I might as well come clean here--Christmas makes me kind of cranky. Don't get me wrong, I love the guy who has thirty-two inflatable Santas and so many Christmas lights you can see his house from Mars. At least I don't have to squint to see the road sign when I need to turn down his street.
Thanks to this guy, the aliens have pinpointed the location of Earth from outer space and are coming to search and destroy. You ruined mankind, Mr. Christmas Lights Guy!!
Let's face it - I'm an asshole. Patience is a concept that escapes me and mall crowds amp up my stress to a killing-spree level. While I love spending time with the family and gorging myself on food for days on end, for the most part, I can take or leave Christmas. I make Ebenezer Scrooge look like fucking Santa Claus.
If I see this bitch at my front door Christmas Eve, she's getting a swift kick right in her "Christmas present." And I'm hiding the toaster.
But I get a few days off from work and have an excuse to drink before five so there's that.
Now wait--before you think I'm just sitting here, gleefully taking a piss all over your cockle-warming holiday joy, I'm not. Despite my general bah-humbug-ness toward the holidays, there is one thing that I truly enjoy and look forward to every year.
The Christmas tree.
My mother fucking Christmas tree. And it's not crooked so don't even go there. I was leaning funny to get the picture.
And by "enjoy" I mean "totally obsess over the placement of lights, ornaments and doodads to the point where I become a raging homicidal maniac."
ML used to help me with the tree but he stopped a few years ago because I apparently crushed his Christmas spirit or something. Whatever. It's not like he has proof or anything.
I'm a jerk. And RIP Gizmo aka chicken
I suppose the Christmas tree is one of those traditions I feel compelled to carry on. I loved the tree as a little kid, even more so when there were oodles of presents stuffed under enough. As a teenager, it was practically a religious fucking experience to get baked and lie down under the tree and stare at all the twinkly lights that Mommy (not a)Jerkface spent hours putting up.
I was lying under the tree getting attacked by ornaments trying to take this picture when ML walked into the living room, watched as a four pound ornament of Hagrid crushed my sternum and asked me if I was taking up pot smoking. I shit you not. Also, the view is not that amazing when you're not sixteen and stoned. Just sayin'.
Frankly, I was always baffled at how long it took my mother to set up the Christmas tree but then the OCD [STY's note - don't you mean CDO??] I clearly inherited from her kicked in when I was in my mid-twenties and I found myself up at two in the morning, crying because I couldn't get the fucking lights "just right."
I'm not very religious so I'm not sure why the Christmas tree is so absurdly important to me. Seriously, the last time I stepped foot in a church was for a wedding and ML's friend leaned over and whispered, "I thought they didn't let your kind in here." And I told him to fuck off and ML covered his face with his hands because he thinks I'll disappear and not embarrass the shit out of him when he does that. He's wrong.
And apparently you're not supposed to tell someone to fuck off in a church. Even if you are whispering.
At any rate, I guess this is a long roundabout way of one asshole saying "happy holidays" to a bunch of wonderful, amazing and snarky-as-hell twats.
Now get off of my lawn.