Sarah Santucci

Not this Christmas (not a good picture either)

My sister will straight up murder me for posting this picture, because she had dyed her blond hair brown, and is somewhat skinnier now that she’s a marathon trainee. But it’s the only copy I had of our annual Christmas Pajamas Picture, which I finally–finally–put a stop to this year, after informing my mom that I had pajamas coming out of my ears. Also, that I am 29. (My 31 year old sister was very upset by this year’s dearth of Christmas pjs, but I think she’s currently soothing her pain with the new bracelet she scored.)

Regardless, Christmas is over. My gifts were awesome (thanks to my very generous parents, who continue to spoil me deep into my twenties), and a good time was had by all. Unfortunately, it went undocumented by the fam. The lack of pjs this year wasn’t the only reason that pic up there is old. Apparently, no one in my family brought a camera to Christmas.

It’s just as well, no one wanted to immortalize the look on my parents’ face as they realized that Brett Favre was in charge of the Patriots’ postseason fat (suck on it, Jets). But I did have my phone and its rather blurry camera, so I managed to snag a few shots.

We always ring in Christmas Eve with lobster. I’m not sure how this got started, but I find it’s best not to question these things. I was born in Maine–there might actually be shellfish and drawn butter running through my veins. (Ew.)

Boiled Christmas

My brother-in-law is from Peru, but has grown rather accustomed to the New England Christmas. I kind of wish he’d get his ears done though, going out in public is embarrassing.

Nothing says Christmas like ripping apart a lobster.

Speaking of Peru, this year we enjoyed one of his traditions–Panettone. It’s an Italian sweetbread that is a Christmas tradition in Peru. We decided it tastes like hot cross buns, but with candied fruit stuck in. Yum!

Not a hot cross bun.

White Russians and cribbage are other holiday necessities. Here, my kitteh Butters tries to be stealth as she plans to steal a sip while my sister is distracted by my dad’s commanding lead.

I can haz vodka?

Next we have the holiday morinng spread, complete with champers for mimosas and the pulp stuck to my dad’s new juicer.

Snickerdoodles are key.

Breville citrus press, FTW

And finally, the crown roast. I love crown roast, mainly for the little gold chef’s hats that they stick on the bones. Mmmm, bones.

We wish you a yummy Christmas.

Next stop? New Year’s eve!

I will have a proper post later on tonight, with very blurry camera-phone Christmas pics and perhaps a complete analysis of the relative attractiveness of the Princes William and Harry from adolesence to adulthood. In the meantime, if you’re so inclined, check out my latest article on Media Bullseye.

After struggling for weeks with the realization that my life in DC will not be as social media-focused as my life in New England, I wrote up a quick list of five ways to still stay active in the community when you’re strapped for time, and/or you’re a couch potato with no motivation to do much when you get home from work but watch all those episodes of “House” backed up on your DVR. (Not that I fall into that category, ahem.) (What?)

Smiling's my favorite

“What is that?”
“What?”
“That stench?”
“Oh that, my shoes.”
“Why do they reek?”
“Because I’ve worn them without socks for about four days straight.”
“Yeah, you’re throwing those out.”
“No way! They were 75 bucks!”
“What is that, one dollar for every time they have made me want to puke in the last five minutes?”
“They just need to air out.”
“Yeah, in the garage. In a bag, with the rest of the trash.”

“What are you wearing tonight?”
“Jeans.”
“Which jeans…????”
“I have seven pair to choose from, which do you prefer?”
“The ones that look the least farmerish.”
“Aren’t all jeans technically farmerish? Weren’t they invented for farmers?”
“You’re wearing Dockers.”

“Who’s doing tuna?”
“You are cutting the crusts off all wrong.”
“No, I am doing shrimp.”
“Now what the hell is THAT smell?”
“Actually, I thought that was you.”
“No, you don’t gouge, you saw gently. No. NO. Stop gouging!”
“That towel is so not wet enough.”
“Seriously, that smell!”
“It’s the egg salad.”
“Is the egg salad from 1972? Because that’s before I was born, by a lot. And that’s what it smells like.”
“Egg salad just smells that way. It needs onions.”
“You thought it was me?”
“Well, what can I say, you can clear a room.”
“Honestly.”
“Are we out of shrimp before we’re out of bread?”
“What’s with this bread? This is Wonder Bread?”
“Seriously low on tuna over here.”
“Your shoes and feet this morning were WAY worse than–”
“I can see through this bread.”
“Wonder Bread sucks now, really–you used to be able to ball it up.”
“Yeah! That’s what we need!”
“I don’t smell anywhere near as bad as–”
“PHONE!”

