** Disclaimer: I started this blog over a week ago. So be it. I’m not one to rush perfection, and neither should you. So pay no mind to the dates and just be grateful you have something to read other than the back of that anal wart cream pamphlet.**

So, only 6 days till Christmas. Its this time of year that I panic thinking about all the people I haven’t gotten gifts for and how I will have to scramble around at the last minute to find something suitable. You know, something that wasn’t purchased at the local 7-11 on Christmas morning. Like pork rinds or a can of beer. (Although, many a family member of mine would consider that a thoughtful and worthy gift – I’m looking at you, Uncle Ted). Presents at Christmas time… it’s so overrated, isn’t it? Every one fighting to get good sales and deals and everything. Just seems like it’s not worth all the hassle to me. Just another reminder of the gluttony and greed this country strives for. I sound so bitter. I’m not, ya know. Bitter. I’m just realistic. There’s a difference, I assure you.

I like to think of Christmas as one last hoo-rah before the end of the year comes about and you kiss the past 12 months goodbye in hopes that the upcoming annual events will suck much less than last year. But I won’t make this my end-of-the-year blog. That will be for another time. Instead, I will focus my efforts this go-round on the holiday festivities. At least I will pretend that’s the theme. I don’t wanna box myself in to anything concrete, now. Just in case I get an urge to make fun of something non-Christmas related or throw in a series of music lyrics from Duran Duran. It could happen, trust me.

This will be the second year in a row that I didn’t take my children to see the shopping mall Santa. Maybe that makes me a bad parent, I’m not sure. For starters, I loathe the mall. Abundant crowds, overpriced merchandise. A court centered around fat-laden & highly delicious meals. It’s all my worst enemies combined into one devious enterprise. I go to the mall on a rare occasion. Either I’m picking something up at a place that is only located at the mall (i.e. Sephora or Victoria’s Secret) or I am taking my kids to the build-a-bear workshop. That’s it. Those are the only two things that bring me to such a place. I don’t peruse the mall scene, scoping out the Abercrombie and people-watching by the wish-fountain. I just don’t. And in case you were wondering (cause I asked) – all that money in the fountain? Doesn’t go to any charity or wish-granting organization… it goes right into the money-grubbing pockets of the executive conglomerates who run the friggin mall. Consider that next time you’re sipping your Orange Julius and tossing your loose change into the water, praying for world peace or a new kidney for Grandma. It’s disgusting. It’s like they’re mocking us (you) – they’re saying “Haha, foolish American consumer! Not only did you pay way too much for that sweater at the Gap, but I will leech you of all that spare pocket change too!”

Sorry. Went off there for a bit. I’ve been sick and I’m temporarily off of my “regular” meds in lieu of some Sudafed type stuff that promises clearer air-way passages, but delivers nothing except jitters and the inability to sleep. Thanks, Nyquil! Surely my day at work tomorrow will be glorious on no sleep and post-nasal drip. Probably some conspiracy worked out between the FDA and the mattress companies. And the makers of Ambien! They’re all in it together, I tell ya!

I digress. The mall Santa. I heard somewhere (or read, I’m not sure) that the mall Santas make a lot of money. That they work all year towards the few weeks they sit around at the mall letting children sit on their laps and then sit back the rest of the year wallowing in their large lumps of commercialized cash. Maybe they lose the Santa suit and roll around in the cash naked, letting all the monetary bills get caught in the “bowl full o’ jelly” fat rolls in their stomach. That’s totally what I would do. Seems to me this is the only time in the history of anything where it pays to have a huge waist circumference. (*sidebar: I had a friend growing up that used to leave Santa carrots and celery with organic dip. I’m not even joking. Her mom was also the house that handed out boxes of raisins for Halloween – for shame, hippy health nuts!!)

Where was I? Oh yes, the only time in history where you can benefit by being overweight, gray and non-shaven. Unless, of course, for the remainder of the year – the mall santas all go stand on street corners begging for money. Cause I’m tellin’ ya – I’ve seen a helluva lot of homeless guys who resemble Santa. Come to think, the only thing really separating the mall Santa and the homeless man is a bar of soap, a fancy red suit and a full set of intact teeth. Either way, they’re making money off of other people’s do-good…other people’s dreams, in my opinion. Just mooching the system. If I were a man (or a large, hairy Italian woman), I’d totally grow a grey beard and apply for the job. I mean, I already have the fat belly and all. And (between me and you) a fancy red santa suit and thigh high boots. Wink, wink, snort. (I don’t really have a suit).

