Oh wow, more merry merry holiday recaps, thank god.
I can’t even believe I’m about to say this about my own kid, but wow is he so unlike me sometimes! There was only one thing he wanted for Christmas, and had been telling us since at least the beginning of summer. I remember thinking, “A Nintendo 3DS? Wow, aren’t those like, yesterday’s news?” I’m too busy immersed in my own interests and obsessions to keep up with the world of gaming, but evidently, every single Nintendo gaming system was in high demand this season, even the 3DS XL.
Of course, we didn’t know this until three days before Xmas (THREE DAYS BEFORE – we’re getting less and less last minute each year, you guys!) when some asshole at GameStop laughed at us like we just asked to see the motherfucking basement of the goddamn Alamo.
So I decided, on Christmas Eve, that I was going to gently break the news to Chooch so that he wouldn’t be super disappointed on actual Christmas. And by gently, I mean that I s-l-o-w-l-y ripped off that Pokemon Band-Aid while saying things like, “OK promise you won’t get mad” and “Please don’t hate me, but….” until finally I think he figured out where my hemming and hawing was leading (even though I tried to throw the “you’re adopted” curveball at him) and you know what? HE DID NOT THROW A FIT.
How is that my kid?
HOW HAS HE BEEN WATCHING ME THROW TEMPER TANTRUMS FOR THE LAST 10 YEARS AND NOT ONCE FELT THE NEED TO EMULATE ME?
Because if that was 10-year-old Erin and my mom was all, “Sorry, but the Brony phenomenon started 20 years early and there’s not one My Little Pony to be had, I checked EVERY LAST KAY-BEE” I would have slammed ten thousand doors and broken every glass object that dared to stand in front of my testosterone surge.
But Chooch was all, “It’s OK, I understand” and proceeded to be completely happy with the other non-coveted items we bought him.
Whose kid is he!?
Oh right, Henry is a parent, also.
Christmas morning was really good, you guys. It was peaceful. We didn’t fight (not until later at the cemetery but we always fight at the cemetery because using my broken camera makes me lose my temper), just hung out and listened to all of my favorite bands while Chooch had about 19 different toys in action all at once.
Henry is like, so thoughtful.
We could have probably just got him a handful of Pokemon cards and he would have been content.
And scratch offs. The kid loves himself some lottery.
Butt-crack scratch offs.
Papa Bae* got me another beautiful piece of The Cure art to add to the collection! THANKS BAE.
*(Never gets old. To you, it probably does. And definitely to Henry.)
Obligatory Christmas family photo, in between me yelling at them and them rolling their eyes.
Henry brought a ziplock bag of black olives, which made me scream in horror.
“Um, I thought you love black olives?” he sighed.
“I do! But not in this context!” I screamed.
“In this context? You mean, in a plastic bag?”
YES THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT I MEAN, ASSHOLE.
Speaking of black olives! We had our team Christmas lunch last week at Villa Reale. I sat next to Amber1 and THANK GOD I DID, because she ordered a side salad and then proceeded to pick out all of the olives.
I cried, “If you don’t want your olives, I’ll take them!” and so she made a little pile of olives for me, which I later smashed into my slice of cheese pizza. Black olives is basically the only pizza topping I care about.
Glenn and Todd were sitting across from me and seemed disgusted by my olive actions, but I didn’t care. My pizza tasted so much more familiar after that.
Actually, here is a picture of that time it took three people to pull apart a piece of garlic bread, with my olives waiting patiently for their hot, greasy bed to splay across like Miss(es) December(s).
Ugh, erotic olives get me every time!
But yeah…olives from a plastic bag? That’s not hot.
Came home after our “picnic” and spent the rest of the day relaxing, watching Netflix things, not giving a shit about the Steelers, and spying on the neighbors.
Oh, and lots of KpopX workouts!
Well, that was my Xmas 2016. It was kind of perfect, not gon’ lie. Most days, I feel like your basic Schleprock, but on this particular Christmas, I felt pretty lucky. DON’T TELL HENRY I SAID THAT, EW.