed by the atrocious way I dressed in high school—I’m sure that 30-year-old me will also be embarrassed by 20-year-old me—but I kind of treat him like a little brother that I have to protect from bullies. Not that I was ever physically beaten up. Not that it wouldn’t be totally unwarranted. Not because I was gay; just because I was kind of a disaster towards people.

But the Unicorn Hat—Muffin was her/his name—is something that I’m going to spin into a very heavy-handed metaphor. It’s something that embarrassing and endearing. It’s something that I don’t fit into anymore—I have a big head—but it’s something I can’t bear to throw away. It’s something I store away in my closet, safe and hidden.

The Unicorn Hat is my younger self. In case you were lost.

And my past shouldn’t just be my past, although frankly those eyebrows can stay lost. I’m so earth-toned and toned down and “mature” and “elegant” now that it’s easy to forget that I used to be a human tie-dye. I used to dress in scratchy, papery H&M pants and wear colors that didn’t so much pop as scream. And I was fearless in a school that largely treated me like an exhibit in a zoo.

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But that freaky, dorky, overenthusiastic kid was brave and bold and took fashion risks and was unabashedly himself. In the wake of me being comfortable in my sexuality and lax in the warm embrace of relative exception, I forgot what it was like to be comfortable in being uncomfortable. I forgot what it was like to live on the tightrope and be daring. And that’s not something I think that I—or anyone—should forget. And sometimes it takes eyebrows like that of a 2002 prostitute and a unicorn hat to realize that.

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THOUGHTFUL THURSDAY: RUDOLPH THE RED-NOSED REINDEER

Have you ever thought about Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer? It’s so deeply ingrained in the fiber of my holiday season, that it was only the other day that I sat up bolt upright and realized:

Oh my fucking shit, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer is what parents told children when they saw planes in the night sky.

Think about it. Really think about it. Planes have blinking red lights that appear against the black of the night sky. Do you think that one kid was like, “Daddy, what’s that?” and the dad decided to lie to his kid and say, “Well, that’s Santa’s sleigh.”

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“Well, that sounds fake, but okay,” the kid says skeptically, looking at his father, seeing before him his inevitable, futile future.

His father, seeing the disdain in his seven-year-old’s eyes, resolved to make this little shit believe him. “No, son, it’s true. The lead reindeer of Santa’s sleigh has a special red nose to help light the way for Santa. His name is,” thinks for a second (Derek? No, that’s dumb. Mercutio? No, too weird), “Rudolph.”

“Oh,” the kid says, second-guessing himself because Rudolph is so clearly the name of a reindeer. Maybe he was wrong and his dad isn’t a phony.

“Yeah,” the dad says, seeing now the uncertainity in his son’s eyes and pouncing like a mountain lynx, “yeah—Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”

“That’s a little on the nose,” the kid says. They both pause before going, “Ayyyyy.”

“No but seriously, that seems a little too literal,” the kid says.

The father, frantic, says, “Wanna get ice cream?” The kid instantly forgets everything they were talking about, satiated by the prospect of mint-chocolate chip.

*****

So that’s definitely what happened with the first instance of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. And this is why I can’t have nice things and why adults still need to believe in Santa Claus. Because me dissecting Christmas myths isn’t fun or cute, and not something I want to make an active habit of, but it keeps springing up.

I was thinking a lot about Rudolph because I was talking about my favorite Christmas movies—I was trying to remember the title of The Christmas List and eventually I did—and then I started talking about those old ABC Family stop-motion, felt-covered movies with Frosty the Snowman and Rudolph. Also does anyone remember that one with Young Santa Claus, when he was Kris Kringle? He was so hot, for a twenty-something stop-motion, felt-covered puppet. So totally boyfriend-material.

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With the arrival of Christmas and ABC Family’s 25 Days of Christmas, this is the inauguration of 25 days of asking the hard questions about our favorite childhood Christmas movies. Why do we get coal if we’re naughty? How did Kevin’s family leave him Home Alone? When is the appropriate time to tell your parents that you no longer like the color blue? Who really is Santa? What is mince pie? What is it?

It’s these types of questions and hard news journalism that you can expect from Holidannys. So I want you to ask yourself a hard question. And I want an even harder answer. Which reindeer are you? Dasher? Dancer? Prancer? Vixen? Comet? Cupid? Donner? Blitzen? Or that fame-whore Rudolph?

I feel like I’m a Blitzen. Idk why; he just seems like he’s got a good attitude.

Omg, what if the Kardashians had a Christmas episode, and it all started with, instead of the traditional intro—actually though, this season has a new opening credit—it was just them being Santa’s reindeer.

On Kendall, on Kylie, on Khloe, on Kris! On Kourtney, on Caitlyn, on Kanye, on Corey (Gamble, Kris Jenner’s new boyfriend)! And do you recall, the most famous Kardashian of all! Kim!

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HAPPY HOLIDANNYS!

