So, I’m tapping away on my keyboard finally wrapping up the painful conclusion to a three-part sarcastic holiday series I wrote called- Things that make the season JOYFUL and whooooops… apparently, I can’t count.
Somehow, numbers 8 and 9 were lost in the clusterfuck of chaos.
Appropriately, flushed down the toilet like a holiday turd.
No surprise there, as this time of year, chaos tends to completely dominate my existence, much like an elephant sitting on a flea.
Therefore, this post is a proverbial bandaid intended to mend this clusterfuck, so I can put it all to rest once and for all.
This holiday and this post are quickly becoming a nightmare episode of Groundhogs Day where rabid zombie gophers suck the sanity out of our brains using a tiny bar straw.
Numero 9 (I’m putting it ahead of #8 because I fucking said so– K?) is…
Batshit Crazy Relatives in the house EARLY.
Holiday Tip- If your son ever breaks his collarbone snowboarding, hold on to his extra pain meds with two hands. Use the white knuckle death grip if necessary, because those babies will come in handy the Saturday morning after Christmas when you wake up with the headache from hell, and your crazy family is on their way to crash into your living room like Japanese kamikaze pilots on hallucinogens.
Rewind- I thought I had agreed to having a dinner-thing sometime like after 4:00 PM. It’s not even noon, I have sleeping teenage bodies draped across every horizontal piece of nonjagged furniture in my house, dishes and half eaten food everywhere, and the crazies on route.
Hell no I’m not cleaning my toilets, emptying the trash or even removing the newest hairball from the stairs.
Pearl Harbor was not a pretty sight.
Things that make the season JOYFUL #9- batshit crazy relatives…. in the house. Early.
The Things that make the season JOYFUL is far from over. The big moment is not when the fat lady sings, but when I slide into home base, otherwise known as New Years Day… face first.
Then you may applaud LOUDLY.
If I’m not dead, I may join you.
Oh shit, did we forget # 8?
Chaos wouldn’t be authentic if things were smooth and orderly.
Appropriately, out of order #8 is fried brain cells.
My extended family has finally retreated and the homestead is now marginally quiet. At least until my daughter’s annual New Years Eve/Birthday bash on Tuesday.
I’m finding it quite difficult to put words and especially thoughts together right now, as my brain cells seem to be experiencing a sort of coma.
So, for now, I shall kick back on the couch in hopes of magically regenerating a portion of my sizzled grey matter.
This fried brain coma state was most likely the result of random family members poking it with invisible dull pins and/or from the consumption of a katrillion calories. Probably both.
You may not have even known the katrillion concept existed. Consider yourself enlightened. Do not attempt to eat this much at home though, because you will undoubtedly become an amoeba sloth like me.
I’m seriously afraid to look in the mirror right now, because if Honey Boo Boo’s mom is looking back at me I will freak the fuck out.
Anyway, an amoeba sloth is what the hungry caterpillar REALLY turns into when she gorges on holiday comfort food that’s something like a katrillion (delicious) calories.
It went something like this…
She ate through two pans of lasagna, one holiday ham, three extra cheesy sausage rolls, four trays of Christmas cookies, one fudge roll and one bottle of Godiva chocolate vodka.
Nope. There’s no beautiful butterfly here. No way in hell is this body lifting off the ground. Blame deep fried gravity dipped in a spicy delicious chocolate sauce.
What you do see is an amoeba sloth, which is a slow, jiggly, and rather quiet creature that doesn’t do much of anything except eat, sleep and breathe.
This has been an Extreme Mom Bedtime Story exclusive.
Let the brain cell regenerating begin… NOW.