That's right. As the left-over turkey starts to dwindle, and most of the wine is gone, and the sky is gray, and the death reports from Walmart have been filed . . . 

It's December.

Christmas Time!


and the biggest problem with a blog is that you can't hear the sarcasm oozing out of everyword.

I'll have to fix that at some point.

Anyway, it's Christmas time. And I'm not talking about the religious festival/celebration/whatever, I'm talking about the American Appropriated Season of Stuff.

The Season of which Black Friday meets Baby Jesus in a UFC cage match. 

Don't get me wrong, I'm all about consumerism.

'Taint Obamanomics that's going to save capitalism, it's Target and Pinterest and The Food Channel.

Washington may be all about Big Oil, but Rachel Ray is all about Big Beef.

I can't sure if this is true or not, but I heard a rumor that Hallmark actually paid for Martha Stewart's bail bond.

Anyway . . . my secondary point is . . . go! . . . spend . . . spend!

My primary point, however, is that I was hoping this year to be filled with more Christmas spirit than I currently am.

Decades in the retail business have sucked out all the love I have for tinsel and the smell of nutmeg and peppermint and human kindness. I was hoping, that this being my second holiday season away from my monogrammed apron, that I would sort of relax into the spirit and start looking forward toward decoarations and pine and wrapping paper and strolling mindlessly through mega-malls looking for things that can only be described as "Cute".

I wanna pull something off the shelf after hours of digging around and squeal with glee "Oh, she'll love this!"

Yeah . . . you heard me.

Squeal With Glee.

Though, I must admit, if my wife ever caught me with any sort of sense of glee, she might actually die of a heart attack.

My joy could kill her.

So I'm gonna have to take it easy. I'm gonna have to hold off on any high pitched baby talk for at least another few seasons, but maybe this year I could suggest a few of those activities that I know she loves. Like, I could say something like "Hey . . . after dinner . . . lets take a ride and go look at the christmas lights."

That might shock her a bit . . . but it won't kill her outright.

I could put up the christmas lights before she gets home, so that she can drive into a winter wonderland.

(I did this the first year we were married and the look on her face was the happiest face I'd ever seen from her and the first time I had to warm up the defribulatar.)

And you might ask yourself "Why be such a humbug when just a little effort of cheer would make all the difference in the world to the people you love?"

My answer of course "Really? . . . You wanna talk easy fixes? When was the last time you were at the gym asshole?"

But no . . . it's true . . . a little cheer goes a long way.

So for those of you, who, like me, treat the Christmas Season like it's a serial killer and find yourself hiding in closets instead of shopping for mistel-toe, consider making a few consessions.

Learn some Christmas Carols. Wear a sweater with pinecones on the front. Watch "It's a Wonderful Life." sometime this week instead of having it on in the background on Boxing Day. Call your mother.

There's an advent calendar (one of those cheapie ones with the terrible chocolate) that's been sitting on my piano since late October and looking at it again for the millionth time, I just realized that today is December 1st, and it's time to start popping those little flaps open to begin the countdown.

It's Christmas Time isn't it?



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