Holiday Headaches

    

     This time of the year is truly one of my absolute favorites.  I love the traditions, I love the family time, and I especially love the excited smiles on my kids’ faces.  However, there are some parts of the season that inevitably bring out my inner Scrooge.  Here are some examples of how the holidays can just suck the life right outta ya:

 1.  Everybody from the teachers, to the bus drivers, to the mailman, to the paper boy, to the trash collectors expect some type of gift from you every stinkin’ December.  Apparently, they all seem to think they’re entitled to a damn present.  What I wanna know is why the hell should I buy my garbage guys something special for NEVER EVER putting our garbage cans back in the right place AND for setting them upside down each and every freaking week?  And our mailman who oh so conveniently leaves an empty envelope for us to enclose our “holiday donation”?  I don’t think so buddy — that shit’s going straight into the trash.  Let the incredibly inconsiderate garbage pricks pick up your incredibly obnoxious attempt at begging. Have we all forgotten that a gift is “something that is given FREELY“?!  It is by no means something that you are forced or expected to give.  

2.  The amount of catalogs that are crammed into my mailbox day after day at this time of the year is nothing short of disgusting.  We have surely killed no less than five dozen forests so far, and we still have three more shopping weeks to go.  Believe it or not, I actually received THIRTEEN catalogs in just one day last week!  My recycling box looks like it’s vomiting glossy pages.  And 99% of these stupid catalogs are filled with shit that I would never even consider buying. Honestly, who in their right mind would spend $199.95 on a dumb ass looking head massager that plays music?  Or pay $79.95 a pop on heinous-looking sheepskin car seat covers?  If you seriously want to waste your money on crap like this, then you might want to re-evaluate your priorities in life.

3.  The lines at any given place of business during the holiday season make me want to jam a newly sharpened pencil right into each one of my eyes.  Cause if you think you can just run in and out of a store for the littlest thing, you’d better think again, my friend.  Your ass is gonna be standing behind a whole slew of other pissed off people who are all in just as much of a hurry as you are. You could walk into a friggin’ mattress store and wait for two days just to even talk to a sales associate.  

4.  And if by some God-awful chance you have to return something, you might as well go ahead and just shoot yourself now.  Without question, you will be dealing with some of the most infuriating people to ever walk the earth.  If you can even survive long enough to make it through the returns line, you will then have to explain the reason for your return about 300 times before someone will finally comprehend the words coming out of your mouth.  And if you don’t have a receipt, well then, you better hope and pray that you’re packing a bottle of Tylenol and a flask of whiskey cause you’re gonna need it after the hassle you’re sure to endure.  You’re better off to just keep that stupid-looking reindeer sweater that Aunt Judy sent you.

5.  The advertisers may be smart in their strategic thinking, but it’s a bit on the overkill side when your kids are watching Spongebob and are subsequently bombarded with every stinkin’ toy commercial under the moon during the holiday season especially.  I guarantee you that my son would never have even known that a super duper extra-large Nerf gun even existed were it not for all those commercials. And you can bet your silver jingle balls that I wouldn’t be sitting on a waiting list for a damn “Pillow Pet” if my daughter hadn’t seen the advertisement sixty-five thousand times.  I know you’re probably sitting there thinking that the easiest solution would be to just stop letting my kids watch t.v., right? Well, that would just be nucking futs!  Sometimes, mama just needs a break.  And besides, my husband works in advertising, so, unfortunately, all those obnoxious ads help to bring home the bacon.

    So, yeah, all of these things make me feel like yelling “Bah humbug!” every now and then, so sue me.  As hard as I try to not let other people’s nasty attitudes get to me, there’s only so many times people can bump into me at the mall or cut me off on the highway or speak to me like I’m an idiot before I start to crack.  It’s like everyone gets so caught up in all the hustle and bustle so much that they zoom right by the whole reason for the season in the first place.  Maybe if we all just chillaxed with a hot toddy and/or a hot body, we’d be a whole lot jollier.

Parking Lot Throwdown

    

     Unfortunately, this time of the year tends to bring out the bitchiness in most people.  Everybody’s in a hurry, and nobody’s willing to wait.  Just try going to a mall parking lot on any given weekend during the month of December, and you might find yourself begging your doctor for some Xanax.  Locating and securing a parking place then is like striking gold, and you better flip that freakin’ turn signal on fast if you think you’re getting a spot.  It’s do or die, snooze, and you lose.  I experienced this exact same parking predicament back when I was pregnant with my twins. I’m telling you, mix some very limited parking with some raging hormones, and you’ve got yourself one molotov cocktail.

     When I was walking around all knocked up six and a half years ago, we didn’t have the luxury of “Expectant Mother” parking spaces like they do now days.  Back then, you had to buck up and stake out a space just like all the other peeps out there.  On this one particular Christmas shopping excursion, my hubby was adamant that he was going to get a spot close to the mall so I wouldn’t have to waddle my fat ass very far.  And so, we sat, and we waited, and waited, and waited, and waited, and waited.  Finally, the stars aligned, the angels sang, and we actually saw someone pulling out of their spot. We immediately put on our turn signal to claim what was rightfully ours by the unwritten law of parking etiquette.  However, just as that car was backing out, another car came zipping down the aisle in the other direction.  This a-hole completely ignored the fact that we were already there waiting and zoomed right into the parking space without a care in the world.

