4 Days of Spazmas: Gifts

Christmas always has this way of sneaking up on me every single year. I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but by the time I’m ready to do the Christmas, it’s tomorrow and CRAP. Nothing is getting done and nobody is getting love in the form of feasible gifts until February. And I’m sorry. Christmas never ends in Storm’s world. And hey, that’s not the worst thing is it?

I feel the pressure now more than I ever have. You know how as a kid, you aren’t expected to get gifts for people? Like what can you do? You have no job or money, or any sense that others matter. So you get a pass. Your family is just happy to spend time with you and be a part of your memories.

I am well beyond that point. My presence isn’t enough anymore. I have employment. I receive help from family on a much larger scale than I ever have. I need to…write cards, and get gifts…and wrap them and stuff. I need to appreciate people and show them that I care, I really do. Now I’m in Philadelphia, where I intend on staying for the foreseeable future. That means I will have friendships for the first time in life that I won’t move away from after a few years. I’m actually in the same place as family now. I have no excuse for not being more giving. And I have gone one more year failing to mentally and financially prepare myself for that. Again, sorry.

And as for receiving gifts, that’s even more difficult than getting them for other people. I don’t want anything. Really, I have a very limited amount of things that I would ever ask for.

Here’s my thing. If I can’t eat it or use it on a regular basis, I DO NOT WANT IT. I don’t know if that makes me easier or more difficult to buy for. But keep your knick knacks. Have you seen my room? It looks like I moved in last week, and I’ve been in that apartment for like half a year now. That’s because I have no storage space for the junk I already own. If you give me something that I have to find a place for, it’s not going to be a good time for me. Please don’t clutter my life. I don’t want a candle. I don’t want a plushie animal thing. What do they do for my life besides sit in the corner of my room and leave me paranoid at night because DAMMIT I SAW IT MOVE ITS ARM, I SWEAR TO YOU THAT JUST HAPPENED.

Some people think it’s an insensitive and/or lazy gesture, but trust me just give me money. I like saving money for my weird things that I would never ask anyone to buy me because they’re expensive. Like a SpiritHood or a OnePiece suit, or Black Milk leggings, or custom Storm headphones So you would contribute to one of the few material things I value highly, and I’d appreciate that much more than you wracking your minds trying to think of what to get me.

Or give me gift cards. But ask me what stores I like but never go to. Then you can force me to indulge in things I like but never enjoy.

Or buy me socks. Families start way too early gifting socks. Nobody wants socks as a kid. But oh my Lord am I so happy to get socks from people. I love socks. Weird socks. Knee highs. Thigh highs. All the crazy patterns or jokes or kittens shooting lasers out of their eyes. Y’kno, whatever. Socks are just the greatest. Get me socks, I’ll love you forever.

I also collect Tshirts. I really dig fruit snacks. And coffee is my life source.

Ultimately though, I value time over anything tangible. I don’t have the best memory of my childhood and stuff. It’s a little frustrating. I don’t know why I can’t remember much of anything. It’s left me kind of crazy about making memories with people I love and care about. So let’s go do something, together. Or let’s do nothing together, maybe. Those are some of my best stories, doing nothing with good company.

So yeah, that’s my deal with gifts and whatever. I’m all about presence over presents. Anyways, more Spazmas ranting coming tomorrow!

Eggs Over Hard

If there’s one restaurant I absolutely cannot stand, it’s Cracker Barrel. If I never entered that blasted place again, it’d be too soon.

First is the name. Crackers? Don’t you want people to like you? Crackers are the most bland food stuff one can consume.  And you couldn’t think of a more appealing receptacle than a barrel? I’d like to hear from someone that ever thought of a barrel full of crackers and instantly thought of a good time or delicious food. I doubt I’ll ever find such an individual, and truth is, I’m not interested enough to look, they sound awful. 

Can someone please explain the knick-knacks? Just…stop it. It might be because I grew up in a home where “everything had a place and everything better be in its place” that the sale of items only meant to clutter a house seems pointless to me. It even makes me angry, because, why? So no thank you, I’ll pass on all the space waste, strange flavors of taffy and other weird candy that was discontinued decades ago.

The last straw was that one server who had the audacity to correct my English. After struggling through the menu of country meals that practically all were served with endless biscuits and a moat of gravy engulfing your plate, I settled for eggs with bacon and some other things…

Server: And how would you like your eggs cooked?

Me: Over hard, please.

Server: You mean over well?

Me: Umm…over HARD, thank you.

Server: Okay, I’ll get them for you OVER. WELL.

THE NERVE OF THIS WOMAN. I WANTED MY EGGS OVER HARD.

FUN FACT, there’s actually a difference, and that CRETIN messed up my order, being condesending. Seriously though, woman? You’re going to question ME on MY ENGLISH? I’m in school to be an English teacher! YOU WORK AT CRACKER BARREL, and the least you can do is get my order right.

Eggs over hard, the way I wanted mine prepared, have the yokes broken and fried so the white and yoke cook through evenly. Eggs over well still have the yoke in tact, and beyond that, the cooks didn’t even cook it well enough and it was runny. I loathe runny yoke. Loathe it. So I tell this woman the eggs weren’t cooked the way I wanted and she should tell the kitchen to cook them over hard this time. Still got them back over well. There is simply no winning in that place.