Ho Ho Holiday Horror

Late November. For most well adjusted adults, it means happy preparations for visiting home and enjoying the holiday festivities. However for me and my brother, November invokes graphic, WWII PTSD flashbacks. I begin profusely sweating at the sight of early holiday decor, and I hyperventilate when I see the Starbucks holiday cups.  This is because, for me and Luke, mid- November means only one unholy thing. We are going to have to take the Christmas card. 

For all intensive purposes, my mom is a normal, benevolent human being. Besides letting me watch "Will and Grace" a little too early and doing half my brother's homework to this day, she's also a pretty good parent. But for a few days in November , this all changed.

My mom is a werewolf and the Christmas card is her full moon. For some reason, she thought the world awaited our family's card and critiqued it like the fall issue of Vogue.  This woman will force me and my brother outside into near arctic conditions, bury us in a foot of fake snow, and scream at us to look filled with holiday cheer.  Although this process should take a mere 20 minutes, it does not.

I popped out of the womb being extremely photogenic. If it wasn't for my complete lack of height, cleavage, or all around facial beauty, I could be a Victoria's Secret model. My brother, on the other hand, cannot smile without looking like an obese dog who just pooped on your carpet.

In the 1990s me and my brother were at our most adorable, so my sociopathic /perfectionist mother felt the need to show the world via holiday stationary. This means that, in the 90s, my mom would take about 6 rolls of film, drive to get them developed, and end up with 200 pictures of my brother looking like he had just soiled himself.

This is why every Christmas card shoot took no less than a week, and why wreaths and red sweaters now make me lose all color in my face. My mind flashes to my mother, holding a giant camera and tossing cotton balls at our faces, screaming at Luke to "show his goddamn teeth".  Luke and I are sweating profusely in our vintage holiday overcoats, grasping hands and praying to an unmerciful God for salvation.

The whole time I'm trying to hold my perfect pose, so I can go play the Sims. Eventually, I punch my brother in the crotch out of frustration and run into my closet to hide from the bloodbath that will occur when my mom locates me.

The Christmas card is my personal Vietnam, Vietnam but with itchy, matching sweaters.  Here is a collection of some of Cindi Tyler's finest holiday classics.*  I think you'll all agree they were worth the hysteria, emotional scarring, and nose bleeds.

 ^ For this ridiculously staged masterpiece, we take you back to the early 1920s. A simpler time, where young boys dressed like Amelia Earhart and young girls dressed like little brown turds in berets. Who was she fooling with this one??? It is clearly October, we are clearly standing on a piece of white felt, and if you look behind the mailbox you can CLEARLY see leaves on the ground. Also, if I remember correctly, these Depression- era outfits were purchased at a flea market and smelled like newsprint and polio.

^ NONE OF THIS IS REAL SNOW. MY MOTHER PURCHASED INDUSTRIAL- SIZED PACKETS OF FAKE SNOW TO STAGE A FAKE SLEDDING ADVENTURE. Not to mention we are wearing ugliest sweaters known to man, I'm honestly surprised they even made two of them. Also, my brother looks completely constipated. He looks as if he is trying to enjoy this sledding adventure, but can't because he's currently undergoing out- patient surgery.

  

^ My mom had a thing for sibling photo shoots with slight undertones of incest. There is an infamous picture hanging in our hallway of me and my brother (ages 2 and 5) kissing on the lips. Why child services wasn't called at that point, I'll never know. This weirdly sexual, vintage- themed card featured me and my brother under the mistletoe. Why a brother and sister are under the mistletoe in the first place IS A COMPLETE MYSTERY.  In my mother's defense this creative theme was probably just a way to keep my brother from doing his creepy, murderous clown smile. These vintage hats were also a flea market purchase, and I'm pretty confident an elderly man died in the one Luke's wearing. 

^ From incest to Catholicism, the world's most secular family takes a turn for the religious. Was our camera direction to seductively pet the baby Jesus? Why is the ceramic camel so prominent in the shot? Why do I have the haircut/ the Talbots apparel of a soccer mom in the 5th grade? My mom just got lazy with this one, it's clearly mid- November and she didn't even attempt to pour Q-tip fuzz all over us. Not to mention my brother looks like the lovechild of one of the designers from "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" and Matt Bomer.