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WTF WEDNESDAY: HEATED TOWEL RACKS

Wtf is up with heated towel racks? I know that it seems like a good idea in the beginning, and trust me if you had talked to me about this two weeks ago, I would have sung the praises of the heated towel rack to the heavens. Now I’m convinced they’re a gateway to Hell.

Let me back up.

Two weeks ago…

It’s freezing in the office, and because we’re in a ballroom technically, the heat rises to the ceiling and hovers there like a tauntingly warm stratosphere, while I’m shivering like an Olsen twin in my winter coat and scarf, typing away at my laptop. For a break from the monotony, I decide to go to the bathroom.

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After tensely opening the door—I live in perpetual fear of walking in on someone in situ (more like “in shitu”)—I go in and stand there, lips pursed and fixing my hair in the mirror. Suddenly I realize that my bones have stopped quaking and my teeth are not clattering against each other like Mancala marbles. It is blushingly warm in the small bathroom, and the heat is radiating off the gleaming silver heated towel rack.

I stand in front of the heater like a caveman discovering fire, and stretch my hands to the top bar. “Ouch!” The bar is scalding, but in an endearing way, like when a toddler curses or when a puppy bites you. It’s charming, and I excuse away the pain.

After standing in the bathroom for a long time, exceeding the “Is he peeing” limit and teetering dangerously into the “Is he shitting” red zone, I fix my hair once more and exit my newfound sanctuary.

I can’t focus on my work, and notice that I have started shivering again, in a sickening blend of cold and withdrawal from my heated heroin. I drink an entire bottle of water and then go back into the bathroom, pee, wash my hands, and just stand there for a moment. The warmth rolls over my bones, and I try to store it like a camel for later.

“I think I’m gonna start working from the bathroom,” I tell my coworker Amanda. “It’s warm, it’s cozy. I think I’ll do it.”

She assumes I’m kidding so she laughs. I wasn’t kidding, but I laugh too. Better to appear eccentric rather than crazy, and I’m saving my crazy for when I’m famous and can get away with it.

*****

Back in my room, I’m on my stomach against the cold, more-dirty-than-I-would-like-to-admit tiles, iPhone open to a YouTube video in one hand and the other gripping a knob at the base of my bathroom’s towel rack. For ten weeks, it has taunted me with its chilled metal skeleton. There was no obvious button or switch to turn it on, so I obviously avoided it. But, inspired and driven by my new addiction to warmth in my overcast English existence, I was a new man. Finally, after ten minutes of attempting to turn one knob, I realized that I was turning the wrong knob and that that knob was static and would never be turned. However, once I turned the correct knob in the correct direction, the radiator purred to life.

For a while, the heat was temperate, and the effect was sensational. Warm hand towels that were practically dry-cleaned and ironed into position. A toasty tile floor and bosomy heat. Suddenly, the early-morning pee was a delight, and everything was all right in the world. That was the honeymoon phase.

Then, I was getting up from watching Vines on the toilet when I turned and brushed the bare skin of my calf—okay, my upper thigh—against the towel rack. For a second, there was a deadly equilibrium, a bated breath, and then the downward arc of a hammer of pain. It was a heat so hot that it was cold, and burned against me.

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“Aghhchhh!” I shrieked and scrabbled away from the heat. I looked at the heater with reproach, but the gentle chastisement of a mother who doesn’t want to admit her child is a dick.

But soon, it started happening more often. I would be slipping on a pair of boxers, and back up into the heater and get a branding on my ass. I would reach down to grab a cleanser from the shower stall—I do my facial routine mostly in the shower, but sometimes I like a little freshness midday—and my arm would get scalded.

Quickly, the relationship turned from blinded-by-love Mrs. Dursley to full-blown Mommy Dearest. I hated that radiator, but I wasn’t about to give it up. I have begun to watch my movements in our tiny bathroom, keeping a solid lock on my knees and arms at all times. I’m a whole lot of arms and legs—I’m not so much “lanky” as I am “statuesque”—so this is essentially a fulltime job.

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But, despite our tribulations, I refuse to turn off the radiator. Why? Because, I’ll tell you exactly why, addictions aren’t easy to get rid of. I refuse to go back to my frigid past. Much like a climber on Mount Everest, or Mario in one of those pipes in Mario Kart, there’s no way to go but up (in temperature). I would rather be hot and miserable than cold and happy, which I’m pretty sure are mutually exclusive anyway.

I’ve been burned before, but I think I’ve learned my lesson. And frankly, I’ll probably be burned again, because I’m a lot of person and only a little bit of spatial awareness. But I’m too stubborn to be defeated by a radiator, and I’m too stupid to know what’s best for me. So I’ll be mildly uncomfortable with a bunch of superficial burns.

HAPPY HOLIDANNYS!

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HOW TO TUESDAY: GET IN THE FESTIVE MOOD

The holiday season is upon us, whether we like it or not. Actually the holiday season started on September 1st, as soon as the pools closed and I decided that it was time to put away my sunscreen.

