Dear Christmas Spirit,
In an ongoing effort to keep this blog family oriented and maintain our accredited ‘G’ rating, I have slowed down my posting. Truth be told, I’ve been pretty uninspired lately. You see, the Christmas holiday season has been in full swing now for about 3 months; I just ain’t feelin’ it.
Let’s start with this whole gift giving thing. I’m all for it. I love giving gifts. Love it. Except when I feel obligated to do so. Like Christmas time. I’m all for giving presents to the kiddos. ‘Cause really, to them, that’s what Christmas is all about. Except the really religious kids, like the Mormons, and the Irish.
You see, I come from a pretty big, crazy Italian family that grew up spending Christmas and the holidays under one roof. Hundreds of family members. They would cook and laugh and drink. And occasionally, someone from the Espenito family would get whacked. It was business as usual.
And then I was born. And then we moved away from all of our family. And Christmas was just me, mom and dad. And they spoiled the shit out of me. And I loved it. And soon, gifts of toys turned into gifts of survival. Like socks, and motor oil. And over the last few years, I realized that not only did I not need anything, but I didn’t really want anything. My parents didn’t really want anything either. Which on a side note, is good because the one gift that my mom asked for, has been out of stock since September. Perhaps I’ll mold her an ashtray in hopes that she’ll start smoking.
Also this past year, many friends have moved out of state or have gotten married and had children. Not always in that order. So in essence, they’ve figuratively moved away as well. And being the lonely, single, mildly intelligent, ruggedly handsome bitch that I am, I’ve not only cried myself to sleep every night for the last 3 months, but I’ve realized just how fu*cking stoopid we as a society really are.
This holiday season, we will spend more money on useless material shit to appease friends and family with the belief that we needed to act on such a gesture to remind them that we do indeed love them, than we would spend to help the millions of families who could use a coat, a warm meal, or even a bath. And when we didn’t get what we really wanted, we stand in line for days in hopes of an adequate exchange that satisfies our original expectations. Before we know it, we’ve forgotten why we all got together in the first place. Fists are flying. Cousins are hookin' up. And the homeless still smell.
And in hindsight, I realized that my parents have been teaching me that for years. That they could care less how many wrapped packages there are under the tree. It’s about the tradition my mom and I have for Christmas Eve dinner. We buy 5 lbs of King Crab, drink red wine, and soak up all that melted butter with Christmas cookies.
It’s about the tradition of my dad coming home from work at 6 am Christmas morning, yelling, “Ho Ho Ho,” and us dragging our sleepy heads out of bed and beginning our day.
It’s about the three of us drinking rum punch all morning, passing out for our first of many naps sometime between 9 and 10 am, and getting our asses up off the couch or family room floor to have our traditional Christmas morning brunch.
It’s about visiting your friends throughout the rest of the coming days, exchanging a hug, grope, or Christmas card, and reminding them that you still cherish them and all their silly shit. And the last few years, it’s been not about buying useless crap, wrapping it up, and knowing full well you’ll never see them wear that ill-fitting sweater. It’s been about making the effort to visit our aging family and share with them, our Christmas traditions. Crab legs, bottles of wine and all.
So, to all my family who I will not see for the 28th straight Christmas, to my friends who needed the tax benefit and got married, to those friends who live down the street that I haven’t seen in ages, to those who have fanned out across the country, and to those ex-girlfriends, whose hearts I’ve broken, who’ve walked away, or who’ve betrayed my trust but still make the effort, I love you all more dearly than the English language can convey. I’m not buying you anything. But I do love you. And I’m ashamed that it takes a friggin’ holiday to acknowledge such a thing.
However. If you feel you absolutely need to get me something, I’d like a puppy. Or a 21” LCD Flat Panel Computer monitor. Black. That’d be fu*kin’ dope.
Let’s start with this whole gift giving thing. I’m all for it. I love giving gifts. Love it. Except when I feel obligated to do so. Like Christmas time. I’m all for giving presents to the kiddos. ‘Cause really, to them, that’s what Christmas is all about. Except the really religious kids, like the Mormons, and the Irish.
You see, I come from a pretty big, crazy Italian family that grew up spending Christmas and the holidays under one roof. Hundreds of family members. They would cook and laugh and drink. And occasionally, someone from the Espenito family would get whacked. It was business as usual.
And then I was born. And then we moved away from all of our family. And Christmas was just me, mom and dad. And they spoiled the shit out of me. And I loved it. And soon, gifts of toys turned into gifts of survival. Like socks, and motor oil. And over the last few years, I realized that not only did I not need anything, but I didn’t really want anything. My parents didn’t really want anything either. Which on a side note, is good because the one gift that my mom asked for, has been out of stock since September. Perhaps I’ll mold her an ashtray in hopes that she’ll start smoking.
Also this past year, many friends have moved out of state or have gotten married and had children. Not always in that order. So in essence, they’ve figuratively moved away as well. And being the lonely, single, mildly intelligent, ruggedly handsome bitch that I am, I’ve not only cried myself to sleep every night for the last 3 months, but I’ve realized just how fu*cking stoopid we as a society really are.
This holiday season, we will spend more money on useless material shit to appease friends and family with the belief that we needed to act on such a gesture to remind them that we do indeed love them, than we would spend to help the millions of families who could use a coat, a warm meal, or even a bath. And when we didn’t get what we really wanted, we stand in line for days in hopes of an adequate exchange that satisfies our original expectations. Before we know it, we’ve forgotten why we all got together in the first place. Fists are flying. Cousins are hookin' up. And the homeless still smell.
And in hindsight, I realized that my parents have been teaching me that for years. That they could care less how many wrapped packages there are under the tree. It’s about the tradition my mom and I have for Christmas Eve dinner. We buy 5 lbs of King Crab, drink red wine, and soak up all that melted butter with Christmas cookies.
It’s about the tradition of my dad coming home from work at 6 am Christmas morning, yelling, “Ho Ho Ho,” and us dragging our sleepy heads out of bed and beginning our day.
It’s about the three of us drinking rum punch all morning, passing out for our first of many naps sometime between 9 and 10 am, and getting our asses up off the couch or family room floor to have our traditional Christmas morning brunch.
It’s about visiting your friends throughout the rest of the coming days, exchanging a hug, grope, or Christmas card, and reminding them that you still cherish them and all their silly shit. And the last few years, it’s been not about buying useless crap, wrapping it up, and knowing full well you’ll never see them wear that ill-fitting sweater. It’s been about making the effort to visit our aging family and share with them, our Christmas traditions. Crab legs, bottles of wine and all.
So, to all my family who I will not see for the 28th straight Christmas, to my friends who needed the tax benefit and got married, to those friends who live down the street that I haven’t seen in ages, to those who have fanned out across the country, and to those ex-girlfriends, whose hearts I’ve broken, who’ve walked away, or who’ve betrayed my trust but still make the effort, I love you all more dearly than the English language can convey. I’m not buying you anything. But I do love you. And I’m ashamed that it takes a friggin’ holiday to acknowledge such a thing.
However. If you feel you absolutely need to get me something, I’d like a puppy. Or a 21” LCD Flat Panel Computer monitor. Black. That’d be fu*kin’ dope.
