It's always over too quickly

Wow, is it that time of year again? Why yes, it is! It’s time for Post-Holiday Disappointment, Shame, and Remorse. Disappointment when you opened a box containing a tarnished “Almost Gold” rope necklace your cousin found in his attic and re-gifted to you…Shame for getting drunk and loudly mocking giant inflatable lawn ornaments in front of your aunt only to learn of her fondness for, and judicious installation of, giant inflatable lawn ornaments in her own front yard… Remorse for wrapping a half-empty bottle of Avon Skin-So-Soft and giving it to your grandma.

No, those things really didn’t happen to me this Christmas, but I wish they had, because they would have been sort of funny and given me something interesting to write about.

My holiday season was kind of like a Hallmark card: cheery, only a little nauseating, but ultimately, a bit stiff. I say "stiff" because I pulled (or ripped, it really seems more like a complete rip) an important-feeling muscle in my lower back the night before a three-day celebration bender with family, much of which entailed riding in automobiles with poor shocks, excessive bending, impossible twisting, carrying of heavy packages, and repeated lifting of a chubby, wriggling, barking dog.

No, I have little reason for remorse, shame, or disappointment this holiday season. I received everything I wanted: a new teakettle, a decorative outdoor thermometer, good health despite consuming an excess of dairy, heart-warming new memories with friends and family (even though we arrived at my grandma’s after the drinking game had ended), and firm reassurance that my own moral compass is well-calibrated. All that last one took was a reading of Tucker Max’s I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell.

Ladies? Mothers? Sisters in arms? Married or single? Don’t worry, there’s something here for everyone. For those of you with husbands, this book will help you fall in love with yours all over again and bring you to your knees to thank the merciful lord that you are not single and running into men like Mr. Max in bars. For you single women, let this book serve as a warning, perhaps a roadmap that will help you forge a battle plan should you run into a character like this.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

In other news, I finished Amy Sedaris’s book. Does she have an official fan club? Because I want to join. Not only that, but I want to run for president of that fan club. I didn’t even mind that my back screamed in agony every time I laughed. It was worth it. Buy this book, savor it, and make yourself a Fuck-it Bucket and an eye burrito.

Sidenote: did you know that “A Charlie Brown Christmas” was conceptualized and funded in 1965 by the Coca-Cola Company? My reaction to this news was to cast my eyes skyward, jaded and disillusioned, and utter, “A crummy commercial?”

And finally, a special thank you to Tammie for the key lime pie recipe AND the key limes. (How awesome is that?!?! Key limes direct from the sunshine state from a very cool blogger!) Unfortunately, I took this as a cue to attempt a meringue topping, which began to sweat brown droplets of sugary condensation and slide off the entire surface of the pie in a most unappealing manner after a few hours in the fridge, so I didn’t take a picture of it. It still tasted like Mardi Gras, fitting into your skinny jeans, and the last day of school combined.

Which is to say, GREAT.

PS: scone recipes from the last post coming soon!