A Very Stubborn Christmas

My mom's side of the family used to have these big Christmas shindigs. They were pretty fun. Especially for me. I was just a kid, so all I had to do was show up, eat, and open presents.

That sounds like a successful party recipe today, especially since I wouldn't even have to drive.

For the most part, all I cared about were the presents. There was a lot of boring grown-up talk, then we ate, which seemed to take about a thousand hours, then we were finally allowed to rip open our presents. As mentioned previously, the stress of wondering if I had been good enough throughout the year usually had me throwing up from anxiety on Christmas Eve, so these celebrations were much more relaxed than actual Christmas. I mean, like my grandma and aunts and uncles weren't gonna get me stuff? Come on.

There was tons of food at these things. A turkey, my Uncle Eddie's ham, which might be the only ham I've ever really cared about, tons of side dishes and desserts, just about anything you could think of.

One year when I was about 6 though, I wasn't having it. I don't remember what the controversy was, but for whatever reason I told my parents I was only eating three beans that day. Maybe I thought that would get to the present opening sooner. Maybe I thought I was teaching them a Christmas lesson about gluttony. Maybe I was emulating Gandhi, every little Mississippi boy's childhood hero. Whatever the reason, I had made my mind up.

I can be pretty stubborn. That whole day, with piles of wonderful food around me, I stuck to my vow and only ate three green beans. When I think of some of the lame Christmas dinners I've had since then (many just involving ham), all I can think about are those mashed potatoes with gravy and turkey and dressing and pie and treats I passed up just to prove a point that I can't remember now anyway.

At this point, I could point out that we all have stubbornness and blind spots that keep us from getting all the treats we should be getting, but what am I, Dr. Phil? Just remember however, that if you do pass up the turkey, there's a good chance you'll get nothing but ham Christmases for years after.

Health and Happiness

There was a health fair at work this weekend. I decided to brave my needle phobia and get my cholesterol tested.

About a month ago I was told my cholesterol was high. Not super-high, but I still figured I needed to get that stuff under control. When I went to my regular doctor to see how to lower it, I got to wait in a freezing room for an hour and a half flipping through golf magazines from 1998 under a poster of dissected lungs so he could give the following advice:

"Just don't eat food with a lot of cholesterol in it."

Thanks, doc. Glad that cost me twenty bucks. I hope Obama socialized medicines your ass.

So for the past month I've been watching what I eat, taking these terrible fish pills, and generally avoiding dairy and cutting way down on the sweet, sweet meat.

I was supposed to see my real doctor in January, but since they were stabbing people with needles on a floor below me for free, I figured I could at least see if any of this crap had made any difference. And if it didn't, I was gonna be pissed. You know how much fun stuff I've had to pass up this month?

Anyway, it takes forever to get there in front of the lunch lady-looking nurses sharpening their needles when one of them says, "Are you OK? You look kind of pale."

I assure her I'm going to be alright and get stabbed without passing out or feeling dizzy, which might be a personal record. I should mention that this is a diabetes health fair so they're also testing for that, and I am terrified that I either have or am going to catch diabetes.

I'm not really sure where this fear comes from, possibly just the idea of getting poked with needles daily and giving up on the sweet, sweet treats is such a horrible idea of Hell that it terrifies me.

I wait around another 15 minutes or so and another lunch lady gives me my results.

"Are you taking medicine for diabetes?"

"No, I ...what?"

Somehow this was her lead-in to tell me that my glucose levels are great and I don't have anything to worry about. What the hell? Is this some sort of nurse bad news first thing they're supposed to do?

"Do you have any final words prepared for your mother?"

"Yes, I need to see her and..."

"Well, that's good, because you won't be needing them for a long time. She's perfectly healthy."

After toying with me the nurse points out that I am now the proud owner of some new and improved low cholesterol blood. Only problem is that in my zeal I've also lowered my good cholesterol.

"So what can I do to raise the good?"

"Do you eat fish?"

"My stomach is like the briny sea."

"Oatmeal?"

"Every morning."

"Olive Oil?"

"Yep."

"What about exercise?"

"I'm riding my bike 10 miles a day and going to the gym three nights a week. I don't think I can squeeze anything else in there. And come on," I said, ripping off my shirt. "Does this torso look like it needs any more exercise?"

Then the nurse let down her hair and took her glasses off. It was kind of like a Van Halen video.

"Well...there is moderate alcohol use."

"Well, OK! I think we're done here."

So I've beaten cholesterol and the doctors told me I've got to get drunk regularly to avoid a heart attack? Man, they're gonna love me at this year's Christmas parties. I'll be the guy with one of those Henry VIII hunks of meat in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

The Saddest News Ever Reported

The place I get my Cuban sandwiches just upped the price on me by like 50 cents or a dollar. It was hard to tell through the tears.

I know their game. Tempt me with deliciousness, give me a free sample just to set the hook in deeper, then when I'm hooked raise the price on me.

Hell, what am I gonna do? I'm sure I'll be back there next week.

No Diner For Young Men

Couple years back I took the car to get fixed. My parents had drummed into me the need to get to repair places right when they opened so I would be first in line. I've since learned that at most places the mechanic doesn't show up until 9, so you may as well get another couple hours of sleep instead of hanging around reading 7 month old Newsweeks and watching Judge Judy on the crappy repair place TV while wondering how much all this is going to cost.

After a couple hours of waiting around I figured I'd walk down to this diner and get some breakfast.

As I opened the door all conversation stopped and everyone turned to look at me. I felt like I just walked into the saloon and was going to start a shoot-out. I determined that I was the youngest person in the place by like 50 years, and had probably interrupted some Masonic ritual or spirited review of last week's church social.

After the oldies vibed me out, they went back to eating, but I could tell they didn't take kindly to this young buck taking up valuable space in their establishment.

Later that week my wife and I went to see TV on the Radio at Freebird Cafe, where we were the oldest people by about 15 years, so I suppose it all evened out.