Daily Archives: December 21, 2005

Santa Writes Like Your Mom

Have I ever told you guys how much I hate Christmas?

It’s not that I hate the idea of it or anything, I just hate how when something bad happens around Christmas, it feels 10 times worse BECAUSE it happens around Christmas. And you know it’s true… just watch the news sometime this week. I guarantee that you’ll hear some story about a house burning down or someone dying, and you’ll be like, “aww… right before Christmas!”

I don’t have the worst life; I know that for the most part I’m incredibly lucky and I try not to focus on the bad. Most of the things that bum me out aren’t even really things that I have to deal with personally, they’re things that the people I love have to deal with. But around Christmas, it’s hard to stay positive because everything magically becomes 10 times sadder, and it feels like I have this massive righteous bummer covered in tinsel and lights hovering over my head, like a Christmassy Eeyore or something.

For the past six or seven years, I’ve had something hovering over me on Christmas. Someone is always either in the hospital or dying or recently dead or moving or breaking my heart or whatever. And it’s always, you know, “aww… right before Christmas.” So it makes it THAT much more depressing. And I suppose it’s just the weather and the environment this time around – things like that tend to trigger memories, whether they’re good or bad.

I can’t really remember being happy on Christmas. I just remember being obligated to PRETEND that I was happy BECAUSE it was Christmas.

I haven’t found a way to blame this on the mall yet, but I’m working on it.

This year, however, we’re going to my Aunt’s house, which is something that my family hasn’t done since I was little. So maybe this year, I won’t have to pretend. I hope so.


My Christmas Hate might have something to do with the fact that I’ve never believed in Santa Claus. Ever.

I mean, my family tried to play that game with me, and all of my neighborhood friends were thoroughly convinced that he existed, but I just couldn’t buy it. I mean, COME ON. I knew that it took almost a day to drive to Florida from my house, and the rest of the world had to stretch out for at least like, two more days. Ergo, no Santa.

I got in a huge fight with my friend Peggy about the impossibility of flying reindeer: “They DON’T HAVE WINGS. What is WRONG WITH YOU?!”

Peggy’s rebuttal was that, actually, Santa prefers a one horse open sleigh. I was like, “Okay, first of all, that’s a totally different song. And second, ocean? Doy?”

When my parents finally sat me down to tell me the truth, they looked so sad and guilty, like, “Should we do this? Is it too soon?” It made me furious and I threw a Buster-worthy tantrum. Not because I thought there was a Santa, mind you. I just couldn’t believe that my parents thought I was that stupid.

I guess you could call me precocious. I don’t know. But I can’t believe kids actually fall for it. There’s a big difference between imagination and illogical stupidity, and I recognized that right off the bat.


The one thing that is really making me happy this Christmas is the fact that Tony is back in town for good. And when Niki gets whisked away by some Major League Baseball team or the NFL, he gets to be my new roommate.

Warren: “Sweeeeet! We’ll be like Melrose Place!”

Last night I introduced Tony to Arrested Development, and we talked and drank and watched Extreme Dodgeball, and basically just sat around and hung out without any urgency, which we haven’t done in forever. And for a little while, I forgot to be sad about Christmas.


Okay, so do you remember playing Super Mario Brothers? Everybody wanted to be Mario because he had the power to pause Luigi’s game. And it’s always funny to pause Luigi mid-jump and piss off your friends.

Riding shotgun in Tony’s car is a lot like being Mario. Because Tony’s dad uses the car for Driver’s Ed, so if you’re sitting shotgun, YOU GET YOUR OWN BRAKE.

Tony and I went on a beer run last night, and I was silly drunk and the streets were hella empty, so he gave me permission to use my brake pedal freely. Every time I slammed on the break Tony would giggle his ass off, which makes everything twice as funny. I haven’t had the giggles like that in a long time. It probably took us ten minutes to drive two blocks, but it was worth it.


Another reason to hate Christmas: people send you stuff like this . This is my biggest phobia of all time. I’m going to have visions of this crap running through my head. Thanks, Christmas.


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