I love Christmas.
I'm a sucker for the jingle bells and little white lights, which I shamelessly string EVERYWHERE. What's that, a bathroom vent? Must! Have! Lights!
My mom and I used to make these “Italian Christmas Cookies,” which I'm pretty sure was not the official name, but since we had the recipe scrawled across some wrinkled piece of paper from the 1800's, who am I to say?
I'm also pretty sure these cookies were the sole culprit of my “big-boned” childhood. Therefore, I cannot decide if I should make them in the name of tradition, or tell those cookies to fuck right off, in the name of my waistline. Decisions.
One thing I do know, however, is that this month has featured anything BUT my big-boned self rockin' around the Christmas Tree.
Well for starters, because I don't have a Christmas tree.
Partly because I've got an above average fear of pine needles infiltrating EVERYTHING, and partly because the Christmas trees here in Costa Rica DON'T HAVE PINE NEEDLES.
Which makes sense, I suppose, given that you can't expect a pine tree to grow in a tropical climate. Which I should have remembered from the third grade when we learned about coniferous trees, but THAT DOESN'T MAKE ME ANY LESS BITTER ABOUT IT.
The cypress trees they use here just aren't the same. *shakes fist in Italian-like manner*
In addition to that, there's been more Christmas fun!
:: Last night, I had a dream that there were worms all over my car.
:: My boobs are huge and hurty and swollen for no apparent reason.
:: Some man left a Facebook comment on the TMF page quoting the bible, telling me I was going to burn in a lake. Does this mean I should I be hoarding fire extinguishers?
:: This past week I had a stomach bug, causing me to vomit so hard I broke all of the blood vessels in my face. (There is no such thing as TMI here at TMF.)
:: I have silver pieces of glitter in unspeakable places, thanks to the silver decorations I bought to be all Martha Stewart.
:: My roots need to be dyed.
:: I'm questioning my intelligence, after beating my brains out trying to put together a 1,000 piece puzzle. (This is what I do on Saturday nights, these days.)
:: The $40 bottle of Tempranillo wine I bought WAS DISGUSTING.
:: Mariah Carey is a snotty bitch and I hate her Christmas songs.
:: I still don't know what Yuletide Greetings is suppose to mean. Is that Russian?
:: I have no idea where I'm going to go or what I'm going to do for the holiday, which has me stressing out so much I actually got a pimple. I do not get pimples. It's the ONE THING I've been blissfully blessed with. NO PIMPLES. Not when I was 14, and not now. Except for right now. Because right now, I HAVE A PIMPLE. A big, mean one next to my mouth. And I'm blaming it all on the fact that there are no pine trees, I'm apparently going to meet my demise by being burnt to death while simultaneously drowning in a lake, and the only good thing about that is that no one will be able to identify the body and see how bad my roots really were at time of death.
Happy fucking holidays.
That said, we really should lighten things up around here.
I want to get all Christmas-ey with you.
If I could, I'd invite you to my house, have a stocking on the wall with your name on it, and convince you to cuddle with me by the fireplace. (While the A/C was on full blast, of course–this is Costa Rica, after all.) You could teach me how to make eggnog, and I'll teach you how to drink it. A fair trade, if I do say so myself.
But since I can't invite you to my real house–on such short notice, at least–I thought I'd do the next best thing, and invite you to my TMF house.
Imagine your stocking hanging on the side of the webpage, Christmas music playing in the background (I particularly like Baby, It's Cold Outside), and all of those silver decorations I mentioned hung in some sort of artistic arrangement that actually looks like someone actually knew what they were doing. (Surely that someone is not me.)
And then I hand you a hot cup of wine, reach out to you, and say: –
“Happy Holidays–I'm so grateful you're here. I got you something! *walks you over to the (annoyingly Cypress) Christmas tree* *hands you gorgeously wrapped box with teal-colored bow* Now, where's the mistletoe?”–
Because that's exactly what it would be like.
And while we can't reenact that exact scenario, I do have a gift for you.
My gratitude for your support, (cheesy, I know.) A big smackeroo on the lips, (because people just don't give out smackeroos enough), and a Top Gun high five.
Because in 2013? We're going to kill it.
Now, about those fire extinguishers…Anybody know where I can get a bulk rate?