The holidays are here again. It seems like just yesterday I was searching for my living room floor under the mountain of gifts bestowed by grandparents upon their only grandchildren for their first Christmas.
Now we’ve got a gated tree only a quarter decorated, as toddlers test the barrier for weak spots. In honor of Chrismahanustice, all of this week’s winecones will be of the mulberry cinnamon-spiced variety. Also, I’ve spiked the cider.
Happy Hanukah! Tonight is the first of eight crazy festive nights. A Blessed Winter Solstice! May you enjoy the moonlit darkness on the shortest day of the year. Merry Christmas! May you hear the jolly one exclaim, as he drives out of site, “Happy Christmas to all, and to all some merry mighty winecones!” (Come back next week for Kwanzaa and New Year.)
Keeping with the holiday theme, I would like to hurl the aforementioned holiday winecones at those with so little to do, that they take offense at any well-wishing proffered in their direction. If I wish you a Merry Christmas, it does not mean I’m proselytizing. It does, however, mean I wish you a stocking full of coal if you glare at me. Happy Holidays! I’m not going to get upset about this one either, as it could encompass anything from Halloween, my birthday, Thanksgiving, Veteran’s Day, Thanksgiving, Hanukah, Christmas, Boxing Day, Kwanzaa, New Year – or any other day that grants you a day off work. Smile and reply with your choice of smackaroo and we’ll both be on our merry way.
If you flick a lit cigarette butt at my children, may a garland of winecones slowly strangle you. (This is story is explained in explicit detail with impolite language if interested in the full story.) Even in my fury, my profanely violent subconscious was throwing winecones.
We’ve got a bunch of anonymous submissions, but I’ve got to give a quick technical love tap with the blunt end of a winecone to the interwebs. Stop crashing on me!
RSV. The plague has hit our house and hit it hard. I’m surprised our Christmas tree isn’t coughing too. After spending a sleepless night in the hospital monitoring an infant with pneumonia, my older son and I haven’t left the bathroom floor. The whole family likely has RSV, which apparently presents differently in adults. We are now the proud owners of our very own nebulizer. Ugh.
Editor’s note: A spray mist of albuterol-flavored winecones to make you feel better. And perhaps a colorful bouquet of winecones to add some cheer to what sounds like a miserably dreary holiday celebration.
Christmas carols. I hate them. And why do they have to play the same damn ones over and over and over and over and over…Bad ones!
Editor’s note: Before a single winecone is hung by the chimney with care, I would like to clarify that absolutely no harm will come to “Carol of the Bells.” That is my favorite; there is just something peaceful about it. To the rest, may winecones smash the offending speakers in a manner that may just ring out a carol of the winecones. And because I can, IT’S THE CHRISTMAS CAN CAN! (It’s funny dammit.)
I want to throw one at the rude old man who came up to my friend and I after we had just eaten lunch at our favorite Mexican restaurant. He asked what we ate and we said “bean burrito” and then he said, “You girls don’t need bean burritos, they’re full of fat.” Jerk!
Editor’s note: Wow, somebody’s clearly going to be spending the holidays alone. Winecones flung straight at his (what I’m guessing wasn’t an Adonis cutout) gut. Everyone knows calories don’t count this time of year.
We’re going literal this week. Mistletoe! A beautiful poisonous plan surreptitiously placed to bring joy and embarrassment to all who find themselves embracing beneath its superstitious charms. May you all find yourself alone under the mistletoe with someone who makes you smile.
I know we spend a lot of time discussing the things that give us nervous tics, so this week a giant smackaroo with my gift to you – some other awesome blogs that will make your cheeks hurt from laughter instead of winter frostbite. Holidays are stressful, you know you deserve some laughter.
Read these. They don’t know what the holy hell they’re doing either, but trust us – this stuff’s funny. Maybe you can thank me under the mistletoe later <wink>. (Yeah, yeah, Stop Wine.)
- Anne Nahm: Anonymous housewife. If she gets outed, she is totally effed.
- The Bloggess: Like Mother Teresa, only better. (Her words, not mine. But she totally is.)
- Cake Wrecks: When professional cakes go horribly, hilariously wrong. (What? You don’t want to eat a disturbingly dirty Santa/Rudolph cake?)
- Cubicle Views: Are you reading this from a 6×8 doorless polyester walled cell? You would do well to take in CV’s observations and thoughts on surviving the 9-5.
- People I Want to Punch in the Throat: Self-explanatory title. She would do well with some winecones.
‘Till next week, winecones and kisses!