Making a List and Checking it Twice

The five day work weeks between Thanksgiving and X-mas are total buzz kills. The joy of the long Turkey Day weekend is a distant memory, and I struggle to get through these doldrums of winter before I can enjoy the back-to-back five day weekends I have coming up at the end of this month.

Of course before I can revel in this time off, I need to do some X-mas shopping, attend holiday parties, fly to California and back, watch the Steelers win the AFC North and get ass fucked by the furnace guy and the car guy and the electronic black-jack dealer guy,whom I swear is a 60 year old Asian woman. Those old Asian dealers always work me like a fifty-cent-a-day, soccer ball making, favella living, Guatamalan bitch.

While I love the holidays, with all of the alcohol consumption and the constant grazing on cheeses, nuts and cookies, I feel like my bank account gets hammered like my Uncle on dollar beer night. As adults at what age do you stop giving each other gifts? My brother and I haven't given each other a X-mas gift since the 80's. The wife and I did away with the practice a solid decade ago, and while some may frown upon this practice and decry Bah Humbug, it works for us. I'm an adult if I need or want something I buy it. I don't wait for my birthday, or a holiday, or the chick to prove she isn't a cop, I just take out my wallet, whip out some coin, and go about my day.

Now, don't get me wrong I am all about presents for the kids, but my X-mas list has become ridiculous, because I don't need or want anything. Last year I asked for an ant farm, a bubble gum machine, a lava lamp and a breathalizer. This year I am asking for a laser pointer, a Jack Lambert fathead, a snowboarding Wii game and a new liver. As my wife says "How old is the guy who made this list? 12?!". I've reached an age where I ask for stupid shit, because it's the only thing left that I wouldn't mind having, even though I would never buy it for myself. I cruise the Sky Mall, Spencers and Brookstone websites regularly this time of year. Jealous?

So as you sit there reading this, mocking my x-mas list choices, let it be known that I got more enjoyment out of watching my ants dig tunnels in an illuminated gel for six months than I ever did out of the 100th Navy sweater I got from a distant relative. And on x-mas morning when you are opening your adult gifts of boring clothes with little polo players on them, or if you're cheap some non-descript man, animal or random mythological creature stitched just above your left nipple. I'll be burning my sister-in-law's cat and my daughter's retina with a laser pointer and trying to blow twice the legal limit into my new breathalizer. Livin' the Dream.

*Slams cover of laptop, does a crotch-chop and yells suck it bitches. I Rule!*