Tag Archives: holiday

Half-Assed Holidays

I feel like I should write about the holidays, but I don’t really want to.  So I’m going to half-ass it, and tell you a few things that happened, and then move on to the important stuff, like sleeping and chickens.

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1.  I may have inadvertently caused my ferret to have a nervous breakdown.  Ferrets sleep 18 or more hours a day.  I thought my ferret loved red things, because he’s always stealing anything red and hiding it.  So I got him a red toy for Christmas and hung it in his cage.

He didn’t sleep for 24 hours until he killed it.  Could not rest until the evil red intruder was destroyed.  When I finally noticed what was happening, he was hissing and twitching like a ferret on crack.  (Or how I would imagine that.  My ferret does not do crack, so I don’t really know.)

Similar to this, only more crazy eyes.

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2.  I drank all my wine on Christmas Eve, which caused me to accidently insult my cousin.

Her:  You liked me when I was a kid.  (Meaning, you liked me, as opposed to my brothers.)

Me:  Whatever!  I like you now!   (Meaning, of course I like you!  Oh shit, that’s not what you meant.)

Her:  Wow.

Me:  Err.  Really!  I like you all the time.  Anyone thirsty?

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3.  I drank all my wine on Christmas Eve, which caused me to have no wine on Christmas Day.  To remedy this, I sent my husband to the store to get another three more bottles.  Don’t judge me, Christmas is hard.

When he went up to the register they said, “I’m sorry sir, we don’t sell alcohol on Jesus’ birthday.”  Oops.  My bad.  (Sorry, Jesus and embarrassed husband.)

No, Santa, not today.

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3.  Cracker Barrel poisoned me somehow and I had an allergic reaction in Wal-Mart, which made me really confused, and I told my daughter to either get the microwave or don’t, we gotta go.  She’s 4.  There was no microwave.  I’m pretty sure they thought I had found more wine.

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4.  I ate half a pound cake for breakfast one morning.  As I was on the last bite my daughter wanted some, and in what was not one of my finer moments, I told her it had butter in it.  Because she hates butter, and I didn’t want to share.  That was not a lie, because  I am 95% percent sure pound cake has butter in it.  Mom-Of-The-Fucking-Year.  That’s me.

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5.  New Year’s Eve.  I’m not going into that.  But I do want to quote my husband.  “Feel free to put some pants on and join us.”  Again, he said, “Feel free to put some pants on and join us.”  He’s just lucky I wasn’t feeling well, because that sounds like a challenge if I’ve ever heard one.

 

 


I Should Probably Come With A Warning Label.

This is our first Christmas with a cat.  I was expecting some Christmas tree shenanigans, but was pleasantly surprised at Leeloo’s great restraint.

Then I wrapped her present and put it under the tree.  Her catnip-stuffed present.

Photo credit: Pinterest

I woke up to her circling the tree in a wild-eyed frenzy, batting at ornaments haphazardly, but with no apparent joy.  We adopted Leeloo, so who really knows what sort of shit she was into on the streets.  I’m not judging.  But I’ve seen junkies who didn’t look as desperate as this cat.

You may find it hard to believe, but this is not the first time my Christmas spirit has gotten in the way of good sense.

There was the year when I decided to give my mom hermit crabs and a plant as a gift.  Both of which I bought weeks before Christmas, wrapped, and put under the tree.  You’re welcome, Mom.  Please enjoy these dead things.

I swear, it never even occurred to me that they would die without food or water.  Or oxygen.

Then there was the first Christmas that I fortified myself with antianxiety medication before the family gathering.  It went well.  So well that afterwards I told my little brother, “Wow!  I love those guys.  Everyone was so cool tonight, I probably didn’t even need that Xanax.”

Yeah.

One Christmas when I was a moody teenager (and had yet to be prescribed the calm-the-eff-downs) I got furious with my dad and, in the heat of the moment, decided his Christmas present was going for a swim.  It was a toolbox.  Quite a chore getting it out of the pool once I calmed down.  That’s actually maybe the most effort I’ve ever put into a gift, if you count drying it out and all.  Anytime, Dad, anytime.

There was the Christmas that I made bath products for my extended family and some friends.  They smelled wonderful and were so pretty.  It was sad that I didn’t think to test them out until it was too late.  It was also embarrassing to have to call people and say, “Oh, about the gift, it’s just decorative, okay?  DO NOT LET IT TOUCH YOUR SKIN.”

I’m not even going to go into the Christmas when Santa brought the kids a trampoline.  Yes, I made my husband and my dad put together a 16 foot trampoline in the dark, in the cold, in the snow, on Christmas Eve.  And they did it, because they love me.  Or because I’m scary.  Whatever.

This Christmas I’m going to try use my head for something other than testing to see if the pancake griddle is hot.  Because that freaking hurts.

 

 


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