This Year I’m Giving You Genital Warts.

Watching the holiday cooking segment this morning with Regis, Kelly, and her kids as they were flinging sugar onto each other and making a big mess of the set, I couldn’t help but think that the scene would definitely not have played out in my own childhood. Of course they were playing things up for the cameras, but I could easily imagine holiday baking at Kelly’s house with those precocious kids being such a cavalier affair, she is rich after all, and can afford to be playful, and no doubt has the domestic staff to clean up after such carefree dalliances.  

My Mom was probably playful once but parenthood and life had changed that, and she was the one who would have been cleaning up the mess as she had been all along, so she wasn’t so inclined to goof around. Mom was the girl in a patriarchal household and she was the one who had the “responsibility” to maintain the house that was home to me, my brother, and my Dad. I cannot begrudge the woman for not tossing sugar all around the kitchen willy nil, because there was not a snowballs chance in hell that we boys would be around later to help make sense of the fray. 

My Dad doesn’t understand the concept of playfulness to this day and he is 66, but back then he was so tight that the man undoubtedly had to unlace his asshole to take a shit in the morning. I used to sneak out of the house as a teenager by going out of my bedroom window and my Dad would be more angry that I used the window instead of the door than he would that I snuck out in the first place because teenagers sneaking out is to be expected, but using the window showed a lack of respect for what he had worked so hard to achieve.             

Sonya invited me to go and spend Xmas with her and her parents this year and I can’t help but compare the idea to the most overplayed of all Xmas fables, Dickens’ holiday classic. We dated for over four years and spoke of the possibility of a marriage, but it was the same old story, woman wants more than the man is willing or able to give. Having her invite me to come and be with her and her family at this most familial of times is like being visited by the ghost of Christmas that never was. Of course being much less masochistic than I was as a younger man, I readily declined her invite preferring, this holiday season, to remain as I came into the world and as I will go out of this world, alone.  

You could call me a Grinch but that would be a misnomer because the green fiend is merely indicative of a particular season, (despite what the 1977 Emmy nominated Halloween television special on CBS would try and have us believe), I on the other hand am cynical, angry, bitter, and pissed off all year round. There are no dead trees in my home decorated with ornaments or anything else, and no one is going to show up in the middle of the night to give me anything other than some drunken kisses and an STD.  

My boss went to pick her girlfriend up at work the other day and while she was waiting in the lobby noticed there was a crèche on display. Upon closer inspection she noticed that the only men in the scene were Joseph an unwed father, and the shepherds, all of whom were decidedly unwise guys. The three who reportedly followed a star from lands far off had not gotten there yet it would seem. Upon inquiry the business owner who had assembled the incomplete nativity revealed that he had left them out on purpose, because they were astrologers.  

Holiday once meant Holy Day, nowadays it means spend and buy and then spend some more, and because I have no money the relevance of the whole occasion is lost to me. There is no “war on Christmas”, except for the actual war that is being waged somewhere far away on Christmas day and the other 364 non Christmas days of the year as well. The presumed holiness of the day is long gone much like the three missing men in the crèche, and we have instead allowed consumerism to become the reason for the season. Give til hurts this year people, and then take until it doesn’t hurt so much anymore.  

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