…..What are you even talking abo- oh just shut your fucking trap Susan seriously just shut it! NOT EVERYONE loves Christmas! Sure no one wants to be the dick who hates Shitmas I mean Christmas… like who WANTS people to assume they’re related to Scrooge or The Grinch or Satan or Trump? No one Susan, that’s who. Now I’m not saying I don’t thoroughly enjoy celebrating Christmas Eve and Christmas day with my family that’s NOT what I’m saying. I’m just saying that some of the traditions and the expectations relating to Christmas are OVERRATED and fucking boring and also? When did you become such a jolly ole’ cunt anyways?!…I suh-wear Susan sometimes I feel like I could-
Shit. They’ve been reading Susan. Nice fucking job! Way to press PUBLISH instead of “save draft!” Did I call you a cunt?Because CUNT would be a huge understatement when it comes to what I really feel about you Susan.
[clearing my throat] Heyyy ya’ll! Heh-heh. Soooo… [inserting awkward body language of all sorts] I guess you overheard my little disagreement with Susie huh?
Well. I won’t apologize…but at the very least I suppose I should have the decency to elaborate on my iffy feels. After all, it’s not everyday that someone actually admits to not being completely fucking obsessed with Christmas and let’s be blunt right now this basically labels my existence as a byproduct of Satan’s work right?! I’m a cold-blooded and heartless bee-otch right?! What in the actual FUCK….right?!
But In my defense it’s not that I “don’t love” Christmas time. It’s just that…I don’t necessarily and honestly “love” Christmas time the way other people “love” Christmas time. First I’ll tell you what I do truly love about Christmas time (don’t worry, that won’t take up too much time) and then I’ll get down to the parts that just don’t jingle my bells or rock my sleigh (XXX-mas puns NOT intended). (But Oh man THAT “XXX-mas” pun one was, and it was phenomenal don’t even hate you know you wish you woulda thought of that one)!
And now you’re sitting there, squinting and scrunching your eyebrows at me. And seriously- let’s just talk about that too: stop that shit. Because Botox and fillers are fucking expensive and bunny-lines are NOT that cute nor are they worth having to resort to tasteless pole-dancing next to Cherry the one-legged-toothless-prostitute on a stage for a few extra aesthetic-bucks! So WIPE that expression of yo face and start mastering the art of the resting bitch face for the fucking sake of anti-aging because it’s free ya’ll. I’m telling you…. CHERRY. (You’ll thank me later.)
So first things first, here’s a pretty impressive list of the things that I “love” about Christmas:
- Watching my kids open up their gifts
- Opening up my gifts
- Decorating the *inside* of my house (NOT the Christmas tree. NOT the roof or the lawn. NOT the Christmas village underneath the tree that takes up my ENTIRE 2nd living room area because my fiancé is basically possessed by the Christmas spirit and I thought about an exorcism but then it’s only fair that ONE adult in this damned household have some kind of Christmas spirit for the sake of our children and their childhood dreams not being dismembered. If it’s even possible to “dismember” a childhood. Because that sounds really violent OK Holy shit that means chopping off a penis doesn’t it? I’m not going to chop off my childrens’ childhood penis. What am I even saying right now. It’s past midnight and I’m still hungover from last night’s nightclub mistake. And I just googled that and it means any limb so we’re good. But still. Ok let’s just move on shall we?)
- My hubby being pre-occupied enough with decorating literally EVERYTHING other than my dining room and living room area, which means that I have time sit here and write. Or read a chapter out of the 54 books which I have stacked on my nightstand which I haven’t been able to EVER start because he’s never distracted enough to let me read. (Maybe we need counseling, lol).
- Threatening my kids into behaving and getting along for an entire month for the sake of their gift count from “Santa” -aka- Broke Parents on a Mission
- Office Christmas parties (they always give us at least ONE full year’s worth of eventful as fuck gossip to look back on. Seriously. The shit that goes down. EPIC.)
- At least 2-4 days of “cold” hair/skin weather to enjoy! WOOT WOOT!
FAN-TASTIC. Now back to the part where I don’t actually fucking “love” Christmas.
Listen. I’m not trying to burst anyone’s magical little fucking snow-globe feels for Christmas. I’m simply pointing out that for *me*, this is a particularly fucking financially, mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausting time of the year. And just because I’m a little “extra” and outspoken, doesn’t mean I have no soul in here. I really do wish it were as simple and warm-cinnamon-bunnish as it’s “meant” to be you know? I wish The whole “the most wonderful time of the year”, “it’s a time for giving”, “it’s all about peace and joy”, “it’s about family”, “it’s about JESUS” (Jesus fucking CHRIST…) thing, were a legit “thing” you feel me? But that’s all BULLSHIT where I come from. Which is Planet Earth. In 2017. Miami, Fl, if you need specifics. Which you don’t but I’m just a thorough badass like that. Anyways, the fact of the fucking matter is….
- 11 year olds want iPhone 8’s which are better phones than the ones their parents have (current situation).
- They don’t understand quality versus quantity before the age of 6, which is GREAT because you can MOSTLY get away with like one nice gift and then a bunch of shit wrapped up from the dollar tree or the 3$ section at Target and then they’re all glowing on Christmas morning because they think they’re billionares when it comes to how many toys they’re depositing into their toy-boxes (despite the fact that they still seem somewhat disappointed by the time they unwrap their last gift because for some reason, kids just expect to keep UNWRAPPING shit for a minimum of a straight 72 hours before they’re content with the “unwrapping” aspect of Christmas).
