'Tis the season (uh, you mean It's the Season?)

I don't love Christmas.  Neither does Brad.  We like the actual day, to be honest. We don't see or talk to anyone and don't do anything. We don't even give each other gifts, we don't listen to Christmas music or have a Christmas tree.  It's a day to spend quality time with our laptops, couches, coffee, maybe watch some TV and drink if we feel like it. It's good.

But I am a little jealous of the people who are bursting at the seams with joy at the thought of the season: people that get all starry eyed at putting up the tree, love the lights, the decorations, the singing, the wrapping, the cheesiness, the MAGIC {jazz hands}.  I guess it's somehow related to being an atheist (seeing as it's generally celebrated as a Jesus birthday party [though it is historically a secular holiday. Oh, I will not be getting into that here. But if you want to know more about my heathen beliefs: FisheswithFeet]) but I think there's something more than that for most people.  I loved it when I was a kid, and I was (unknowingly) an atheist then, as well. I guess it was just the presents and I was a greedy little punk?  And now that I live a life where I pretty much buy myself whatever shit I want I'm just a lazy little punk? Oh, this is a bit more of a depressing character sketch than I'd considered.

Anyhow, I'm hoping that when I have kids someday I will feel a little bit of that magic again, and maybe won't hate the thought of needing to buy gifts, and you know, do a lot of shit and then clean up a lot of shit afterwards (sidenote: I still haven't put all the halloween decorations away and will probably leave that sweet life-size zombie family poster in my garage forever).

I appear to be painting myself in a terrible light here. Part of my holiday indifference is that I really appreciate thoughtful gifts and generally fail at procuring and distributing said thoughtful gifts in a timely manner for Christmas so I'm disappointed in myself and the stupid Onion book and Phillies hat I buy Brad every year (in my defense, he always wears it and manages to lose it before the next Christmas) (Also, I bought the same Phillies hat for my boyfriend during college, which takes it to the next level of uncreative) (non-creative?) (Oh mah gah with the parentheses, I think I need parentheses rehab).  I feel guilty when I get thoughtful gifts and annoyed when I get shitty gifts* and also, don't care.

There was one year that we got a tree and had a little spirit. 2006. Here is some fantastic evidence:

Anyway, here is the list of what is going to be putting the joy in my heart during the most wonderful time of the year, this year:

• 3 weeks off from work ( I KNOW! I'M SORRY! I HATE ME TOO!)
• Watching a shitload of The Wire
• Good Old War at the TLA
• finishing up this ABA1 class (it's not horrible but enough already, school addiction.)
• The Districts at Tellus 360 (fuckin yeah! Dec 21st! You should come! And sleep over my house!)
• Not going to see the fucking Nutcracker at The Academy of Music (my mother's strange addiction, so boring the 11th time and every time after that)
• Christmas Eve Eve where all the coolest people gather to get kicked out of McGillan's and like it. 
• Laying on my ass and day drinking on Christmas. 

So I'm going to accept that as enough. We're not getting a Christmas tree or decorating our house (our new neighborhood is realllly Christmased up, so we're going to try and ruin it for everyone).  I might play a few She & Him Christmas songs if I need motivation to clean my kitchen if people are coming over.  That's my holiday spirit and I'm sticking to it. 


*Once my mother bought me a boat when I was a sophomore in college, living in (landlocked!) State College.  Yes, I said boat.  A really, really old mustard colored boat that got passed by a sailboat the one time we took it out.  That I couldn't tow and had nowhere to store.  Also, I didn't even have a car at the time.  And one year she bought my sister a full set of living room furniture and I got a pair of $30 boots from Target and her response was "It's not your year".  The boat year had apparently been "my year". Christmas has always been different for me, but it makes a good story, so I'm not complaining!  Oh, Linda, keepin' it fresh.