Monday, January 14, 2008

stabby rip stab stab

There have been so many things I've wanted to say lately and I haven't had the time to write any of them down. These fleeting thoughts land on the tips of my hair and before they've had an opportunity to tip-toe up my hair and into my scalp (from where, they would then travel into my brain--isn't this how everyone's ideas work?) they're gone. They're like fucking Kobayashi. I have Kobayashi thoughts.

And dude, I have short hair.

So instead of any well thought out posts on anything meaningful or relevant an update will have to suffice. An update that will also hopefully serve as a reminder to the myself 11 months from now when Christmas is around the corner that I have sworn not to participate in Christmas this year.

That's right! Christmas is canceled!

Why didn't I think of this before? Why has it taken me so many years to figure out that if we leave the area (perhaps country) for Christmas we're totally off the hook? I mean, right? Will we have to send notes to family informing them that their kids will receive nothing from us this year because we've spent all of our Christmas money on a beach front hotel room and also to please not send us anything because my holy GOD the shit we've got already could keep an entire nation of third world kids in toys for eternity. As it is we just send the crap down to our local hospice shop or Salvation Army and pretend that we've done something good. And yes, all of our toys from China went into the trash instead of the donations pile because if we need anything, it's more lead in our landfills.

I don't know what happened this year. Christmas has been stressful in the past but it's usually because of Something Else, like cooking for Kelsey's family for the first time or having to coordinate too many outings to different family members houses or morning sickness. This year our responsibilities were light. Sure, we cooked dinner on Christmas Eve--and it was fucking delicious--but it was simple and low-key. On Christmas we were at my folks house where our responsibilities begin and end with deciding how much to drink and also if The Court Jester is really appropriate for the billionth time (answer after 3 glasses of wine: yes.). It was the kids. The kids ruined Christmas for me, and I'm pretty sure just saying that makes me the worst parent this side of Britney. They regressed so radically for the three weeks leading up to Christmas that I found myself thinking, "if I shave my head and flash my snatch in public and then hide a gun in my bathroom, will they hospitalize me? Just for, like, a couple days? Just long enough to get through Christmas?"

But does that mean that I'd have to talk to Dr. Phil? Cause that would be a deal breaker.

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