And normally I’m not a holiday person. I find the whole “dressing in red and green, Christmas lights for earrings, making a holiday playlist” thing kind of weird. Like, no one should be that happy to celebrate the fact that my nipples are freezing other than parka companies and nipple enthusiasts.

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But I’m a pessimist and a cynic and a cyclist and a mother, teacher, artist, dancer, singer. Sorry, I got off track. I’m tired of hate-scrolling through the Instagrams of people who drink eggnog and purposefully buy Christmas-themed drinks at Starbucks. I’m tired of hating people who love nutmeg. I mean, I hate nutmeg, but I appreciate the sentiment.

And while I don’t want to be one of those people who casually does a “throwing leaves in the air and then editing the shit out of those photos” photoshoot just for “funsies,” I think that there can be a happy medium between complete Grinch and complete Cindy Lou Who.

Side bar: If I ever had the chance to produce a show about an optimistic person who communes with the dead, you know that I would call it The Happy Medium. You just know that I would do that.

So to officially inaugurate the start of Happy Holidannys, my Christmas Spectacular, is the very first How To Tuesdays!

1). Make a Christmas playlist: as you all know, because you all religiously read my blog and memorize it, I made a Christmas playlist approximately halfway through November. And it’s the first time I’ve actually done anything more than just halfheartedly click on the “Holiday Music” option in iTunes Radio or just listened to Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas” on repeat. So I made a Christmas playlist on Spotify (sponsor me for this promo) and I made it as weird and eclectic (and mildly attractive from medium-far away) as I am. And it’s probably the first time that Frank Sinatra and Alaska Thunderfuck 5000 have shared the proverbial music stage.

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2). Wear scarves: Not just for utility. Get a large, patterned scarf—my current fave is green plaid—and wrap it around your neck and face and snuggle deep. Not only does it act as a cough barrier for the inevitable winter cold, but it really pulls together any outfit you wear and makes it seem like you put a lot more effort into your clothes than you did. Plus there’s something luxurious about having a blanket twined around your neck, just for your personal comfort. Just stick clear of ascots, you Fred Jones fake.

3). Try to be grateful: Okay, I’m gonna get real-real here and be all mushy-shushy-gushy for a second. It’s nice to be all like “YAS CHRISTMAS” or “SHALOM HANUKKAH,” etc., but it’s also nice to be nice and be grateful. The holiday season can kind of suck for some people, if they have to deal with ignorant family members, or monetary stresses, or if they just hate the holidays. It’s easy to be bitter, but for the holiday season, try to see the positives and while you don’t have to be like blind to your troubles—pls keep paying your bills—try to find some holiday happiness and treat yourself.

Which leads me to…

4). Treat yourself: This is not license to go out and buy yourself a mink stole. Refrain from that because a) Minks are endangered and b) You’re not a dictator’s wife or a starlet from the 30s. But feel free to splurge on yourself a little. Buy a cozy drink instead of making it at home. Buy that evergreen sweater that complements your eyes. Buy that book that you’ve been hearing about. Stay in, wrap yourself in your vintage mink stole—I mean, your blanket—and watch Love Actually instead of traipsing out into the cold and standing in a sticky bar talking to a boy with a dead tooth.

5). Get a Christmas sweater: I was half-against this, half-for this before I actually bit the bullet and bought one. On one hand, I think that they’re an excuse for hot people do to that thing where they’re like “Oh look at how funny it is for us to wear unflattering clothing” but on the other hand, I actually love ugly sweaters because I’m a literal potato. But I actually bought a Christmas sweater—with white reindeer and neon-green snowflakes—and I actually love wearing it. It’s festive, cheerful, loud but not ostentatious, and it just reminds me to be a little bit more holiday-y.

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I think it’s easy to be cynical as a semi-adult—I prefer the term “teenotanymoreger”, which is a little long but gets the point across—in the holiday season. The Christmas magic has disappated a little bit. We know that Santa isn’t real. The decorating of a tree, the buying of gifts, can be a little arduous. The magic isn’t made for us. Our parents aren’t orchestrating massive celebrations. Everything seems smaller, a little more dinghy. But you can still make the holiday season special. Even if you don’t follow the holidays, even if you think Christmas is bullshit, you can still make it a season of giving. You can make it a season of self-care and soft blankets, hot cocoa and movie nights, chilled breath pluming in front of your face and pink ears.

It’s harder to make the season effortless and cozy and sweet. It’s easy to be jaded and look at the price tag, and make fun of those people who do spontaneous—that we know were planned out—photoshoots and posting the shiny, over-edited evidence on our social media. But that doesn’t feel nice. And whether you subscribe to it or not, the holiday season is a time to feel nice. So try to feel nice, however you interpret that, however you carry that out.

Because it’s nice to be nice, and it’s nice to feel nice. Happy start to 25 days of Holidannys!

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