I love holidays. You can dress as a tauntaun, creeping out neighbors while stealing their candy. You can kill turkeys and eat them in the name of peace and mankind and solidarity and moccasins. You can stock up on gifts, admire twinkling lights, and occasionally send a shout out via prayer to thank that little baby Savior cuddled in a manger. He did, after all, start this whole shindig. There are holidays for lovers, for ethnicities, for freedoms, for solemn remembrances. Even trees get a special day devoted to honoring their impressive skills in growing and shading things.
In the lackluster stretches of months sans President’s Day or National High-Five Day, I grow depressed. Festivity Withdrawal is a lot like Seasonal Depression except the weather doesn’t matter all that much and you’re not depressed so much as super bored and wanting someone to hand you a sock-shaped bag of treats. I listened to the words of Tom Peters, and made a promise to “celebrate what [I] want to see more of”. But a girl can only eat so much cake, and filling your house with glitter only sounds like a cool idea.Fed up with mediocre celebrations of my inventing- Taco Tuesday in honor of more lenient border laws and Comb Your Hair Day in honor of having a little more self-respect and concern for social appearances I turned to the creative forces of the internet to make every day a holiday.
So far I’ve celebrated …
September 1 is . . . . . Emma M. Nutt Day: I sent a thoughtful prayer to her, for living life with such a name and giving women the reputation of gabbing on the phone for hours and hours on end. I called my girlfriend to discuss nail polish and laundry detergent and Miss Nutt and why men act like women talk on the phone all the time for entertainment. Then I hung up because I realized I’d proven my point. We can’t be having that now can we?(Miss Nutt was the first female telephone operator. Read a book, idyut.)
September 2 is . . . . . National Beheading Day: Tricky, tricky. I’ve read enough Better Homes & Gardens to understand that beheading children, pets, or even the gum-smacking checkout girl at the dollar mart goes against all sorts of ladylike etiquette. And the stains! My God, the stains. I settled with karate chopping my dog around the collar regions every time I saw her. She attacked me, and I chose not to have her put down because technically that mauling? I earned it.
September 3 is . . . . . Skyscraper Day: I took this opportunity to get my son “learned” so to speak. Being all about the educating of young minds, we drove into downtown Jackson for a lesson in Skyscrapers: Because They Are Super Tall Like They Could Scrape The Sky. Fetch That Sky A Band Aid. Turns out the most urban areas this city has to offer tend to house broken down shacks and two-story dime stores. Even at two, he looked disappointed, and our class concluded on the note of “Make sure not to live here when you’re big”.
September 4 is . . . . . Newspaper Carrier Day: I’d met our newspaper
boy man once before. He drives a rusted, red Toyota and never waves. I don’t know his name, just his license plate number. I may or may not have thought he was trying to abduct me mid-early-morning jog. The 4th was a new day, and I aimed to celebrate him for sacrificing his elbow so that I might read the paper. I took off that morning for a run, my special Newspaper Carrier Day gift tucked tightly in my spandex pants. As his car burped fumes down the street, I crept silently towards him. Because what is better than a gift WITH a surprise? All at once I tossed back issues of periodicals I’d forgotten to read, flinging the pages like happy confetti towards his rickety buggy. He sped up, not stopping to join me in my festive jig. Screaming YAYAYAYAYAY! on a dark street corner all by one’s lonesome is hardly the way to spend a holiday.
September 5 is . . . . . Be Late For Something Day: Done. I was late for my diet… and exercise.
September 6 is . . . . . Fight Procrastination Day: Hello, cruelest of holidays. You tell me to take it easy, and then expect me to get my act together the very next day? Well, no can do. So, I called my friends and family (all with desks and name badges and jobs). Without wasting time for cordial greetings, I promptly hollered into the receiver: “GET TO WORK! NOW! NO, RIGHT NOW. WORK. YOU SHOULD GET TO IT”. Overall the holiday was a success, although I think the added razzle-dazzle of cracking an actual whip at their paper-filled desks would’ve been mostly glorious.
September 7 is . . . . . Neither Rain Nor Snow Day: This is true. It neither rained nor snowed. A little uneventful, I decided, to have a holiday based on things not happening. I rather party on Neither Brussel Sprouts Nor Carrots Day. Fetch me some Poppycock!
September 8 is . . . . . National Date Nut Bread Day and Pardon Day: I gave myself a pardon from celebrating Date Nut Bread as I had already wasted energy honoring Nutt of other sorts. Also I ate toast.
September 9 is . . . . . Teddy Bear Day: All the learning! What a fabulous time to let the little man better understand his plush, little friends.
Oh. Oh, God. It was all over at the 3-minute mark. The kid hasn’t slept for days, and he’s taken care to turn his former playthings away from eyesight.
September 10 is . . . . Swap Ideas Day: I told a friend about my genius concept for a book. She was all “Thanks for that. I’ll take it!”. I thought this exchanging of good ideas was all in good fun, so I asked her to spill her best. She left pretty quickly and later sent me an e-mail. Something about how I really should “slap a copy-right on some stuff” next time. So I celebrated my good morals and mourned the loss of a paycheck.
September 12 is . . . . National Pet Memorial Day: Dear Mom, All those pets that came and mysteriously went with you to “get coffee” in the wee hours of the morning. Never. To. Return. I hope you observed a moment of silence for their little puppy souls, and cursed the trunk of your minivan hearse for driving them into wilderness unknown. Also? I never hold a grudge.
So today is September 13th. It isn’t Christmas or Arbor Day or even Slap Yo’ Mama Day( someone please give me a heads up if this holiday exists so that I might purchase a helmet). I’d have to make do and celebrate Fortune Cookie Day or Peanut Day. I hate peanuts but I took a minute to stare at one. Wow, peanut. What a fancy shell you have.With nary an origami treat in sight, I blindly clicked on the first picture of a fortune cookie that my computer could find. It said something awful about damnation and imminent failure. I spent a few hours feeling scared and alone. Ever the optimist, my toddler plucked loudly at the keyboard, shaking me from a doom-ish fog in the fetal position on the floor. I perked up, ready to reprimand him, but chose instead to search for more holidays. I would be joyful and celebrate every day, damn it! I came across a saving grace, it seemed, shining from the computer screen. National Defy Superstition Day is meant to empower those living in fear of hexes, curses, or fortune cookies. I confidently went outside and found the neighbor’s cat, always and forever licking itself behind my trash bin. It felt untouchable, I could tell, so sure that no one would cross it with its nine lives and deathly black fur. And I kicked it (lightly. All you cat ladies calm down). I returned inside with a mini stepladder (the best I could find), and gave the fortune cookie picture one, last stare. “Hey. Hey. Hey, Fortune Cookie. Bullshit,” I called its bluff before opening my one and only form of ladder in the living room. I dared my kid to go under its tiny frame. I expected this to be a challenge for him, but he doesn’t speak enough English to grasp a concept like superstition. He is also 2-feet tall. Wanting to join in this daring fun, I enthusiastically shoved my person through the two-step ladder’s small A-frame. The baby mistook my panicked whimpering for laughter and quickly sat atop the child-sized structure. This is fun! This is fun! This is mommy’s elbow lodged in her cervix.
I am out now. A baby will channel some herculean brawn when bribed with chocolate eats and a life-time supply of the good juice. Half a month into my project, a modest attempt to make every day a little more festive, I have decided holidays are best celebrated with a few days of rest in between.