^ Just to prove child abuse doesn't end when the victims hit puberty, we have this fine piece of work. In a fit of artistic rage, Cindi made my poor father transport the giant wreath that decorates our garage, and hang it on bungee cords in our foyer.  At this point I am in high school. I am a high school student, wearing a matching his-and-hers plaid scarf, standing inside a giant wreath.

My brother looks like he either just underwent a liver transplant or is auditioning to play Eddie on a re-boot of "The Munsters".  My mom demanded she curl my hair, which gave me the look of an elderly prostitute (along with a few curling iron burns, that were allegedly accidental)

Please keep in mind, these are all winning shots. These glamorous portraits hit the presses and were sent out to the world. Nothing says Christmas like eternal Tyler family shame.

*Although ALL these pictures suggest COMPLETELY otherwise, my brother is a masculine, heterosexual young gent.

Emma Does Midtermz

I just got all my midterm grades back and, surprisingly , I did pretty well. I know that was not the case for all you NU nerdlets, so I thought I would post my studying process so you can learn from my success. Did I mention how awesome I am?

My first midterm was Stats. Me taking a stats midterm is literally the equivalent of a sitcom character doing the gag where they try to be two places at once (This happened a lot in Hannah Montana). I have faked my way through approximately 8 years of math. Once we hit long division, I realized that this shit was not my style. I also stopped taking math at Algebra II, the pope has actually declared it a religious miracle that I graduated high school/got into Northwestern/can function in society without acting like Forrest Gump.

As someone who still adds on their fingers, this stats midterm terrified me. I got my enginerd cheerleader friend to tutor me, I studied in the middle of my house in a lax pinnie and no bra until my eyes bled, and I eventually began thinking of ways to make a human centipede Halloween costume. I stayed up all night and paced in my bathroom for 20 minutes loudly singing "When Will My Life Begin" from the award- winning "Tangled" soundtrack.

I then went into the midterm and produced the mathematical equivalent of projectile vomiting on the test and handing that masterpiece in. 

I then indulged in a sleep- deprived mental breakdown. I wandered around downtown Evanston for 30 minutes while crying Kim Kardashian style on the phone to my mom. Just picture a crying girl in a tear-stained, over-sized fraternity sweatshirt yelling about her deceased grandfather being disappointed in her because she doesn't understand regression lines and wandering through your local Starbucks.

I then went home, dropped the class, and fell asleep holding a bagel.

For the rest of my midterms, I really needed to buckle down. I went to the library and applied some of those "study skills" that St. Paul the Apostle tried desperately to teach me when all I wanted to do was be 10 and play M.A.S.H.

I set up shop in a cubicle in the ultimate pit of human suffering that is Main Library. I opened my Spanish books and got out my computer to listen to translations. After about half an hour, I had two tabs opened on my computer, a YouTube video titled "Top 25 Most Romantic Disney Moments" and an article called "Best Cat Memes of 2012". 

I then ate a granola bar to stay focused. And by stay focused, I mean staying alert while I searched the Internet for photos of Paul Ryan shirtless and insider info on the new Star Wars film.

I had both my soc midterm and Spanish midterm on the same day. You would think the day of these two important exams I would really get in the proverbial zone. I instead watched videos of Boo the Dog wiggling his ears and nibbled on hummus until it was time to take the exams.

My Russian Lit midterm was the next day. Unfortunately, this was the day before Halloween. So clearly, I sat in the library watching Glee Rocky Horror on my laptop and thinking about all the pumpkin flavored things I would eat the next day.

If Sparknotes did not exist, I would currently be the world's sassiest T.J. Maxx employee. 

I went back to my room, where I put on a dramatic play to the unwilling audience of my two roommates. This critically acclaimed one woman show was entitled, "I Think I'm Going to Fail Russian Lit Even Though I Won't , I Just Really Want Pumpkin Bread and Need to Be Dramatic About Everything." 

After this freakout, I managed to squeeze in some last minute studying. And by studying, I mean I made extensive dinner reservations for my family's Disney World spring break trip. This proved more difficult than expected, as the restaurants needed to suitable for Kathen. It is nearly impossible to find a restaurant covered in glitter that also doesn't allow fat people inside.

I woke up the next morning, took the test, and did fine. I then inhaled a pumpkin spice latte and a slice of pumpkin bread.

There are two main points you should gain from post: 1) There's no way I should've been accepted to Northwestern.  2) I should probably hire a life coach/ become heavily medicated.