Chrisuckmas

Christmas always sucks for me. Which in itself sucks because I love Christmas, but apparently Christmas hates me. My earliest Christmas memory was at approximately 4 years old. I remember wishing and hoping for an Easy Bake Oven all year long, or, for what seemed like all year long; but at 4 years old it could have been a whole week, who knows. Anyway, the point is, I wanted that Easy Bake Oven and I was going to get that shit. So, all of a sudden it was Christmas Eve and time for bed. I was so excited I could barely sleep. Morning finally came and I ran to the tree to tear into my gifts. After ripping into gift after gift and tossing each one aside and moving onto the next; I get to the end of the pile and my mom says "Oh, look....there's one left" and there at the back of the tree was this giant box. It was so beautiful! This was it, I could feel it in my tiny bones like old people feel the rain coming! My very own Easy Bake Oven. I could finally bake treats in a flash all day long! I tore the wrapping paper off as fast as my little fingers could tear and revealed that glorious pink box and read those 3 little words EASY.BAKE.OVEN!!!!!!!!!! I screamed and began to jump up and down with so much excitement. "Wait.... open the box" my mom says with a nervous tone to her voice. I don't need to open it! I know what's inside!! Then I notice the look she gives my aunt. The "Oh shit, I'm in trouble look" and the world stands still. I don't know who opened the box or how it was opened but the next thing I remember is looking inside this giant empty box at a red and black puffy shirt with matching prairie style skirt. This memory has haunted me my entire life. Many years later, I remember having drunken sex with my future husband while my gay friend threw up in an Easy Bake Oven box nearby. I blame it on my mom. Both the being drunk part and the having sex before marriage. How else was I supposed to cope with the loss of my Easy Bake Oven? Maybe if I had gotten one I would have been at home baking mini brownies in a flash instead of riding my boyfriend into the vodka tainted sunset while a gay man slept on a couch nearby.

Unfortunately, things never really got any better as far as Christmas is concerned. On multiple occasions I found letters from Santa under the tree explaining that the reason I didn't get a scooter, a barbie mansion, or roller skates was because Rudolph was testing them out before Santa delivered them and the bitch broke them. It's a wonder I didn't turn out to be an avid hunter. Of course, several years later, my sister received all three of those gifts on one Christmas. When I pointed out that those were things I wanted when I was little my mom simply replied "I guess the Elves fixed them".

About 8 years ago, my husband (before he was my husband) had his own apartment. We decided to have our own mini Christmas before he left to go visit his parents in another state for the Holiday. I had put a lot of effort into getting him the perfect Christmas gifts. I was so proud of myself for purchasing the engraved flask and the stocking full of various sexy items for the extra merry Christmas send-off I had planned for him that evening. I couldn't wait for him to see the gifts I so carefully and lovingly chose for him. So, I let him open his gifts first. Then it was my turn, there was only one gift under the tree for me, he had several gifts under the tree for him. So I thought this single gift has to be pretty amazing since it's the only one, right? Wrong. It was a bottle of vodka. That's it. Just a bottle of vodka. Which, let's admit, was really for him anyway since he was going to, first help me drink it ,and then take sexual advantage of me after I drank half the bottle. Asshole.

