I'm dreaming of a white (trash) Christmas...

Family Time, Day 2. 

Wine rations are low. I am texting friends:

Me: "I'm in a car listening my mom and grandfather talk, and 'Disco Duck' is on the radio for some reason. So... I'm just gonna jump out of the car and hope for the best."

Friend 1: "BWHAHAHA."

Friend 2: "Holy shit, that is amazing. Godspeed."

Me: "The conversation literally just went from houses in the city Grandpa worked on back in the day, to this area being 'right near where Butch's* friend was murdered,' to 'I have to go to that Indian doctor later this week.'"

Friend 2: "I look forward to your alone time. That is a lot to process."

*When you're white trash (as I am), there's always a Butch. Fact. I know two. If you're really lucky, you'll get a "Butchy." But you have to BELIEVE.

Merry Muddling!

Merry Christmas, you guys. May your liquor, ham, and patience be plentiful. 

And remember, even if Jesus is the boss of you, this day isn't. So if you're just muddling through one way or another, high-five, 'cause we're muddling together. Let's make today our bitch. ("That's what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.")

Have fun and be safe. I love y'all. 

Kisses,
Smug

Merry Christmas to all, and to all, some good mood-altering substances.

I think I'm packed for Christmas, yeah?  

No, wait... You're right. I need beer.

Also, I totally hear you -- Xanax would've been great, but alas, there's some shit about ethics where they won't give it to me because I don't actually have anxiety? I KNOW, right, what the shit? This IS America, right? Family gatherings + Jesus' birthday = special dispensation. That's in the Bible: "And lo, distributed among them, there were delicious medications, and yea, they were happy. OK, well...not really HAPPY, but they didn't hit anyone, and so there was peace on earth, and sedated goodwill toward men."

P.S. I will spend today baking MANY cookies; those are almost Xanax if you eat enough of them. 

P.P.S. That whiskey is not for me. That shit is like having one of those hippie honey cough drops in your drink. Ugh.

Family rally cry? Family rally cry.

I know you guys aren't on my side with the country music, but I think we can all agree Pistol Annies have been reading my journal as we approach my family's Christmas dinner. This is my new favorite song to sing in the car. (Shut up, I am SUPER hot when I have twang.)

"Well, Daddy's reading propaganda
And he's talkin' 'bout the end of days
Well, cheers to the vodka Mama's been sneakin',
Let's all gather 'round and pray.

"So I snuck out behind the red barn
And I took myself a toke
Since everybody here hates everybody here
Hell, I might as well be their joke.

"I'm gonna dance up on the table
Singing 'This Little Light of Mine'
God gave it to me, what good's it gonna do me
If I don't, by God, let it shine?

"Hide your tattoo,
Put on your Sunday best,
Pretend you're not a mess,
Be the happy family in the front pew..."

"Hush hush, don't you dare say a word
Hush hush, don't you know the truth hurts
Hush hush, when push comes to shove,
It's best to keep it hush hush."

Searching for therapy. And cake. And therapeutic cake.

This was in the most recent list of search terms people have used to get to my WordPress page:
  

Holy shit, you guys -- WHAT am I writing? I know it's my id and all, and I certainly have my moments, but it's USUALLY not "devastating Christmas depression fuck you."

Seriously: Therapy. It's great. Mood drugs, too. Maybe also have some cake? Cake fixes a lot of things. Search for cake.

That time I damned myself to hell before noon.

I asked my mother what I could bring to Christmas dinner, maybe a dessert or wine, and she said, "No worries, we're all set for food, and we have enough to drink -- there's water and soda and juice."

Oh. Oh, honey. Is it GIN and juice? Is there grape drank? (That's what those Sunny D commercials meant by "purple stuff," let's be honest.)

See, I can't get through Christmas with that big fake smile on my face without mixing pills and alcohol, Karen Walker style. Besides, if you read The Bible, you'll learn Jesus turned water into wine because He WANTED us to be half in the bag on His birthday.

Jesus was a partier. Fact. He didn't go all in with hats and streamers and all that, because that's just excess, but He could knock back goblets of His own blood like nobody's business.

Happy Hanukkah from my chosen vagina.

I almost forgot to wish y'all a happy Hanukkah.

Hanukkah isn't my religion, but a) I don't HAVE much of a religion -- we celebrate Christmas, but I suspect that's mostly for the ham. And b) the first guy I had sex with was Jewish (so, he was extra Chosen), so I'll always have a soft spot (ie, my vagina) for the faith.

