five kinds of pie and TV Land for breakfast

i LOVE the holidays.

most people roll their eyes when the scarecrows and gourds come out before they're done counting their halloween candy, and again when the christmas trees and all seventeen versions of greensleeves are set free before they've finished digesting the turkey. not me. as far as i'm concerned, this truly is the most wonderful time of the year. i thoroughly enjoy waking up on the day after thanksgiving to find that all the stores have magically transformed into small-scale replicas of the north pole. i thoroughly appreciate every single citizen in town that already has their christmas lights up, even the ones that are clearly colorblind and seem to have no worries at all about their electric bill. and. . . and. . . it is the one time of year when i don't cringe when mariah carey croons. she can lie about not needing any presents under the christmas tree all she wants and heck, i may even join in chorus. because nothing, absolutely nothing, can touch my holiday spirit.

that's my -ness. my audreyness. after being strangely affected by owen wilson's inspirational speech in you, me and dupree, i laid awake in bed all night wondering just what my -ness actually was. but i think i have finally pinpointed it.

it starts off with the way i can loll out of bed with pink sleep lines on my face and stay comfortably in my pajamas, and proceed to eat pie for breakfast while watching bonanza on tvland with my dad. pie. oh, to reminisce on the days when ignorance was anything but blissful. you were young, you were told you would understand many things when you were older, and life was so very unfair. you watched as your older siblings ate things like pie and ice cream for breakfast and were deliciously jealous because their teeth could handle more sugar than yours. just like they could ride their bikes in the street and watch r-rated movies. deliciously jealous.

but that's not my -ness. that's just what it starts off with.

the -ness comes when, in that moment while i savor the taste of subtle pumpkiny goodness and sympathize as arnie the "ape" man tries to control his temper, i am stoked - exhilarated, intoxicated, high - pick your word. the holidays are what drive me. that nice, lovely girl you all came to know and love becomes even nicer and more lovely. yes, it is possible.

the -ness is me insisting on sending christmas cards to everyone i know, everyone i once knew, and everyone i don't know but would like to at some point. the -ness is me deciding to send cookies to that grumpy old guy who used to work at borders for the second year in a row, because i honestly love that man. the -ness is my ability to wait nearly an hour in line at the store and then tell the cashier that her haircut is smashing.

i've got it down to a science.

all this, of course, with an attitude most humble. i am no saint. this is not me bragging about me, it's about finding my -ness and about how the holidays bring out the best in me. the truth is, i wish they brought out the best in everyone. unfortunately, the exact opposite seems to be true. it saddens me when people seem to forget (or purposely overlook) the true meaning of christmas and the holidays, and instead unleash the beast inside of them. you know the one. that selfish, impatient, ravaging animal whose claws and fangs immediately flash and gnash when the tiniest of problems arises. the one that will cuss out another driver for "stealing" their parking space. the one that will fling other customers aside like boogers for an iPod and will draw blood in order to get their hands on the last Xbox. the one that will give cashiers a hard time about how long their transaction is taking, as if it's the cashier's fault they dropped into the store on their lunch break and need to get back to work on time (true story).

vandals beware...i have weird (a.k.a. wicked cool) neighbors

I very cordially would love to share with you this photo I have taken of a mailbox belonging to. . .well I'll just admit it, one of my very own neighbors.

Now, despite my first reaction which, upon whipping around a bend with my mother and catching a hazy glimpse of this not-so-subtle contraption, was a very loud, "WHAT THE HECK...??!", I have to say on the second drive-by I was duly impressed with these people who clearly have awakened one too many times to their mailbox either destroyed beyond recognition or relocated entirely somewhere down the road (I know the feeling!). I mean, honestly . . . whoever you are, I believe you should win an award for this! At first my mother and I wondered if it might be wired to light up and shoot paintballs whenever someone got too close, and proceeded to fantasize about the possibility. We actually considered camping out one night just to see it happen (not that we would attempt anything stupid, but those twerpy skateboarding boys who are always trying to get my brother to spin the wheels on his mustang. . . they held high potential). Not surprisingly, this plan has not yet been carried through, but there's still the question of how our poor mailman has dealt with this scary transition, and that still makes us snicker.

My brother (the one with the 'stang) has since enlightened us that those pipes are not for shooting paintballs (that was disappointing), and that this monster machine mailbox that I emphatically believe should win some kind of award (and also caused me to wonder, if only for a moment during which you'll be relieved to know that I checked myself, "why didn't I think of this??) is nothing but a car engine. Still, I thought it deserved something. . . if nothing more than a colossal kudos from me, their lovingly supportive neighbor, in a highly praiseworthy (and perhaps a tad ostentatious??) blog.

Feast your eyes, fellow bloggers!