Merry Fuckin’ Christmas

It’s Christmas Day.  Well, more like Christmas Evening, I suppose.  Well, whatever time of day/year it is, it’s fucking Christmas.  Which means there’s only a couple more days left of the shitty Christmas songs, and Radio can soon go back to shitty Nickelback songs.   And stores will soon be able to take down their decorations, and mark them at discount prices.  And people will buy them, even though they’re mostly broken and no one has any use for them at all.  And all the men and children of the world can start playing with all their new toys.

I got quite a few of them, myself.  3 Xbox360 games, powertools, not-so-powertools, flashlights and enough candy to put Jabba the Hutt into a diabetic coma.

Wonka Cheesay Solo.

Now, of course I got more than my share of socks, gloves, clothes and other shitty stuff…  But as I get older–and as the nail that sticks out of our hardwood floors gets hungrier–those gifts become less and less shit, and more appreciated.  Which is frustruating to say the least.

I don’t want to be that old.  Being that old means you’re only a stone’s throw away from saying things like, “Who’s this one from?  I can’t read the tag.”  Or taking twenty minutes to unwrap a single present.  Maybe you’re trying to save the paper… or maybe you don’t have the strength to tug on the goddamn scotch tape and thin paper, either way you’re fucking old.  
It’s funny, too, how many different things people can do that makes them forget how old they are.  Men and toys, for instance, makes them completely unaware of their age.  If a 12 year old boy unwraps a bb gun, or a 80 year old one, they have the same stupid grin.
But with clothes, it’s a whole other story.  When you’re really young, you just throw that shit aside, and wait until it’s time for you to open up something that doesn’t suck.  
Then you get a bit older–still a kid, but don’t think you are–and realize that you could definitely use some new clothes, but don’t want to waste a gift on them.  Now, of course, you don’t want to seem unappreciative, so you fake interest and try to seem grateful as you set them aside and wait until it’s time for you to open up something that doesn’t suck.  
Then you get a bit older still, maybe you’re living on your own or something, and you realize that owning more clothes, specifically in the S&U category, means fewer trips to the laundromat/laundryroom/home to your parents to do laundry.  You’re not really quite faking it any more… you find yourself actually appreciating the clothes on some level as you set them aside and wait until it’s time for you to open up something that doesn’t suck.
Then you get older still, a kid (but probably shouldn’t be) maybe you’ve got kids yourself, and you realize that for all intents and purposes, you’re just too fucking old for Christmas to be about you any more.  You had a hard time telling anyone what they might be able to get for you, because, if you’re lucky, you realize you’ve got what you need and that you’re ahead of pretty much anyone else you can think of.  So you say “Fuck it,” and enjoy and appreciate everything because it’s all icing on a great big fucking awesome cake with chocolate sprinkles and ice cream as you set stuff aside and wait until it’s time for you to open up something else that doesn’t suck.
And if you’re reading that and thinking “Easy for you to be happy, you got like 200 bucks in Xbox games alone,”  Shut the fuck up.  This year I would have been happy getting a Celine Dion CD covered in Donair Sauce, rolled in rice.  ‘Cause I’ve realized I’m too fucking old to expect to get a goddamn thing.  And when you stop expecting everything in life to get handed to you long enough to think of your family, your friends, and all the great fucking things that surround you, Spec-fucking-tacular things start to surround you.
But I still don’t want to be old enough to know that.
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