Saint Nick’s Day

So, we’re full swing into the season – I’d say Christmas starts the second after the Thanksgiving turkey is carved, but we all know that’s bullshit. They were putting Christmas out in the stores before Halloween had the chance to bless us with its ghouls and frights and hot chicks wearing their lingerie out to the bars. The commercialism in this country irks the fuck out of me; I want to take a beat to appreciate the spectacle that is a group of Fembots in the flesh without being distracted by worries that the stores are going to be all sold out of sugar plum fairies by the Day of the Dead, damnit. I like to believe that I’m an easygoing human being, but this nonsensical bullshit that I have to do the school supply shopping on the 5^th of July lest we miss out on all the fun pocket folders can go fuck itself. Really, it gets me aggravated.

At any rate, the other afternoon I had some time to kill after work and before the date I had planned with a guy who services me quite well, so I decided to use this window of opportunity to go pick up some things for my daughters’ Saint Nicholas stockings. Yes, in our house we celebrate Saint Nick’s Day. Some Catholic traditions die hard, if at all. I enjoy upholding this one for a few reasons.

First, it’s a nice little teaser before Christmas. As a kid, I always got excited and appreciated the extra bump of wonder and delight – it intensified the anticipation of the big day, and I am a whore for anticipation. It’s prolly my favorite emotion. I love using the power of my mind to build something up or knock it down before it’s even tangible. Deciding in my head how I want a situation to unfold, then replaying it a few times to help firm up the details and consider possible curveballs really helps me prepare myself for certain scenarios that I’d rather not be caught off-guard in. It also helps me nail the magic if that happens to be what I’m working to create, which in this case I am.

Reason number 2. This is the time when my daughters receive their set of Christmas pajamas. Because, what good does it do to get Christmas pajamas on Christmas? Don’t you wanna wash and wear that shit on Christmas Eve so you wake up the next morning already properly dressed for ripping open presents and gulping down hot cocoa? If I unwrapped a gift that was Christmas pajamas on Christmas morning, that would be the climax kill to end all climax kills. I’d secretly add them to the donation pile in the midst of cleaning up the aftermath.

And lastly, this is also the time when my daughters each receive their Christmas ornament to hang on the tree, and it was the fucking ornament snafu that got me started on this rant in the first place. There I am, riding high on all the delicious treats I was easily able to collect for my little monsters, including Terry’s Chocolate Oranges with POPPING CANDY, standing in Target in front of the entirely picked over, pretty much empty ornament rack, and my ornament boner died. Hard.

What in the fucking fuck? Today is November 30^th – how in God’s name is Christmas GONE already?!

My plan for getting those uber-special ornaments for St. Nick to deliver had been foiled. Or maybe it was pure recklessness on my part for not having purchased the fucking things back in August. In either case, I felt defeated and annoyed and disafuckingpointed.

Don’t feel too sorry for me, though – I ended up getting it figured out. I’m good at rerouting. Plus, it helps to have an elf who’s happy to help. Fuck those other elves who tear up your house overnight and create extra messes for you to clean – they’re right up there with the people who do their Christmas shopping in July.