I have declared today to be a special CHRISTMAS CONFESSIONS day. And I don't have a lot, but what I do have...well, it could be bad enough that you cyber-divorce me. And my blog. But I can't keep living a lie. I won't.
I hate black and white movies.
And this includes all black and white movies. Even...
Yeah. Sorry. I know it's a sweet story and all, and it's a classic, and everybody loves it, but IT IS BLACK AND WHITE!! It hurts my eyes. I can't tell what's happening. The people talk funny and the sound is weird. I fall asleep. I'm sorry!!
I've watched It's a Wonderful Life probably three or four times anyway, despite my prejudices. And I just...no. I'm gonna say it. Guard your eyes if you hold old b&w movies as something sacred...
I wish they would re-make the movie. In color. With modern technology and sound.
God bless ol' Jimmy and Donna, they were wonderful...but I just think the movie could reach more people today if it didn't freaking hurt my eyes to look at it.
Matt hates this particular quality of mine (why can't he just find it endearing?). He always jokes that I won't watch a movie if it's more than a decade old. He's mostly right, but still-- must he rub it in my face? I can't help it. Old movies make me feel uncomfortable and nervous. And they hurt my eyes. It's a physical affliction. You can't judge a girl for that.
I believed in Santa for an inappropriately, awkwardly long time. To an embarrassingly old age (the particulars of which I'm not at liberty to disclose). The thing is, I thought no one knew. I knew none of my friends believed in Santa-- whatev. I could laugh about it with them while secretly still believing myself. I have an inordinately large capacity for hope and optimism...which has generally served me well in life, but definitely manifested itself in the ability to believe in Santa WAY TOO LONG. But like I said- I thought no one knew.
I was wrong. Apparently EVERYONE KNEW that Really Old Erika still believed in Santa. Luckily for me, they found it strangely endearing (or weird) enough that they played along. For a long time. Apparently (I find this out waaaaay later in life...like in college) it was quite the topic of conversation behind my back! How to respond when I found new 'evidence' of Santa's existence...yeah. Because I was old enough to research things on the internet and I FOUND EVIDENCE SOMETIMES.
I think that there was a lot of blessing my heart back then. And now. Because once Matt found out about this situation (Matt, who never ever thought there was a Santa, not even when he was like 3...poor deprived child), he made up for lost time. He likes to treat me like I still believe in Santa. He'll ask me the 'tough Santa questions' when we see Santa at the mall. He covers my ears if people are talking about 'playing Santa' with their kids.
You know what? Whatever. If I want to believe in Santa, I will. But I definitely have a soft spot in my heart for those glorious kids who are like 15 and still believe. If there even are any. I could have been the last one.
(And no, it didn't wreck my life or make me cry or ruin me when I finally came to the conclusion that Santa wasn't real. It was something I just realized on my own one day. It made me a little sad but I didn't like hate my parents or God or whatever alarmists say it is that telling your kids about Santa will do. That's ridiculous. It was totally fine. Then again, I had the coping skills of an adult by that time, so maybe I was better equipped for the let down than a six-year-old is. Who knows.)
If you made it through all that and we can still be friends...hooray!! I'm off to enjoy my last day of being 30!