So, I don't believe in Christmas. You know, the whole Jeebus being born in a manger and three wise men traveling from afar to bring some of the lamest gifts I've ever fucking heard of. But, I do like the secular part of Christmas. The tree, the lights, the awesome as shit food. You know, the pagan part. I love looking at decorating magazines for new ideas and I love all different types of tree ideas from traditional to modern. I plan how my tree is going to look, I think of spray painting my own ornaments, or stringing cranberries and popcorn. I imagine the cute little packages I will make, wrapped up in newsprint, leaves and twigs. Then I start scouring the internet for other ideas. Fruit bowls, centerpieces, candy dishes. Oh, how I love the decorating part!! At night, I dream about how beautiful my Christmas tree will be with Waterford ornaments, their crystals dancing in the white lights. Gorgeous organza ribbon flowing from the top. A beautiful hand blown glass tree topper standing majestically where most would place a star. My dream tree is amazing, magazine worthy, something to be proud of. You know what though? I don't have that tree. I have kids instead. They love Christmas decorating too. A lot. Unfortunately, they are not old enough to have any sense of style or symmetry. They are also unaware of the word tacky. They love the most fugly ornaments, cheesy garland, shitty ass toppers and gaudy lights. I, fortunately, put my foot down with the lights. White or nothing, people. And no blinking, chasing or whatever the hell else they do. I know, I am a bitter bitch. Anyway, I allow the kids to decorate and I swear to Fuck, my tree looks like it has been decorated by elves that reside in a mental institution. There is no rhyme or reason to where the ornaments are placed. Every goddamn red ball is at the bottom, most of which have been shoved on to one branch. We have a shitload of little, sparkly stars littering the mid-section (in no particular pattern), not enough little plastic icicles around the bottom, a hundred different balls made from all kinds of weird materials. I just threw the lights on because, really, what's the point? Today, I actually found a stuffed animal shoved into the tree as an ornament, a guinea pig I think. For some reason it reminded me of the groundhog from "Caddy Shack" and made me laugh a little, but at the same time it completely crushed any hope I had of actually having a somewhat decent tree. The thing that kills me the most though, is that they WILL NOT STOP TOUCHING IT. You would think that the novelty would wear off over time. Yeah, no. I think it may actually get a little worse every day. They play around it, under it, put their hands through it, take ornaments off, put random shit on. The tree has been up for 2 days and we have had 3 broken balls already (cheap, shitty ones, but still). And through it all, I TRY to keep my cool. They are kids. It's a fuckin' tree. Right in the middle of the living room. What would I expect to happen? Of course, I am not always able to chill about the fucking tree. "Don't touch it. DON'T TOUCH IT!! STOP TOUCHING IT!!" Then the idle threats start. "Next year, maybe we won't have a tree!!" "I swear!! I will take that fucking thing down if you do not GET YOUR HANDS OFF!!" "Holy JEEBUS!!! I am going to GATE YOU IN THE KITCHEN!! Now get in your crates until Christmas is over!!" Then the fire starts pouring out of my mouth until they finally run away. It doesn't matter, they always come back.
Now, I know I could just wait a little longer to put the tree up, so just shut your mouth right there. The thing is, I LIKE THE TREE GODDAMN IT!! I want it up. I should have it up. Because I am the most important, and I should have everything I want, as I want. Next year, I will get my beautiful tree. I will. Because Imma get shock collars for my children. If that doesn't work, Christmas camp. Sucha place has to exist. Oh shit, there goes another ball...
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