Christmas Confessions-Christmas Eve Edition

Well, here it is. As I sit here typing it is officially Christmas Eve. Has been for about 8 hours now. And yet, I feel nothing. Nothing, that is, except the heavy weight of all that I need to do. And the inkling of a feeling way, down deep inside me. A feeling that I have been trying to ignore for a long time now. Perhaps now is the time to just get it out there and admit it.

Y'all I don't think I like Christmas. **GASP** I know! Right? I am not ready to admit that I hate it, though there are aspects of it that I do hate. But honestly? If Christmas were a friend, it would be that high maintenance bitch cheerleader high school friend who always wanted to talk only about herself and her problems. Remember her? She prissed around all perfect with her hair and makeup and flippy little cheerleading skirt? She only talked to you when all her other perfect cheerleader friends or boyfriends were unavailable? Or when she needed help with her English or civics homework? That bitch would be Christmas.

You know, we do well most of the year. Some of us struggle to maintain our lifestyle, some of us struggle to just get by. And then, November rolls around. And there she is, staring you right in the face. That bitch, Christmas. On the television, in the mall, on the town square. She's all glittery and perfect and demanding and crap, just waiting for you to hand over your homework. You stand there all schleppy and beaten down from the first 11 months of the year, and for one moment? Usually around Thanksgiving? You think you can be good enough for her.

She tells you that if you can do enough, buy enough, spend enough, bake enough, cook enough, run enough, party enough, dress up enough, do your hair, have sparkly nails, decorate your tree just right, sing carols, make your home look festive enough, if you can do all this? You might, just might, be good enough to be friends with her. But you have to sing carols, visit shut-ins, go into debt, attend all the right parties, buy all the right gifts, and have a patented sympathetic look for all the others who just can't afford to be so perfect in their holiday appreciations.

Every year I do it. Every year she gets me. Despite the fact that in high school I gave a big f-u to anyone who didn't want me around. Despite the fact that I dressed crazy and was not like anyone else in school. Despite the fact that I had a few friends in every social group, yet no one group to really fit into. Despite the fact that I proudly wore my neon colored Culture Club, Duran Duran, and Cyndi Lauper t-shirts into school, having to walk past all the smoker/stoner kids in their black Metallica, and Rush t-shirts who constantly make smart ass comments to me. Despite all this, I want Christmas to be my friend.

All year long I think of the awesome, elaborate, over the top things I am going to do, cook, bake, and decorate. All year long I think of the great, perfect, one of a kind gifts I will bestow upon my family and how they will love them and think I am the best. All year long I think of how beautiful my home will be, all glittery and glistening in the soft lights, beautiful inside and out. I think of the family dinner where everyone is formally dressed and sitting around a long dining room table, toasting with wine and reviewing what a wonderful, fortune filled year they had. All year I say, I am going to do better this year. And I believe it, y'all. I really do. Even when Thanksgiving gets here I still think I can be it all, do it all, afford it all, and make a wonderful, sane, refined, sparkling Christmas for me and everyone around me. And do it with easy. Why? Because that Christmas bitch told me I could.

And every year I end up where I am today. Christmas Eve. All the holiday parties are behind me, and some of them were nowhere near as fun as I thought they'd be. Mostly time spent with people I don't really even know or usually make time to be with. I got the outside of the house decorated, but it isn't anywhere near as elaborate as I want it to be. I got my tree up exactly a week ago. I am still working on getting it decorated. I got no baking done, no wonderful elaborate homemade gifts done, few gifts purchased, and feel like a major holiday fail. Once again, Christmas is walking away from me, heading toward another girl who looks like me but has a lot more time and money and focus and talent, enough to make the Christmas of her dreams. As they walk off together into the new year, that bitch Christmas flips me off and calls "better luck next year" over her shoulder. I hate you, Christmas, with the burning fire of a thousand suns.

Next year? Christmas? You're dead to me. Ya' hear me?

***The portrayal of Christmas as a bitchy high school cheerleader is not based on any one person, and really has nothing to do with my experience with cheerleaders or any of those with whom I may or may not have been friends with in high school. I am sure cheerleaders can be as nice and wonderful as all the rest of us once they are all grown up. This story is, obviously, fictional.***