Last Christmas

• Lori Palminteri
• Uncategorized
• December 21, 2014

Last Christmas, I didn’t give anyone my heart, and therefore it was not given away, like the popular Wham! song.  Though, last Christmas, my parents decided they were going to spend the holiday in sunny Florida with my Grandma.  I was pissed.  Not only were they leaving us on Christmas, but they were going to go to my favorite place on the planet, Disney World.

I threw a fit, which was childish, after all, I was twenty-four years old.  There’s no legitimate reason for me to feel abandoned on Christmas when my parents wanted to take a vacation.  Especially since they were supposed to go on vacation earlier that year, which they had to cancel because of the complications following my tonsillectomy (See Blog, 2013: There Will Be Blood: http://www.loripalminteri.com/2013-will-blood/.).

Still, Christmas is my favorite holiday.  And I enjoyed our Christmas tradition of never changing out of our pajama’s, eating a good breakfast, opening presents, watching A Christmas Story, ordering sushi, and playing Monopoly (which would inevitably lead to my brother winning and my sister crying).  Plus, 2013 was a shit year for me (again, see blog: 2013; There Will Be Blood http://www.loripalminteri.com/2013-will-blood/).  I was looking forward to some family time, eating cookies, and generally being lazy.

My brother saw the silver lining,  “at least we can get really high.”  Sigh. I guess.  I had multiple jobs and did stand-up almost every night.  At Christmas time, I had three days in a row with no obligations whatsoever.  This very was rare.  Might as well take advantage of it.  We felt like Kevin in Home Alone.  But we didn’t need to set boobie traps in case of intruders.  We have guns.  So, I got properly pissed and watched Edward Scissorhands, which gets me teary eyed every time.

Alas, the days of eating cookies and watching Christmas movies alone in my house allowed for end of the year reflecting, and next year planning.  I was thrilled to be leaving 2013 behind.  2013 had me feeling like a complete failure on every level imaginable.  On Christmas day, we smoked some dabs (dabs are a hash oil concentrate, you have to smoke it like you’d smoke crack, and just one hit gets you totally lit).  I took one hit, and went to the living room to continue reading my novel (ironically, The Basketball Diaries), but my vision quickly blurred, and then I looked up and all the lights on the Christmas tree faded into a soft glow.  It was beautiful and cartoonish.  I melted right into the couch, cocooned in soft blankets, like a swaddled baby (like baby Jesus?).  I went into my own drug induce meditation, and summoned  the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future.

My Christmas past was filled with so many amazing memories.  My parents did a stellar job with our childhood.  I was an introspective kid, but I was happy.  I saw good in everything back then.  The reason I love Christmas so much, is because every Christmas is flooded with good memories of Christmas past.

My Christmas present wasn’t what I wanted it to be.  I was stuck.  For some reason, I just couldn’t graduate from my own state of arrested development.

Christmas future scared me. I was not thrilled by what was coming.  My path had led me down down alleys before, but I always found a way out.  I always found the light.  If there’s anything I’ve learned from A Muppet’s Christmas Carol, it’s not too late to change the future.   My vision was a haze, and I could barely speak an audible sentence, but my mind foretold a future that must be self-fullfilled.  My decisions alone determine my fate.

I needed to get my balls back.  I was a mere shell of the man I used to be (I am, of course, speaking metaphorically here, as I am a woman).  I wrote this down, “Your weapon is your confidence.  Your confidence is a product of your progress, which is a product of your discipline.”  Damn, I give good advice to myself when I’m high.

I’ve been told by some of the people whom I look up to for advice that I need to be more vulnerable on stage.  The great stand-up’s give up a piece of themselves.  And the audience loves that.  The audience wants your fucking heart, not just your clever jokes devised by your brain.  Well, this is a problem for me. I’m a good joke writer.  I’m not vulnerable on stage.  I don’t know how to be.  I don’t know how to be that way in regular life, let alone be that way on stage.  I’m fucked, I thought, I will never be a great stand-up.

If there’s one thing I am, it’s a fighter.  I’m best at expressing myself through my writing.  It’s always been that way.  If I wanted to express how much I cared about someone, or if I was pissed at them, I would write them a letter.  And so, I gave birth to this blog.  You want my heart?  It’s here, in the words, somewhere.  I starting writing this for me, in my quest to be a better stand-up (which is probably at least a little fucked up in itself).  I think it has helped me, in many ways.  And I thank you, the readers.  Though you may be few, every time some one tells me they really enjoy my blog, it makes me really happy.

This Christmas, perhaps the greatest gift of all is that I kept my promises to myself.  For the first time in a long time, I’m happy to be exactly where I am.  I’m growing as a person, a comic, a friend.  If Christmas is nothing else, isn’t it appreciating what we have, and having hope for the future?  Yes, I believe that’s what Jesus would have wanted.

So Happy Christmas to you and your family.  My only wish is that you are going to enjoy it as much as I am.  This Christmas, I’m going to enjoy thouroughly.  I’ll be on Long Island, at my childhood home, with a couple days off from work, and comedy and life.  I will eat, drink, and be merry, spending time with my family, by the fire place, enjoying something on the television.  This was an important year for me, and I’m content with my progress, and how I’ve handled some obstacles.  And whilst sipping some hot cocoa, snuggling my nephew, I’ll look forward to 2015, and what adventures might be coming my way.