The Post Christmas Blog Entry
December 27, 2009 When you reach a certain age and you're childless, lacking a plump friend base, and your family is scattered around the country, Christmas becomes a bit of a chore. It's like having a hyped-up sales associate wearing one of those China-made Santa hats sit on your shoulder and constantly remind you that Jesus rocks, and on your other shoulder is a loud speaker blasting Michael Bolton's rendition of Joy to the World from his A Swingin' Christmas compilation disc. All you can do is grit your teeth and drink a lot.
Every year I unintentionally celebrate Christmas less and less. The celebration of Jesus was eradicated from my Christmas celebration in second grade when my Mom made the realization that organized religion was more disturbing than fulfilling. However, she still accessorizes the tree with her 1975 nativity scene-- the same one that my (now her) satanic kitty, Gloria, chewed Mary and Joseph's faces off of. Over the years family traditions have become less and less prominent. That's right, when you're twenty-six and have not bred offsping, Santa dies. And when Santa is your substitute religious figure, it can be disheartening, the kind of disheartening that makes whiskey and cigarettes seem merry. At least I didn't list prostitutes or heroin.
So the family and I kept it simple this year with the popular Name Out of the Hat gifting system. Worked for me as I was better able to avoid the shopping malls. I had full intentions of sending another care package to a hungry Ethiopian baby, and although I had hoarded a considerable amount of loot for Starvin' Marvin, I missed the deadline to have it shipped-- evidence that I really am a tool bag.
When Will and Matt were passing through town and we did coffee, Will asked if I scored any good gifts this year. I did not hesitate, as I do not hesitate now, to brag that Bear gifted me with a 32" flat screen. Just in case you missed that . . .
A 32" flat screen.
When I asked Will and Matt if they had scored any good loot, he told me that they had not done gifts at all. Why? BECAUSE THERE ARE CHILDREN BEING EXPLOITED IN CAMBODIA. So next time you gear up to brag about Christmas loot, whether it's crap you've given or crap you've received, don't forget the exploited kids in Cambodia. And don't forget to feel like an asshole. And if you didn't give aid to our dysfunctional world this Christmas, consider it in the future, and remember that shipping deadlines are important, too.
Bear and I were feeling bored on boxing day so we decided to go for a drive. What started as a leisurely drive in the country turned into an eight hour adventure through the mountains. We went through Rocky Mountain House and passed through Nordegg, which, after stopping at the Fas Gas and seeing their array of knives for sale, including a "Rambo" machete, we decided Nordegg would be a delightful place to settle down. If I could find some decent photos of the scenery, I would post some, but obviously the people of Nordegg are above frivolous technologies like photos and photo taking devices, and have more important things to do, like make jam perserves.
I had my camera with me but soon realized that my memory card remained stuck in my PC at home. We did, however, take a few photos with our phones.
I believe this was taken before we entered the park, West of Nordegg.
Hwy 11, approaching The Crossing/ Hwy 93.
Headed South on highway 93, not too far from Lake Louise.
We made our way through Banff, then Calgary, and headed home on highway 2. The road was dry, and relatively quiet, and I was knee deep in a sinus induced wanna-be migraine, so I sat reclined in the passenger seat in the coping position. At one point I opened my eyes and saw a white Cavalier cut in front of us, then slow down to match our speed.
Did I mention that it was my car we were driving? My car, as is in the infamous Bon Jovi? The Mustang GT that deserves a certain amount of respect? If you pull in front of Bon Jovi on an empty highway, I sure as shit better be watching your tail lights disappear into the foreground. It's called not driving like Sophia from The Golden Girls. Got that?
When I saw the same Cavalier do it again twenty-minutes later, I used the Lord's name in vain and made some comment about how that [insert f-bombing] [insert explicit word starting with the letter "C"] needs to [insert f-bombing] [insert one more f-bomb] off, followed by another explicit rendition of the Lord's name. And then I probably dropped another f-bomb.
My typically road raging grizzly bear responded calmly, unnaturally calm, and said, "we'll lose 'em". I closed my eyes again and felt my body propel into an alter dimension. A place of speed. A rush so powerful it made the stars under my eyelids shoot like bullets from a submachine gun. I looked at the speedometer. Somewhere above 180 km/hr. I looked in the rear view mirror and the Cavalier was nothing but a memory. A wussy memory. Like those weiney dudes who dish shit but can't take it, and then you make fun of them, and then you forget about them altogether.
As soon as we had gained some distance, Bear resumed normal speed. Later on I opened my eyes to watch the same white Cavalier tuck in front of us and match our speed. Bear laughed, pulled into the passing lane, and once again put the pedal to the floor.
It became apparent that Bon Jovi had become a challenge to the Weiner in the Cavalier, and I took a break from wallowing in my sinus pain to share cheers of mockery with Bear. If we had not been strapped to bucket seats in a moving vehicle, we would have bumped chests, and chugged some beers, and done one of those complicated, man-homie hand shakes that require a step-by-step tutorial and at least thirty seconds to complete.
We were almost back in the city when we could see Weiner weaving in and out of traffic in attempt to. . . well, pull in front of us and slow down, I suppose. We discussed his desperation to impress his girlfriend who sat shotgun. We considered his commitment to the cause, and figured that he had probaby popped his collar at some point in hopes to improve aerodynamics. I pondered the size of Weiner's weiner and guessed that it was probably around four inches. Four inches at full attention.
Awww.
Bear and I were warming as our cold hearts felt pangs of empathy --poor Weiner. With Christmas spirit still tingling our jaded souls, we did our good deed and we let Weiner pass.
So kids, Christmas isn't just about scoring loot. Nor is it just about some jolly fat guy with a white beard, or a holier than thou skinny guy with a hippie beard. It isn't just about stuffing your face with caloric cancers, or wallowing in self pity over a twenty-sixer of whiskey. It's about giving back. Not only to the exploited kids in Cambodia, but also to the twenty-year old boys with minimal sexual experience who wear those f!cking multi-colored skate shoes that look like giant mushrooms from Rainbowland and who drive around in Cavaliers with something to prove but lack the inches of manhood to prove it.
Hope you all had a merry Christmas and enjoy the New Year.
Reader Comments (5)
Last year we spent Christmas on a bus to Laos. I had made the comment THIS holiday season that "Christmas is stressful as an adult". Being in the country and in a serious relationship meant I had two Christmases to attend. And since Matt is essentially the Grinch, I did all of our Christmas shopping for both sides of the family. Anyway, on boxing day, when I finally had the day off from work AND family, I felt quite relived that it was all over. I miss sleeping all the way to Grandma's in the car and then waking up and opening presents without a care in the world.
relieved**
I know what you mean. It's just not the same anymore. IT'S JUST NOT THE SAME.
Torr,
You're a hell of a lot nicer than me. The last time some dipshit did what the Cavalier guy did to you guys I followed him to his next stop, pulled him out through his window and double pumped his face. :)
Don't feel guilty for exploited Cambodian kids, you're not Cambodian and have no responsibility for their exploitation.
32" Flatscreen :) NICE!!!
Love you Vagisil!
Anusol
HAHAHAHAHAHA. :) Awesome.
I've missed your comments.
Love you, Anusol!