- After 6 (in my case AT and up) you’re FUCKED because it’s all like “I want a leased 2033 dirt-bike from the dealer. And it better be neon purple-mountain’s majesty with the glow in the dark seat and the option to fly…motherfucker”, “I want a Nintendo 876.56”, “I want the MacBook Pro-Wizard-X-Unicorn-Rose Gold-Edition with the touch screen that braids my hair every morning and makes me better pancakes than YOU EVER will”, “I want a pancake maker for mom because she fucking SUCKS at making pancakes. Better yet- get that bitch a chef because she’s lost her touch in that kitchen when it comes to ANYTHING but cake”, ” I want a slide for the pool and OH by the way, I want the entire pool redone and I want a picture of us on the bottom of the floor with glowing LED lights and the water needs to be pink. I want a pink lagoon with a Goddamned slide. And it better be a twirly slide.”
- All of which means I’m bankrupt by the time the whole “NEW YEAR NEW ME” bullshit comes along to set me up for failure like BITCH did you NOT just see what happened to me a week ago? I’m starting off the year BUH-ROKE as a joke and you expect me to want to join A GYM and “eat clean”? I’d be lucky if I could afford Roman Noodles for the next 3 months so fuck you, New Year.
- And The whole DECORATING thing? First of all, I don’t give a shit. I don’t climb ladders. I don’t decorate trees (I just pick out and coordinate all the things). I don’t believe in REAL trees in my house you want to know why? Because they DIE because I never remember to water the son of a bitch and that my friends is how I ended up pregnant twice because I FORGOT to take my pills because I SUCK at remembering things and then I ALSO have pine needles e-v-e-r-y-f-u-c-k-i-n-g-w-h-e-r-e which is basically the tree’s way of having a million miscarriages on my living room floor that’s “why” and then do you know who has to sweep up said dead pine needle baby-corpses laying around my entire house every single day? DING DING DINNNNG! ME. I am the lucky official pine-fetus-coroner. So a couple years back I said no way JOSE (literally, because my hubby’s name is actually JOSE. The poor thing I know) and decided on fake trees from then until forever.
- The fact is, that it NEVER feels like Christmas here in Florida. It’s truly depressing to wake up to a muggy, hot and uncomfortable Christmas morning with bad hair (which is TYPICALLY the case though this week has seriously been gorgeous and forgiving so let’s hope it can keep it up till then but MEH I doubt it). Maybe some day it will finally snow in Florida.
And Trump will be impeached.And pigs will fly. And all of the cats of the universe will be subject to a cat-terrorism attack and they’ll all be done with.
- And just generally speaking around the Holidays, people are assholes. Everyone is rushed and stressed out and fighting over the last Hatchimals at Toys R’ Us. Traffic is ridiculous-er than normal. And it’s just seriously impossible to experience any kind of Christmas-induced “joy” when humanity has gone to shit.
- Then there’s this Elf on the Shelf business. FIRST OF ALL, bitch, I don’t know WHO came up with this nonsense tradition but I’ve managed to avoid joining until this year and let me just say this: FUCK THOSE ELVES. AND FUCK ALL THE SHELVES. All of them. I’ve really tried. I swear. My kids were all excited and so I caved in and let’s just say, those elves haven’t moved in 5 days and it’s because I keep forgetting to move the little shits and then I have to endure the worst guilt trips every time the kids get home or they wake up and the elves haven’t done any hysterically mischievous and creative things and they start blaming themselves and start crying and assuming they’re dead or that their souls went back to the North Pole and life is over for everyone and Christmas will be nothing but a nightmare for the rest of their lives. It’s awful. And it’s another job. It’s another fucking task. Another mess to pick up. Another THING to add to the list of things. It’s another way to set myself up for failure dude like if the elves were birth control, I’d be pregnant again right now with quadruplets. I SUCK at this stuff and in turn, it all packs more pressure and stress and weight atop my shoulders and that all leads the perfect anxiety-cocktail which gets me drunk on the whole “I’m a terrible mom” thing which is exactly what I need in my life right now amiright? Conclusion: The elves are destroying my l. Also, the whole thing is fucking creepy. Dolls moving around and watching my kids and then reporting to Santa?! Like who even are you little tiny SATAN helpers?! When this is all over…. you’re going straight to the Goodwill. Bitches.
- Speaking of Satan. I mean..Santa. Nope. Actually, I totally meant SATAN (Let that sink in). Now I don’t know the entire history of Old Saint Nick but that mofo is everything but a magical saint ya’ll. Just look at this asshole! Here you have this obese man-freak strutting a red-suede suit, who drives a flying sled (clearly he’s on drugs) led by magical reindeer (sounds like Frankenstein project to me but what do I know) and lives in the middle of the fucking North Pole where he enslaves midgets who work day and night in a toy factory while he sits around on his fat ass chugging milk and munching on cookies (the special kind I bet) and “watching” children all year long? WHILE THEY’RE SLEEPING?! While they’re awake? While they SHOWER?! OR Potty?!Wait… WHHHATT?!
Then homeboy goes around the world breaking into BILLIONS of homes to bribe the children with all of the toys of their dreams? I mean what is he actually doing to the children when he gets to our homes and sees them sleeping?! Can anyone say PEDOPHILE?! Seriously not only is this guy a total sham, but he’s a sick fuck and a criminal!
Alright. That went a little dark. But I just…ok hold on like how can I justify this mess because I’m gonna get some negative feed back from the PTA-Christmas-Whore-Mommies…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
……………………………….Meh… I got NOTHIN’.