|Mark's beautifully decorated, yet cluttered, fireplace mantle.|
There are things I like about Christmas. I like the lights, the decorated trees, the parties, some of the music, the liquor, seeing the half of my family that will show up on Christmas day. It could be such a great holiday if it wasn't for all the things I hate about it. Like the commercials that now start in September. Chicagoans aren't ready to give up on summer until mid-November, but there they are in September with Santa and gently falling snow, trying to sell you shit. I have learned to hate much of the music. Most of the holiday music that is played on the radio is bad. There is probably only five or six Christmas songs that I actually look forward to hearing. The rest suck, especially after hearing them ten thousand times. If I hear those fucking chipmunks one more time, I'm going to put my foot through the radio. And then there are the gifts. I really do not need a gift. Unless that gift involves alcohol, or food, or both, I would rather not get a gift. It will probably just sit around the house until I can figure out who to re-gift it to. Mark loves that part of Christmas. He loves the gifting part. Each and every Christmas that we have been together, he has instructed me as to exactly what gift I was to buy him for Christmas. Most of those gifts now sit unused in closets. And god help me, we now have a basement. Room for even more un-needed crap. I look around this house and I am amazed at how fast Mark has cluttered it up. So that is two reasons I don't like gift giving. It costs me money that blows the monthly budget, and it contributes to the clutter in this house.
So Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays, but not Kwanzaa. I'm not going to celebrate Kwanzaa. I don't need another goddamned holiday intruding on the birthday that I don't celebrate on December 27th. Unless you are going to bring me alcohol, or food, or both.