     My husband was having absolutely none of this.  He was LIVID and determined to fight for his right to park.  He dismissed my pleads of protest and jumped out of the car to confront the other driver, who just so happened to be a woman.  There was a lot of yelling and gesturing going on, so I decided to roll down my window to find out just what in the hell was going down.  I suddenly heard my husband yell, “But my wife is PREGNANT!“, to which the other driver responded, “Well, so am I!”  I tried to motion to my husband to call off the firing squad, but he was already screeching, “Well, my wife is pregnant with TWINS!!!!”  We had apparently gotten into a game of “My mama’s bigger than your mama”.  I tried as hard as I could to slither my way down in my seat to avoid further embarrassment, but my torpedo belly wouldn’t allow for even the slightest bit of slithering.  My husband finally came flying back into the car, as the other car was backing out of the parking space.  Much to my astonishment, the biz-natch had actually conceded to my husband! We pulled into the spot and did a little happy dance to celebrate our victory.  

     Flash-forward to two weeks later when we’re in our breastfeeding class at the hospital.  Naturally, we were late and picked one of the last empty tables in the classroom.  A few minutes later, another couple waltzed into the room and took the only remaining seats left.  I glanced up just in time to see that the woman sitting down next to me was none other than the parking lot princess — yes, it seemed that the bitch was back.  My palms were sweaty, and I suddenly felt like I was in a Seinfeld episode where everything came full circle.  I had visions of us throwing down right then and there, just two beached whales going at it in a room full of boobs.  To my surprise, though, the chick had absolutely no recognition whatsoever of neither me nor my husband. She was truly just a pitifully clueless human being.  

     I guess when it comes to optimum parking spots, people are willing to bust out the old fistacuffs when and if necessary, especially during the holiday season.  Baby on board or not, it seems that it’s all about location, location, location.  The less steps we have to take to reach the mall, the better.  After all, ’tis the season to be lazy, ya know.

Hell On Wheels

     

     We didn’t have a ton of money when I was growing up, but my parents worked their asses off and literally bent over backwards trying to give me as much as they possibly could.  So, when I turned sixteen, they cashed in an insurance policy and bought me a very used little silver Datsun that they had totally spruced up and pimped out.  I was beyond excited to have my own wheels to drive myself to and from work and school.  Little did I know at the time, though, that this particular ride had a whacked-out/cracked-out mind of its own.  

     I may have mentioned before that I am a tardy person by nature, and back in high school, this was certainly no exception. So when I was finally ready to race out the door and hop in my car, I needed some serious cooperation on its part to zoom me off to school in a quick flash.  However, this demonic car of mine had very different plans for me. One morning when my mom very nicely offered to go out and warm the car up for me, she realized that even though the key went in, it wouldn’t come back out. It was seriously just plain stuck. Since my dad often traveled for business through the week, my mom and I were left to our own inventive problem solving abilities.  We tried like mad to get the key to come out, but it was just not happening.  We even attempted to use liquid dish detergent to serve as a lubricant (I know your minds all immediately drifted to thoughts of sex there with the mention of the word LUBRICANT).  That didn’t work either, so we just ended up turning the car off, leaving the friggin’ key in the ignition, and having my mom drop me off at school that day and the remainder of that week until my dad got home from his trip.  And so began the tale of my psychotic little devil of a Datsun.  

     I can’t remember exactly how my dad managed to get the key out of the ignition, but somehow he did.  However, that was only the beginning of the problems with that unreliable piece of crap car.  One day when I drove it to school, I couldn’t get it to shut off. The key came out, but the engine just kept on running.  I tried over and over again to get it turn to turn off, but it was bound and determined to keep on going. Naturally, I was already late, so I had to just leave it running, lock the doors and race into school. Since this was back before the convenience of cell phones, I had to go to the school office to call my mom at work.  She couldn’t get away from work, so I just had to leave the stupid thing running in the parking lot for the entire school day. Can you even imagine how humiliating that was to try to walk out amongst my peers with my held high and climb into a possessed shitbox on wheels?  The one nice thing was that it was already nice and toasty for me when the school day finally ended.  Somehow, by the time I got home that day, the little demon decided to give its engine a rest and eventually shut off for the night.  (Hell, maybe it had even run out of gas by that point.)

     Unfortunately, though, the problem did not go away.  It actually got to the point where I’d drive it to my job at the mall on the weekends, pull into the parking lot, take the key out, lock the door, and just walk away, even though it was still puttering away like the Energizer Bunny.  My dad would come to the rescue with his Midas touch, since he was the only one who could get it to finally turn off. He always said he’d laugh hysterically when he’d see that little silver beast just humming right alongside all the other parked cars in the lot.  Eventually, he ended up installing a push button starter on the crazy thing so that it would actually turn off when it was supposed to.

     We were all so glad when we finally got rid of that abominable heap of metal.  It was extremely hard to keep a straight face when we sold it to some poor unknowing sap of a buyer.  She had no idea that she was about to learn the true meaning of hell on wheels.  Regardless of how much of a pain in the ass that little car was, it’s just one of the many examples of how much my parents were always willing to sacrifice for my happiness.  I completely understand and appreciate that way more now than I should have back then.