Scrooged for the next 39 days

Today is Tuesday, November 22nd and its two days before Thanksgiving. It’s also two days before the mark of my Scrooge emergence for the holidays. I warn you – I give you this full disclaimer – this is an absolute grouch post. If you read on, it’s at your own risk.

I warned you, so here it goes: I detest the holidays. When I was growing up every holiday was decked out, complete with every bell and whistle you could think of, but it’s always Thanksgiving and Christmas that took the cake. I suppose that the holidays are supposed to be about family time and about spending time with the people you love, but why can’t we do that for the other months of the year? Why can’t it be custom to get together on our own accord? Thanksgiving has always been about gluttony and stuffing our faces to the point of having to undo that jean pant button to let the belly bulge way past that of normal food consumption. Christmas has always been about presents.

When I was little the Holidays were absolutely nuts. My brother and I were blessed with a fairly wealthy family growing up, on all fronts, and we relished in the good fortune of those around us. Christmas was absolutely ridiculous. I knew that I was spoiled while I was growing up, but looking back now I know that I was more than just spoiled, it was spoiled to the point of ridiculousness. I think that the main difference between my brother and is the simple fact that I understood that we were spoiled while he did not. Every Christmas it was the same routine – a bunch of small presents (see? I say “small presents”) such as clothes, video games, toys and then we always got a “big” present. One year, when I was fourteen and my brother was ten, we rocked out for Christmas. Nick got a go-kart. My big present? A horse. No lie. My Aunt has a ranch and had, at that time, eight horses on her property that she shared with her next-door-neighbor. The next-door-neighbors horse had a baby and my grandpa bought that horse, Scarlet, for Christmas. I had been training and working with her for almost four months before she officially became “mine.” It’s almost amusing when the joke comes around — “What do you want for Christmas, little girl?” “I want a pony!” — and I can say “yea, been there.”

Our family vehicles always consisted of 4Runners. We had a red one for a long time with a roll bar in the back that I haphazardly swung on like a monkey while my parents drove around town. Seat belts were optional then. Hell, it was the late 80’s, early 90’s! Safety precautions were just that – precautions. On Christmas day, upon departing my grandparents house, the truck would be full to maximum capacity. There was one Christmas that my brother had to sit in the middle seat because, not only was the back full of crap, but it overflowed into the back seat. Looking back, this is just stupid. I am so grateful that I had a family that could provide for me, and I’m so grateful for everything that was given to me, so please don’t think that I am not, but that’s not what Christmas is supposed to be about. It’s supposed to be about baby Jesus, or something. Happy Birthday baby Jesus? Honestly, I don’t know the whole religious aspect of it because I’m not religious, but I do know its supposed to be about family time.

I hate the holidays. I hate Christmas music. I hate Thanksgiving because its just a reminder that “Omg! Christmas is here!” and what Christmas has turned into for me. For the past five years it’s been having to take off work to accommodate both my family and the ex’s family requests. It’s been about the obligation that I’ve felt in order to buy people things, make pretty cakes, homemade mac-n-cheese and spend ridiculous amounts of money decorating my house with Christmas lights, stockings, trees, oh my! Can I go back to hating Christmas Music? Maybe I wouldn’t hate Christmas music if they didn’t start playing it in November in every store imaginable. “It’s the most wonderful time of…THE YEAR!” Yeah, thanks. That’s because the year is almost over and we are ready for a new one. “Jingle Bells!” “Deck the Halls!” Yeah, the only Christmas music I appreciate are the Twisted Christmas Carols. I think my five years spent working for Victoria Secret definitely helped fuel my hate for Christmas Music. Working in the mall during Christmas is enough to kick anyone in the teeth.

What this really comes down to is my little brother. He’s not going to be home and this will be the first Thanksgiving spent without him. Part of me doesn’t care and part of me does. I’ve been living in his shadow and I’ll continue to do so this year, even without him being home. You’d imagine that it would be the other way around; that a younger brother would live in his older sisters shadow, but in this case, you’re wrong. My brother got to go to college and my parents paid for a lot of it. I didn’t. My brother can screw up astronomically and there are just excuses made. Since he’s not coming home this Thanksgiving, that’s all I’m going to here about. Brother, brother, brother and then when he’s home for Christmas, it’ll be the same thing. Brother, brother, brother.

So, now I hate the holidays for both reasons. For the gluttonous overfeeding that is Thanksgiving and for the thoughtless gift giving, holiday blackout shopping and overspending that is Christmas. I think it would be more awesome if a lot of thought went into giving one gift with meaning. Honestly, I just want to spend the holidays in my bed.

I wish I had a hat that I could pull down over my head, down to my toes and that could make me vanish until January 1. Just, get it over with, because I’m already hating the holidays and dreading its arrival. . .

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