L'chaim!

This holiday season, give the gift of kissing my ass.

During holiday seasons I love to torture myself by looking at those bullshit "for her" and "for him" gift recommendation lists.

For instance, BN.com recommends "for him" all this sweet Star Wars and Doctor Who stuff, Rodin "Thinker" bookends, and cool beer/gin kits. And "for her," a bunch of fucking candles and tote bags and tea sets, and what looks like every pink gift item they sell.

Kiss my dick, Barnes & Noble.

I will admit, I love candles and pink stuff. But I also like beer and gin, dammit, and I do, um, THINK, at least often enough to enjoy "Thinker" bookends. Plus I know tons of ladies who'd enjoy Star Wars/Doctor Who swag. Hmph.

Mad props to LivingSocial, though. Their "for her" gift guide has bourbon tastings, distillery tours, photography lessons, and race car experience packages. (And Brazilian waxes, but eh, it's still a good list of options. And, um... I'll just go ahead and add that wax to my cart along with the bourbon tasting. That's gonna be a weird day.)

 

"What would we do, baby, without us? Sha la la la..."

I just got called "cold" and had Sad Singleton noises made at me when I mentioned to coworkers that I consider Thanksgiving weekend a short vacation, not family time, and that I hoped my family didn't host dinner, because I'm looking forward to relaxing alone.

"Jeez, some people LIKE spending time with their families." Hey, good for them. I am not one of them. Sorry, is my childhood trauma bothersome to you?

For me, Christmas is the family holiday. I will happily (well...) attend. But a pregame four short weeks BEFORE Christmas? Having my parents insist on family "closeness" now that they're older, not realizing they were my age 25 years ago while they were inadvertently teaching me NOT to value family? Sorry it's not my top priority as an adult.

(I know I don't have to attend either holiday, but skipping both is more of an emotional hassle than it's worth. Plus, ham.)

Thanksgiving weekend is for me to sleep, watch movies, and cook something delicious, not to drive 2 hours to make shitty small talk or silently ponder which mood medications my father should be on.

I can be thankful and reflective by myself. It's better than being asked if my ex is seeing anyone, hearing how much my family misses him, and explaining to obscure relatives looking at me quizzically that I "recently" ended a long relationship. Oh, and don't forget what a good mother I would've been, and how maybe I'll change my mind -- that is not at all like being punched in the uterus. (Also, c'mon, my eggs aren't exactly fresh from the farm. They're, like, Walmart eggs at this point.)

Besides, I promised a friend who'll be spending Thanksgiving with HER family that I'd be her on-call getaway car if she needs an extraction (SEAL Team Smug!). So I'm not the only one not singing "Kumbaya" for family time.

BTW, yes, if you know me, "cold" is exactly the right word. I am a complete, dead-inside asshole, and people I love mean nothing to me. You nailed it.

 

'Tis the season to be anxious, fa la la la la...

Oh, right. Seasonal anxiety and depression are real things, which means, until probably January, I can't be in a Target unattended for more than 15 minutes unless I want to feel like I may actually have a nervous breakdown.

Fuck you, Target. It's not even Thanksgiving yet. Can I get my goddamn laundry detergent and a new yoga mat without getting punched in the feels by your bullshit B-squad reindeer? (This has also happened in grocery stores, card stores, and on one very special occasion, a CVS.)

I don't do well in stores to begin with, but the seasonal shit started post-breakup and clearly hasn't dissipated at all. My ex helped me slowly stop hating Christmas after many years of retail work and unbearable family gatherings, aaand now that hatred is back, with a little extra special flavor -- like a lovely smoked sea salt for mood swings.

Facebook is mocking me.

For whatever reason, this GORGEOUS non-Melissa-McCarthy dress came up in the results earlier when I was looking for the Melissa McCarthy clothes at Nordstrom, and now Facebook is mocking me with it via a "sponsored post."  

I can TOTALLY wear that to Christmas dinner, right? My family wears sweatpants to weddings, so this is perfect, no?

See also: Fuck you, Facebook, I don't have $150.

The nuns. They judge me.

The nuns at the farmers market food donation stand gave me several fliers for their church's Thanksgiving dinner, in case I "knew anyone who'd be alone."

I'm trying not to read too much into this, but thanks, nuns, for kicking in the seasonal depression early!

(Kidding. I actually love spending Thanksgiving alone. Helps me save up my fake family merriment for Christmas.)