It’s not that I hate the holidays. I actually really like them. I like them so much that I want everyone else to participate in my fucking joy.
This is probably why I got pissed off at the two fucking Grinch douche canoe managers at my local grocery store last week. I was shopping for charity and they wouldn't take all of my coupons. Two managers came over to me in the checkout line (because I am obviously a bad ass couponing mother fucker who needs the fucking goon squad to make me back down) and informed me that regardless that the purchase was for charity I was not allowed to use the coupons. I made them say it a few times just so the people in line behind me would know that they were complete asshats. I wanted to say, “IT’S FOR FUCKING CHARITY YOU FUCKING COCK SUCKERS”, but I didn't because I’m classy.
I also had to go to the mall and get the annual "terrorize the toddlers" photo for my collection. I really think it gets better each year. I'm pretty sure last years Santa retired or set himself on fire after my kids visited.
I have wondered for awhile why both of my kids growl at me. The other morning I found out why. It was 4 a.m. on Christmas morning and Mike’s fucking phone alarm goes off. Who the fuck sets their alarm for 4 a.m. on Christmas morning, you might ask? My douche bag husband. I don’t even know why he set an alarm in the first place since he has never used one and will never use one and even if the fire alarm were going off inside his ear in a an echo chamber with fire ants eating his genitals, he still wouldn't wake the fuck up. Anyway, it was 4 fucking a.m. and I couldn't figure out where the noise was coming from and then I found it. And I growled. I growled at my sleeping douche bag husband. I was already pissed off from staying up until 1 a.m. playing Santa and getting the gifts wrapped and stockings filled and eating cookies. I also knew that my youngest soul sucking child would be awake in two hours because that’s how he rolls.
The first holiday meal I cooked for Mike.
I had bought a
Turkey and cooked that bad ass bird
for hours and it was fucking beautiful. I made all the side dishes and a pumpkin
pie. Mike apparently named the turkey
and fell in love with it for all the wrong reasons and wouldn't eat the fucking
thing. He said it was because the
carcass was still in the shape of a bird and he could identify what he was
eating. NEWS FLASH DUMB ASS: IT’S CALLED A TURKEY.
After several years of nobody eating a damn thing I make for Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, Birthdays, etc… I have given up. Last year I didn't cook a damn thing. I really don’t think anyone noticed. This year I announced I was ordering dinner. My first thought was to call the Cracker Barrel and they told me they only did ham. I hate ham. Mike loves ham. I called around. Publix did a turkey dinner with all the trimmings. I ordered it. Then I lied to Mike and told him that I had called the cracker barrel too late to order their meal. Gobble Gobble Mother Fucker.
I’ll make it up to him next year by making a Pop Tart casserole or something.