Friday, November 10, 2006

It's beginning to look a lot like crazy

Oh dear. It's not even halfway past November yet and it's already started. It's been creeping into my psyche for a few weeks now, after a long, long absence. I can't fight it anymore. I used to be into it. Really into it. Then I wasn't into it at all and actually rebuked it pretty hard core. Then I became neutral about it. Until now.

I'm obsessed with X-mas. It's sickening. And I think it's going to get nothing but worse. I have a bad feeling the house will smell like pine before Thanksgiving and then we're going to have a pine tree/turkey aroma battle and that turkey is going to win and the living room will eventually smell like cold meat. I fear that flannel will find its way into my house. Things are going to be wrapped in tinsel.

I suppose this is a natural progression of things. When you're single it doesn't much matter if you simmer cinnamon potpourri on the stove or have a gallon of eggnog in the fridge. But when you have a significant other, or in my case a boyfriend, some psychotic girlfriend DNA is sparked to life at the first roll of holiday wrapping paper you see and you get all crafty, hand-making him a stocking decorated with glitter fabric pens and stuffing it full of his favorite things like skittles and porn.

You dress in red and green and don godforsaken necklaces adorned with mini wooden clothespin reindeers given to you by your crazy Aunt Agnes which would normally be a repulsive, suck-ass loser gift you wouldn't wear unless your mother draped it over your fresh corpse with that blackwatch plaid skirt you hate but now seems like a really god damn good idea. Which, it is not, but you're blinded by the ever-present twinkling lights and Christmas muzak pumping through the mall and exceptionally stupid things become, well, non stupid.

But, pft, I'm way past that kind of nonsense. I'm older now. I've done the hyper holiday hoor thing. I won't be spending any of the big celebrations coming up with family, it'll just be me and my man. And yet. I can't stop thinking about it. If I keep this up I'm on track to become some trash-mouth Martha Stewart making placecards for the cat's food bowl out of twigs and orange rind and sending whitey onto the roof to hang a string of blue icicle lights around an animatronic Santa's wang.

My advertisement saturation level is becoming astounding. Not only am I collecting every random catalog that I can get my hands on but I'm stealing them from work. Well! People shouldn't leave those things out plain-as-day on their desks. It's practically an engraved invitation for me to take it. And I'm pouring through every piece of drugstore junkmail stuffed into my mailbox. I've started a gift idea list for people I don't even like.

And, I'm ashamed to say, I've been making a game plan for shopping on Black Friday. A game plan. Not even a casual, maybe I'll hit some stores when I wake up, thing. I'm talking about checking out the multiple websites that (illegally, legally, I don't careily) get hold of stolen store flyers and post rumors of sales. All so I can map out the most sensible driving route and deciding if I want to wake up at 5:00 or 5:30. In the morning. Just so I can get a fake, pre-strung with lights Christmas tree for $29.00 dollars off the original price.

Poor whitey. He's starting to look at me like I've grown another head on top of the already crazy one I have. A head wearing an animal print Santa hat and jingle bell earings. He doesn't give half a wit about this shit but he's such a good guy that I know when I come skipping through the front door and spill a shopping bag full of glittery accessories and Christmacy crap at his feet he'll muster up a smile and give me his full attention when I shove the 4 foot dancing penguin with the knitted scarf in his face and he'll repeat, "yes, babe, it is cute."

No one is safe now.


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