If parents want to torture their children or unwittingly perpetuate an unforgivable lie, one which will result in lifelong repercussions, then tell them that Santa Claus is for real.
Every child who celebrates Christmas becomes apoplectic over a mysterious corpulent, ruddy faced (closet alcoholism, a given), sweaty fool from the North Pole. As a young girl, I eagerly stood by the door in great anticipation in my holiday best tartan plaid-patent leather getup, for Santa to drop off gifts on Christmas Eve. My Polish Catholic family has always celebrated the birth of Santa–oops, I mean Jesus Christ, on Christmas Eve.
My family cajoled me into believing that if I was ‘nice’ instead of ‘naughty’, I would receive all the gifts I listed on a paper scrap. I believed their ruse for eight childhood years in Forest Hills, Queens.
When I was finally clued in by friends that our families secretly dupe us and have lied to us all these years to maintain this tradition, I felt like someone ripped my innards, wardrobe and all. “WHAT THE FUCK?” I screeched. “Santa isn’t real?” Swearing as a kid in my finest French is compulsory in Queens. The exposure of the lie led me to a path of rebellion, defiance, inquisitiveness and finally, the painful revelation that adults do in fact lie. And, quite often.
In retrospect, I see this fiction as a blessing, as my rebelliousness has allowed me to be who I am today–a very direct, honest and creative person. It also made me very naughty, mixed in with dollops of nice.
This holiday season, I haven’t been in the mood to partake in libations or engage in late partying. I do, however, walk behind Santas and flip’em the bird behind their backs.
This year I invited my BFF, Mini, and college roommate, Sherri, to participate in some Friday night fun, full of creativity sans alcohol. And the revelation is that acting like a creative idiot when sober can be fun.
Our inspiration came from a photo Mini found of burlesque performer, Dirty Martini on Instagram.
Here is the final result of our DIRTY MARTINI inspiration.
This project gave us a reason to play dress up and act preposterously. Ahhhh, the power of makeup. I don’t understand why more women don’t use it. Granted, I don’t spend an hour each day gluing gems and pearls to my face. Lipstick and mascara suffices and brings life to the face. Have you ever watched a junkie shoot up heroin? Well, you know how their eyes roll into the back of their head and their body collapses onto a sofa like a punctured Walmart inflatable lawn Santa? Yup, lipstick makes me feel like a junkie. It is addictive without the negative side effects.
Here is a video of our final look and short cabaret act.
Mind you, engaging in these creative activities does take its toll on the body. After several hours of unrelenting laughter, my stomach ached as did my jaw and neck.
This was a great alternative to a boozy Friday night, drinking till the wee hours, in celebration of the holidays. P.S. no hangover, just great afterglow.
So this holiday season, why don’t you do something creative! It doesn’t have to involve makeup, just use a little imagination and aim to create something novel.
It was fun messing with people, though. On social media, I posted that we were high on PCP and drank two homemade jugs of whiskey to jump start our creative juices. Friends and followers clicked in approval.
In actuality, we were high, except the high was a sugar high. We just couldn’t resist a visit to a local chocolatier where we went overboard. I am pretty sure I will need a root canal later this week, but it was worth it. In the meantime, I’ll floss.