The week leading up to Christmas, I try to do things everyday with the children to make memories of this time of year. Christmas light viewing in the neighborhood…hot chocolate. We make a countdown calendar for the big day with an elaborate grid and stickers to paste on to each day. Cheesy at it sounds, there are so many fun things to do this time of year and creating new customs and traditions with my family is important to me. Especially given the fact that the only traditions I can recall from my childhood Christmases involve drunk men, fighting family members and deflated Christmas hopes and dreams. Followed, of course, with bad, uninspired Christmas presents and yelling at the dinner table during a round of “who’s had it worse this year” – which I know I’ve mentioned before in prior blogs. One Christmas, and I wish I were making this up (and I’m sure she would deny it if presented with the story) – upon walking into my mother’s house, Mom says to me “I can tell by the way that present is wrapped that it’s not what I asked for”. This is what she says to me. Not “Merry Christmas” or “Happy Holidays” or “The meaning of the season is love” – none of that. Her opening line was about her gift – which, as it turns out – was EXACTLY what she had asked for. She then proceeds to tell me how much every gift cost her that I unwrap (AS I UNWRAP), with such warm and fuzzy details as “I didn’t really have the money for that, but I let some bills go because I knew you’d love it” and “that was *the* most expensive –insert gift here-that they money can buy”, so that by the end of the whole gift-unwrapping business I’m broken, angry and mentally exhausted. It’s a super fun time.

But enough warm and fuzzy Christmases from the past… none of that matters anymore and there’s nothing I can do to change anything that’s happened to me except to forget it and move forward in life. It’s one of my many rules for living, see. It’s like number 22 or something: Don’t live in the past. Because you can’t make it different. You can only learn from it and not let it happen again (unless it was something awesome, and then you can learn from it and do it over and over…) you get what I’m saying.

The other thing I didn’t do this year, or any year for that matter, is send out Christmas cards. I didn’t do it for the same reason I don’t attach a card to a gift. People don’t hold on to cards. Usually. I’m not going to drag out a file with Christmas cards I received in ’98 and reminisce. Don’t get me wrong, I see the appeal of Christmas cards, sure. A chance to showcase your children or your vacation to Paris or your dog in a funny santa hat by the fire. It’s cute. I get it. But I also don’t understand the social stigma attached to the number of cards you get in a given year. Like suddenly our whole self-worth is based on the criteria of someone sending us a generic slab of paper in the mail.

“Well, I didn’t get a card from Aunt Betty this year. That’s two years in a row! The nerve of her… I’m taking her off my list.” I mean, really? Is it that big of a deal? Maybe Aunt Betty got busy this year. Maybe she wanted to spend her last few bucks on dinner for her family and not on an overpriced box of holiday greetings. Maybe – just maybe – Aunt Betty is trying to save the environment and opted for an e-card that went straight to your SPAM. It could happen! I can straight up tell you right now that chances are slim you will ever get a Christmas card from me. Ever. So do what you need to do people – remove me from your permanent roster or send me a dead fish in the mail, etc. It’s not going to change A. the way I feel about you or B. the amount of guilt I feel (none) at not sending out cards of my own. It will however, negatively affect the wall o’ bragging that I’ve built showcasing the number of cards I get every year. But don’t worry…I’ve got that avenue covered. See, next year I’m going to just go buy a variety of cards and make up names inside and hang them up so whenever anyone comes over they can see just how loved I truly am.

I’m being sarcastic. I sure as hell hope you get that. The holidays aren't about presents or cards you got in the mail, or how much you spent on someone's gift. They're about being together and having a good time.... and they are also about drinking too much wine and being unable to play the board game Taboo (this last one might not apply to everyone).

I have more to say to you people. More Christmas stories and lessons in life. But I’m afraid it’s late and I don’t want to go another night saving this and not publishing it and then before you know it my blog will be about my 34th birthday (eek! It’s right around the corner) and no one will even care about my Christmas stories. So there you go. My annual end-of-year blog will be coming soon so be on the lookout. Two blogs in one week. My gift to you, friend.

And also that large, expensive gift with no gift tag on it - from me too. You're welcome.