“Hello?”
“Hellooo?”
“Oh my god you HAVE to take that off speaker.”
“I’m on speaker?”
“Turn. It. Off.”
“How?”
“Beeepe beep beep beep.”
“Mom! MOM! MOOOOM!”
“Hello?”
“…”

“Is this too tight?”
“No but….”
“Do this, do this! Haaahaha”
“Shut up it does not.”
“What is that?”
“Touchdoooown!”
“I really just want to know if it looks too tight.”
“I’ll only tell you if you say ‘FACEMASK, 20 yard penalty! Still first down!”
“It also almost looks like she’s planning some sort of invasion. Those buttons are very militaryish.”
“TOO TIGHT OR NOT????”
“Wait–when did you escape? I’m not sure we should harboring felons.”
“I thought I was an umpire, stick with one.”
“No no, not an umpire, a referee.”
“There’s a difference?”
“How long have you been working at Foot Locker? HEY-YO!”

And that’s just in the last four hours. And my sister isn’t even here yet. Merry Christmas, one and all!

Kenny wants Sarah to get some Xmas spirit.

I usually love Christmas (no really, love) more than anyone.

Last year, I bought a huge tree, talked my friends into throwing a big Christmas party complete with ugly sweaters and reindeer antlers, and relished as usual in the annual traditions. I cry every time I watch “It’s a Wonderful Life,” I practically find religion during Linus’ big speech about the Christmas Story in the Charlie Brown special, and I can honestly find real joy in just driving around in the snow and looking at other people’s light displays.

I’m a sucker for Christmas. Just not this year.

This year, I have not been able to muster up the spirit. What’s my problem?

1) Mexico: Mexico was awesome. And not entirely un-Christmasy. But spending the week I’d normally be smelling the air for signs of snow and lighting spicy candles laying on a Mexican beach getting sun and sipping Pina Coladas was hardly the right way to kick off Christmas. Heck, I didn’t even hear “Feliz Navidad” once all week.

2) No Snow: Most people are all “I’m dreaming of a White Christmas…until that is it snows for the effing second time in two days and I can’t get out of my g.d. driveway.” But I’m really pro-snow in December. It’s Christmasy! Unfortunately, while my home state was getting blanketed in crippling sheets of ice and then socked with back to back storms, I was clinging to a thin strip of canvas 200 feet above the ocean and shrieking in pure terror. You say I’m lucky, I say I’m Grinchy.

3) The Move–This year, I moved three times. Seriously. Believe it or not, transporting everything you own three different times in one calendar year is…draining. The last thing I want to do now that I’m settled? Is go anywhere. Bad enough I just got back from Mexico–I am literally dreading getting on the plane on Christmas Eve.

Then again, if I don’t go to New Hampshire, I don’t get my new Uggs. Or my Christmas Eve lobster. Or ribbon sandwiches and Christmas morning mimosas. And my mother’s insistence that we can’t start on gifts until the stockings are done, despite my sister and I clocking in at 31 and 29 respectively. Speaking of my sister, she spends Christmas eve make craploads of awesome cookies and playing the Kenny Rogers inexplicably brilliant “Christmas In America” CD over and over.

So maybe it won’t be so bad.

The mimosas might be enough to infuse me with a little Christmas spirit, anyway. That and the annual 24-hours of “A Christmas Story” on TNT.

Oh and peace on Earth and goodwill toward men and all that.

I look *good*.

I’d like to say that all my posts will be named from “Anchorman” quotes, but posts like “Sex Panther” and “Panda Jerk!” can only take you so far before you start to do serious damage to your personal brand.

And check me out, only one sentence in to my very first post on my very first blog (sorry Nate, but my posting “once every 6-8 weeks, or as long as it takes to get a mail-order Snuggie” doesn’t qualify me for full blogger status over at Blogstring), and I’ve already dropped in a sex joke. Sort of. This is not a good start.

Basically, I’m just calling attention to the fact that I’ve finally filled in some content on this site, which has been quietly idling for months now, waiting for me to snap out of my writing funk. Too bad I am not sure what to write about.

Honestly, I’m not sure what I’m doing here. I only know three things:

1) I need to write more, because I enjoy it, and because like all casual writers I have turned procrastination into a form of high art (case in point, I bought my domain name, oh, 1.5 years ago).

2) My writing in its current form on both Blogstring and Media Bullseye is fairly limited to social media commentary and other 2.0 goodness. I needed a forum to write about the truly important things, like my favorite all time Christmas movies and the wonders of the aforementioned Snuggie.

3) Blogging is fun, and if I received one more whingey email from a friend complaining that I never blog anymore, I was going to have to compose one of those hokey Christmas letters from the point of view of my cats, just to shut people up.

I must admit, I’m kind of excited to be writing under my own brand. Sure, when you blog anonymously you have a lot more freedom to tell embarassing stories, curse, or write about any number of things I would never really write about with my own name on the banner. But this will be the first writing I do that is unequivocally mine–not guest posting on someone else’s blog, not posting silly stories under a Blogger pseudonym, not writing for my employer’s magazine. Just all Wurrey, all the time. Hopefully it will be good, occasionally it will be bad, but I think it will be fun.

I’ve got ideas for running features, and I may post a video now and then of me spouting off about something in my usual colorful way. That may not happen until I figure out a way to make the Macbook’s camera function make me resemble something other than Ursula the Sea Witch, but you never know.

Until then!