If your love interest has a talent or a hobby, are you expected to feign interest? I mean, are Russell Brand and Katy Perry telling each other how funny/talented at singing they each are or do they just ignore the conversation all together and get to the dastardly business of “doing it”? This must be a hell of a lot better for him than it is for her because she’s a top heavy brunette sex mannequin and he’s a greasy, limey dork. Though it seems that women tend to go for the greasy dork type. Wait, what was I talking about? Oh yeah! Follow me to the next paragraph...
I asked the original question because, frankly, it could be a deal breaker for the first item on this year’s letter to Santa—a date with Nicki Minaj. If you don’t know who she is (and I barely do, either) do a Google image search. See? But whatever you do, don’t listen to any of her music because IT. IS. TERRIBLE. But good grief, look at her! If I somehow managed an evening with this mocha sex dream, would I also have to pretend to enjoy the crap that she calls music? Would it be worth it to lie about it to get to her? Perhaps it’s my age showing, but I’m gonna say no.
Twenty year old J’Mel endured many horrible poetry slams and Wiccan based one-woman shows in the quest for “female companionship.” Thirty-five year old J’Mel says, “No thank you.”
And I’m no hypocrite, so it goes both ways. If, for some reason, you are a female that has interest in me but not in my tales of robot overlords and zombie uprisings, so be it. That doesn’t hurt my feelings at all. Anyway, we’ve already determined that my fan base is mostly middle aged white males anyhow...and I’m okay with that.
Man, trying to figure out what to ask Santa for at my age can be difficult. Perhaps the problem is that I’ve gotten to a point where I think about my requests too much. Long ago, I’d just put down whatever my heart desired, throw caution to the wind, and go for broke. Now I’m an adult so I have to think about space and outlets and whether or not I have to buy my own batteries.
Seriously, take a look at that Nicki Minaj (turn your Safe Search off for better results). Sweet Moses. That’s not the sort of undercarriage you normally find outside of “gentleman’s entertainment” (some of my middle aged white fans know what I’m talking about) but, dear Lord, her music is terrible. Just—not good at all. She sounds like Missy Elliot after a stroke. Just lots of stuttering and stilted rhymes and—ugh. Hip-Hop is dead.
When I was younger, all I wanted was a Casio keyboard. I remember the year Santa finally brought it. I was so excited that I ran through the house and slipped on the furnace vent. I still have the scar on my knee. I also still have the keyboard. It’s meant a lot to me over the years and I’ve used it to create many hot beats (if you are interested in hearing a sample of these beats, go to the Myspace and search for Shaved Orientals. Let me know what you think. Don’t leave a message there, though. I never check that thing).
I think ultimately, my keyboard means more to me than a night with a well-endowed Trinidadian rapper would.
In all honesty, what I really want this year is money to get things for other people. My favorite part of Christmas is shopping for others. Sadly, this year I’m super broke. I know what you’re thinking, “But, J’Mel! How can you be broke when you’re in local publishing, the most lucrative career in the world!?” Well, my answer to that is “shut up.”
I really like giving stuff to people and I haven’t really given serious thought to getting stuff in, what, 20 years. Again, I guess that’s what growing up is all about. It’s not about what I’m going to get anymore. It’s about seeing friends that I only get to see once a year. It’s about being around family and enjoying cake. It’s about pigging out at noon, taking a nap, then catching a movie on Christmas night (this year, that movie will be the remake of True Grit and I can’t wait!).
I guess, Santa, I have what I really want. I have family and friends and I don’t have to pretend to like things that are terrible. Even if pretending to like those things would earn me a night with a choice specimen like Katy Perry or Nicki Minaj. Because, I really couldn’t tell them that I liked what they did while keeping a straight face.
Not having to lie to get laid—the true meaning of Christmas? No, but it’ll do for now!