Oh Christmas how I dislike you. Between the stores shoving the festive spirit down my throat, to the agonizingly bad Christmas concerts and obligatory family gatherings I’m forced to attend, I find myself wanting to fake my own death in a big way.
But I know I didn’t always feel this way. There was a time where this tattooed, little Christmas elf loved the “Ho! Ho!” season.
Maybe I just need to summon up some misty, water coloured memories from days of yore to get a little Yule back into my log…no wait, that’s gross…a little festive back in my nog. Ya, that’s better.
1. My dad getting me drunk on eggnog.
At sixteen my dad decided it was time for me to give his “special eggnog,” a whirl. It burned on it’s way down and had so much nutmeg on top of it that I could have chewed it. But it made me feel floppy and warm all over and gave me the magical ability to withstand endless, incoherent stories from my 80-year-old great aunt. Thanks dad.
2. That’s a lot of sap!
Clark Griswold knew what he was talking about. Getting your own tree from the woods involves a shit load of sap and so, so much swearing. And yet, growing up in the wilds of rural Canada, this was something our family did every year. Of course just like the Griswold’s tree, the one we picked would always be way too big to fit in the house. It would also have large bare spots that would inevitably result in my dad needing to cut branches and drill holes into the trunk to wedge said branches into and then installing guide ropes to anchor our “franken-tree,” to keep it from tipping over and killing the family dog.
3. My Christmas with Shanty
In my second year of college I lived in a fan-freakkin-tastic downtown apartment with a fan-freakin’tastic roommate I affectionately still refer to as “Shanty.” Man we loved that place. I remember buying a little Christmas tree together and having to use her neon green skull lights to decorate it when we realized we had no Christmas ornaments. It looked so bad-ass! That year we threw an epic Christmas party for our classmates where even our profs showed up. It’s a time I look back on fondly as my “livin’ the dream,” year. No responsibilities, only good times. Oh how I miss it.
4. The Christmas I got a black cabbage patch kid
I admit it. I was part of the cabbage patch kid craze. But I didn’t want just any cabbage patch kid. I wanted a very specific one – a bald, black one, which was pretty much considered blasphemy in my all white, very backward, rural town in Northern Canada. And, if I’m honest, was a huge part of the appeal. Of course living in “Nowheresville,” made this request nearly impossible to fulfill. However, somehow Santa (aka my mom,) made it happen. Later on I found out that she had friends and family looking all over the province for one. Thanks Mom…umm, Santa.
5. My younger brother drawing baby Jesus as a cat burping and farting
My brother was probably seven or eight at the time and was one of those kids who was constantly getting into trouble. So when our Sunday School teacher asked us to draw a picture of the baby Jesus none of us should have been surprised that he opted to draw a big, fat cat with a speech bubble coming from its mouth saying “burp,” and one from its butt that said, “fart.” I can still remember how livid she was when she showed the picture to my mom. Man I wish he had kept that thing. It deserved to be framed.