The first Christmas we decided to actually spend together was a year after the vodka incident. He invited me to spend Christmas with him at his parents house up north. His mother had never been a huge fan of me, so I was extremely nervous. I put all my effort into buying gifts for his parents that I hoped they would like, it was really difficult considering I didn't know much about them other than the fact that they hated me. I decided I wanted to change their opinions of me. Voodoo dolls resembling me would probably be a big hit but wouldn't help my cause. A few days before Christmas we packed up and made the 12 hour drive to their house. We brought my dog with us, and as soon as we arrived at their house, my dog runs in and lifts her leg and pisses on a potted plant by the front door. While we are cleaning up the pee, the dog runs over and craps on the fireplace. Awesome! This was definitely the first impression I had in mind. Surprisingly, everything else went well. They seemed to like their gifts, or at least not hate their gifts. Although, they probably would have been happier with the voodoo dolls. They even bought a few gifts for me! Then it was time for Christmas dinner. My family is a little bit country so I was accustomed to eating Christmas dinner, buffet style, on a paper plate and sitting on the floor or wherever you could find a spot. The future in-laws do things a little differently. We ate dinner in the formal dining room with different courses of food and silverware we were supposed to use for certain courses. There were even name plates for 4 people!! What, is she afraid one of us will be seated next to someone we don't like? Then why the hell did she put me between her and her husband? I sit down at the table and find 2 forks, a spoon or 2 and maybe even a few different knives. There were also 2 plates and a bowl all stacked on top of each other all fancy like. The future mother in law made this disgusting carrot soup which she knew I didn't like but her son loves (by the way, this is the only time in 10 years she has made that disgusting soup so I'm pretty sure she did it to spite me), since she knew I wasn't going to have any soup she took my bowl back to the kitchen and told me it was okay for me to start eating the main course. I take the top plate and start loading it up. I look down and see all these utensils staring up at me. There are 2 forks! I quickly try to remember what the hotel concierge told Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman about the order of silverware when eating a fancy meal. I couldn't remember. So, I just picked one as quickly as I could before drawing attention to myself. I had already sat there staring at the forks long enough. I began to eat, I was enjoying my meal, then all of a sudden the future MIL looks over at me and says with a snooty chuckle, "You're using the wrong plate. That's for salad." I look down at my plate and notice the larger plate underneath. Since there wasn't a salad on the table I thought the bigger plate was just a decorative charger. Since I usually crack jokes when I'm nervous, I reply "Oh, I thought the larger plate was for dessert. My bad." Everyone laughs except her. Instead of laughing, she says "You're using the wrong fork too." At this point, I'm mortified and can't think of a joke because I'm too busy holding back tears. So, I simply say "I'm sorry" and continue eating. That night I got the shits. I'm convinced she poisoned my crab cakes since I was the only one eating crab cakes. I am funny about pooping. I try my hardest to keep it from being too obvious that I am pooping so I went to "take a shower" and pooped. I pooped so much it required multiple flushes so I flushed once, got in the shower, then got out of the shower and flushed again; but there were still dooky streaks on the bowl. So, I took one of her fancy disposable shower caps and covered my hand with it and used one of her fancy guest toothbrushes and scrubbed the poop streaks off the bowl and flushed a final time. I should have put the poo-poo covered toothbrush and shower cap back in their cute wrappings and neatly placed them back in the drawer. But I didn't. Or did I? Things were not going well at this point. I could not wait to go home. We left the next morning, I cried the entire 12 hour drive home.

Believe me when I say that things haven't changed. This year my in-laws are living with us. My father in law took a job near our house and they sold their home up north. They're in the process of buying a house near us and have been living with us while they house hunt. It's a pretty stressful situation. I'll go into detail another time. I've been stressed out for a number of reasons and pissed at my husband for several days now. I am so excited about Christmas this year since it is our daughter's first! I have been talking about decorating the tree for a few weeks now. Yesterday was the first opportunity my husband and I had to bring the Christmas stuff down from the attic and decorate. I had really been looking forward to it. I couldn't wait to take cute pictures of the baby with the tree. Maybe put an ornament in her hand and pretend she is putting it on the tree and take a picture. Adorable. I spent most of the day cleaning house while my husband brought stuff down from the attic. He set up the tree and had just finished putting the lights on when our daughter, who is teething, started having a meltdown. So, I had to take her up to bed. My husband came with me and helped me give her a bath. While I was feeding her, he said he was going back downstairs to get some water and would be right back. It was 30-45 minutes before he came back. I had a really bad feeling about this since his mother had been going through the ornament box as I was taking the baby upstairs. Surely, he wouldn't decorate the tree without me! Right?! I mean, he knows how excited I've been. So, when he comes back into the bedroom I say "The tree isn't decorated is it?" he replies with this excited little "Yes"! Him and his Mother decorated the tree together!!!!! Without me!!!!! The hell? So, I spent all day cleaning up after everyone so that you and you're mother could decorate my Christmas tree without me? I guess I'm just the maid. I'm still excited about Christmas. Just in a different way now. I can't wait to see what a giant mess this Christmas will be!

A Bucket of Double Downs and a Wedding... 2nd Attempt

So, I had a long version written and ready to go when I accidentally deleted it. I'm very depressed right now so I've decided to go with a much shorter version. First I'll start with a very brief history as well as a disclosure of sorts, then we'll get to the trashy part. Which, let's be honest, is the main reason you're reading this.

