Don’t worry. I KNOW it’s Mistletoe. Isn’t that a funny word though? Sounds like an aggravated case of Hammer Toe or an infectious type of Camel Toe.
I’ve never stood underneath some mistletoe and had a kiss. Truthfully, I think that might be a good thing since on TV, folks always end up standing under the mistletoe with someone they’d rather not kiss or their grandma. Besides, the plant is poisonous, causing “acute gastrointestinal problems including stomach pain, and diarrhea along with low pulse.”
Looks like Norse mythology deserves the credit/blame for mistletoe kissing. I found the same story in diff places around the web (about.com, christmas festivals and customs blog). Here’s the about.com version of the myth of Baldur:
Baldur’s mother was the Norse goddess, Frigga. When Baldur was born, Frigga made each and every plant, animal and inanimate object promise not to harm Baldur. But Frigga overlooked the mistletoe plant — and the mischievous god of the Norse myths, Loki, took advantage of this oversight. Ever the prankster, Loki tricked one of the other gods into killing Baldur with a spear fashioned from mistletoe. The demise of Baldur, a vegetation deity in the Norse myths, brought winter into the world, although the gods did eventually restore Baldur to life. After which Frigga pronounced the mistletoe sacred, ordering that from now on it should bring love rather than death into the world. Happily complying with Frigga’s wishes, any two people passing under the plant from now on would celebrate Baldur’s resurrection by kissing under the mistletoe.
There are other origin tales too, like the Scandanavian story about mistletoe being the plant of peace. According to wikipedia, “If enemies met by chance beneath it in a forest, they laid down their arms and maintained a truce until the next day.”
Whatever. All I know is we shouldn’t be having all these poisonous plants hanging around our families (and pets!). Mistletoe, holly and poinsettia. Sheesh! Tis the season to be vomitting. Mylanta should totally take advantage of the holiday season to get the scoop on Pepto.
How do you feel about Kwanzaa? I have never celebrated Kwanzaa. I don’t think my family knew much about it and frankly, they didn’t care. I learned about it in my after school programs that were run by afrocentric staff. I mean, we did a mini rites of passage thing one summer, so you know they were on their Kwanzaa game.
Clicking around the internet, I see that a lot of people dismiss Kwanzaa as the “Black Christmas” or they hate on it because it was invented. Well, ALL holidays are invented. Shoot, I just watched a documentary on Christmas and saw how monarchies, governments and religious powers all shaped Christmas celebrations to suit particular needs. Jesus wasn’t even born anywhere near Dec. 25th! President’s Day was certainly “invented” so I don’t get trashing Kwanzaa because it was invented.
That Black Christmas thing, well that’s just false. However, I think it ‘s how most people view Kwanzaa and therefore do not take a closer look at what the holiday has to offer. Continue reading
Saw this over at It’s like I’m … mmmagic! and thought it was too cute. I’ve had some of these happen in relationships, still waiting on others.
If he always gives you the last bite of his sandwich or the first lick of his ice cream cone, then he loves you.
If he’s seen your high school yearbook photo and says he still loves you, then he loves you.
If he’s counted all your freckles,- even the ones behind your knees, then he loves you.
If, right before sleep, he leans in, buries his nose in your hair and inhales, and when you ask what he’s doing, he smiles a smile that reminds you of a secret and says ‘nothing’, then he loves you.
If he tells you that you make chickenpox sexy, then he loves you. He’s lying, but he loves you.
If he’s laid beside you in a too small bed, in a too dark room and listened as you told him all the ways you feel like you are failing, then he loves you.
If he remembers the name of your arch enemy from the sixth grade and hates her because he knows all about how she started the rumor that you only used boys deodorant, when you didn’t– then he loves you. And he hates her. But he loves you. Continue reading
These trying financial times coupled with the holiday season made me wonder how my family was able to make Christmas so good for me as a child. At any given point in time, there was usually only one person in the household with a full-time job. I can barely feed and clothe myself right now on this student budget I’ve got. How in the hell did my grandmother and ‘nem put so many gifts under the tree and food on the table? As a good friend recently said, clearly people were making sacrifices. I guess the baby gotta have a Crimmus!
I lived on the second floor in a duplex apartment so there wasn’t any fireplace. There was barely room for the freakin’ tree. I’ve never had a real Christmas tree in my life. Growing up, we had one of those artificial trees you put together by sticking the color tipped branches into the color coded holes on a stand. Then we’d decorate it in multi-colored lights, bulbs, candy canes and tinsel, complete with a peaceful Black angel at the top. My grandmother would hang up my stocking by tacking it to the wood-paneled wall. Other Christmas touches included a wreath on the door and lights on the balcony.
I knew there was no Santa Claus. I don’t know when I knew, but it was pretty early. No one had to tell me. I was the kind of child who figured things out very quickly by putting things into logical order. Clearly grandma was buying things and hiding them. Besides, that whole Santa story didn’t fit into my life at all. There was no chimney! Right then and there I knew that was a wrap. Oh, and presents would be under the tree days before Christmas. So… what was left for Santa to do?
Before going to bed, I’d slip into my footie pajamas. Oh, let me speak on those footsie jammies for a second. You had to be kinda cautious when putting them on, yo. Don’t get overzealous and think you’re going to zip them up with the quickness! That zipper starts at your ankle and has to travel up your leg and torso to stop at the collar bone. Without the proper care, you are bound to catch some skin in the zipper. OUCH! I learned that lesson a couple of times as a youngin’. Other than footie pajamas, I’d always have a long nightgown with ruffles on the end, sort of like this. I loved those things. You think my sexy would suffer if I brought ’em back today? Continue reading