First, let me say that I love my sister and really do want the best for her. However, she is very gullible and naive which makes it very easy for someone to manipulate or take advantage of her. She has chosen to marry someone that several family members are not very fond of because we feel he does take advantage of her. They have been together for a year now and he has managed to take advantage of several of my family members as well as myself during this year long relationship. While you read this, please keep in mind that this is my version of events as well as my opinions. For now, we live in a free country and have the right to express our own opinions, which I always do. Your opinion might not be the same as mine but that's the wonderful thing about living in this country. I always try to look on the funny side of life and find the humor in every situation. This is not meant to be mean, it is meant to lighten the mood of the situation and hopefully make everyone smile a little. If you can't laugh about it or if you think I'm being mean then stop reading now.

My sister has accumulated several names/nicknames over the years. For the sake of this story, she will be referred to as Tuna and her new husband (vomit) will be referred to as Sir Eats A Lot (because he does). Again, if you can't handle my humor... stop now.

When my sister announced her plans to marry Sir Eats A Lot, no one was excited. Since she had dated him briefly in high school but had broken up with him due to his tendency to ask, scratch that, demand free handouts; we all assumed he was just a rebound from her most recent break-up. Unfortunately, we were all wrong. After insisting she planned to marry Sir Eats A Lot, my mother offered to pay for the quickie wedding my sister wanted. My sister decided to get married in Gatlinburg, which is a beautiful town but it's like the Vegas of the South as far as quickie weddings go. Since my sister isn't allowed to make any decisions, Sir Eats A Lot chose the wedding chapel and wedding package. Tuna said he chose it because he wanted to get married by the charming little creek. So, the plans were made and my mother paid the bill and we all loaded up the truck and moved the family to Gatlinburg for the weekend.

Sir Eats A Lot decided that everyone should meet up for a pre-wedding lunch at KFC. The groom chowed down on a bucket of double downs before squeezing himself into his button down shirt. When we pulled up to the Abiding Grace Wedding Chapel (go ahead and google it, you know you want to), the first thing I noticed was that the charming little creek was actually a sewer run-off with trash floating down it. As I entered the chapel, I was quickly ushered down to the bride's room to help my sister change out her pre-wedding attire, super long men's basketball shorts and a too tight t-shirt which left little to the love handle imagination (this must have been the conservative innocent virgin look). Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with a little cushion for the pushin... who am I to judge with a booty that can make a black girl jealous? I do take my fashion seriously and my sister and I have always butted heads when it comes to this, the poor girl just wasn't born with a sense of style. That being said, there are ways to dress in order to flatter your fatter. After zipping my sister into her busting at the seams dress (for real), I ask her what she plans to do with her hair. She replies that Sir Eats doesn't want her to style her hair or wear a veil so she plans to walk the plank, I mean aisle, with a 2 tone diy dye job and slightly frizzy half straightened hair. I would love to have helped but alas... Sir Eats calls the shots round here.

The aisle was too narrow for anyone to walk my sister down the aisle so the father and stepfather of the bride had to wait at the end of the aisle to give her away. Tuna cried throughout the 6 1/2 minute ceremony, Sir Eats A Lot looked hungry. Since I wasn't sure if he would spontaneously combust out of his clothing first or charge the aisle and devour the first small child he reached, Ryan and I chose the seats in the very back. Safety first! After the quickest ceremony in the world ( we should be contacted by Guiness World Records any day), we were forced to take pictures with the happy couple. The photographer kept commenting on how miserable I looked, I was mostly just distracted. I kept looking around for the quickest exit. There was no way I would be able to run in heels with 15lbs of baby belly in front of me if Sir Eats lost his control over his hunger and decided to make me his 2nd lunch.
After the wedding, we were supposed to enjoy cake and cider. Sir Eats A Lot was not about to share... he asked the wedding coordinator to pack that thing up so he could take it home. At this point, while not completely surprised I was a little shocked that he would invite people to drive out of town to watch his bigness get married and then pack up the cake and refuse to share. The only reason I even got out of the jacuzzi bathtub (not too hot, don't want to hard boil the baby) in our chalet was to have a piece of cake. Hey, I'm 6 months pregnant... I have an excuse and you know butter cream frosting is the shit, especially when it's formed into a little rose.

After the wedding, instead of a reception, they asked everyone to meet up at the local Golden Corral for 2nd lunch. When I asked why they chose Golden Corral over a more suitable restaurant, Tuna explained that Sir Eats loves a buffet. Of course he does. So, everyone changed back into casual clothes. My sister wore the same too tight t-shirt but decided to go the Britney Spears route and spice things up a little post wedding ceremony, so she traded her over-sized basketball shorts in for some short shorts that gave everyone an excellent view of her Grand Crackyon when she bent over. At Golden Corral, everyone enjoyed a plate or 2 of buffet goodness before hitting up the ice cream bar. Sir Eats A Lot, not wanting to be out done by anyone on his wedding day, indulged in 5 plates of fried foods and meats before hitting up the dessert buffet where he piled up 2 plates of sweet treats. Just a little something to hold him over until he can eat the entire wedding cake and wash it down with an entire bottle of cider.

So, that's all folks. I hope you enjoyed it. By the way, the newlyweds now share the last name King. That's right, Tuna King and her husband Sir Eats A Lot King. We didn't take any pictures of the wedding. I think we all want to try to forget it happened. They did have a photographer on site though so maybe you will all get lucky and I will obtain some of these pictures in the future.

The Bates Motel is Alive and Well

This was originally an email sent to my MIL documenting her son's attempt at having me viciously and brutally murdered on our "vacation".

The Arkansas trip was good. Except for the Bates Motel that your son made me sleep in. It was called the Relax Inn which is ironic because I couldn't relax. It looked like the hotel out of the horror movie "Vacancy" (http://www.sonypictures.com/homevideo/vacancy/). You know how my sense of smell isn't the best.... well the first thing I noticed when your son opened the door to our room was the smell. It smelled like mildew and dust. Probably because no one had actually slept there since the 1970s, and I'm pretty sure they may have died there b/c the smell was awful. Your son claimed he didn't smell anything, nice how his selective smelling occurs when he's trying to be frugal rather than when he's farting. So, we walk into the room and I realize after seeing the wood paneled tv that the room hasn't been renovated since it was built in 1962. After stepping further into the room I realize it probably hasn't been cleaned since then either. I usually try not to be picky about hotels and suck it up. Not this time, I announced I would be sleeping on the bed but not under the covers. I stepped into the bathroom and notice that the window above the shower looks like it might be open a little and defective because part of it is kind of hanging off. I also take note that it is entirely too small for me to climb out of in case the same killer who brutally murdered the last occupant returns for us. Which I'm certain will happen. I feel around for the light switch to get a better look at the bathroom that hasn't been cleaned since the brutal slaying in the 1970s. My fingers come in contact with some sort of knob which I instinctively turn. I'm surprised when the light and fan both turn on. Surprised that the knob actually made this happen, I look back at the knob and realize that it is actually a timer. Which makes complete sense since the light is so bright it's giving me a much needed tan and it's also so hot that I'm pretty sure it would catch on fire if left on longer than the 15 minute time limit. Hence the smell of smoke. Fully clothed and wrapped in my own blanket, I carefully check under the bed for the decomposed body or bodies of John and/or Jane Doe from the 70s massacre. After not finding anything out of the ordinary (for this hotel) I decide it's safe to sleep with one eye open and behind my husband who slept on the side of the bed closest to the door. Since I had nothing that could be used as a weapon other than my car keys I decided that the attacker would pounce on him first since he is 1.) closer to the door and 2.) larger and stronger. My plan was to jump up and run around the killer and my husband who would be his only victim that night, while holding my car keys which could be used to remove the killer's eye if he tried to grab me. I would run out the front door with our dog following behind me and we would jump in the car and drive back to the highway where i would call 911 and hope they got there in time to save your son. A few bruises, scraps, and cuts would be his lesson on picking shady hotels.

I've copied my husband in on this email so he can defend himself if he feels it's necessary. Or if he would like to explain why he tried to have me murdered.

UPDATE: My husband did not attempt to explain his choice in hotels nor his attempt at having his amazingly wonderful wife snubbed out.

This is the shady suspect practicing eating a turkey leg, anticipating eating my leg after having me slaughtered at the bates motel. Cannibal.