Tag Archives: Christmas

Alternate kick-ass uses for the creeper Elf on a Shelf

Posted in Holiday Bullsh*t by

 

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*Replace his limbs with juicy hotdogs and gift him to your hungry dog or pet cheetah

 

*Wind him around a cardboard roll to use as emergency toilet paper

 

*Roll him in Cheese Whiz and strategically place in rat trap to guarantee… “not a creature is stirring.”

 

*Install creepy light-up eyeballs that activate when your naughty kid gets out of bed at night – *submit this to America’s Funniest Videos for a chance to win $10,000 to cover your childs future therapy bill

 

*Wrap him around a plunger and unclog the toilet of festive holiday leavings

 

*Fill with sand and carefully position at the end of your driveway as a speed bump for cocky teenagers and unwelcome solicitors. *spikes optional*

 

*Fill his head with bacon grease and explode it in the microwave for a science fair project, totally winning the science fair

 

*Replace his hands with tongs to help remove the extra-parts–that-don’t-belong-there-in-the-first-place out of the holiday turkeys caboose

 

*Fill his legs with catnip and film the best YouTube video EVER- starring your cat

 

*Lube him up and use as a holiday-themed tampon for heavy flow days

 

*Fill him with fire ants and gift to your favorite coworker, relative, ex-boyfriend or boss

 

*Use as canine pleasure companion for when your dog gets humpy

 

*Give him a stylish steel wool afro and use his sorry noggin to scrub the green stuff out of the fridge

 

*Put your hand up his butt like a puppet – to keep it from freezing when brushing the snow off your car

 

*Soak him in lighter fluid to use as festive fireplace kindling and/or roast his vodka-soaked nuts on an open fire

 

*Make him into an ugly sweater for your litter box scooper

 

*Replace his insides with elastic and use to sling-shot frozen monkey poop at people who hold up the line at the DMV

 

*Use him to put out small fires, like the next time your kids blow up the toaster oven

 

*Use his extra long legs as ties to hold your kids barf bag around his neck during flu season

 

*Replace his stuffing with pennies and use them to pay for your next Taco Bell order

 

*Use as an absorbent mop head to soak up toxic spills… like the explosive aftermath almost always created when well-meaning relatives sneak your dog table scraps

 

*Replace his head with a clove of garlic and fasten him to the front of your straight jacket to keep vampires and crazy relatives away. Eat his head in an emergency

 

*Use to clean up the bloody mess when your 15 year old with ADD gets her period

 

*Place a bulb syringe in his hat and use him to suck the sticky boogers out of your uncooperative toddlers nose

 

*Fasten to your car bumper to cushion the blow for poorly located deer and pedestrians, thereby sparring Rudolph’s life and potentially saving Christmas

 

*Use as an incontinence liner for grandma, so when she gets run over in the annual reindeer stampede… she won’t lose her sh*t

 

Read more Extreme Mom holiday stories here.

 

Things that make the Seasons Joyful- or Not

Posted in Everything Extreme by

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Apologies for the off-season bullshit.

I couldn’t agree more.

Any and all persons posting off-season content on the inter-webs pertaining to the frosty C-holiday ought to be tarred, feathered and run through the wood chipper… twice.

I know, that’s a bit harsh, but the C-holiday doesn’t exactly bring out the best in me. In fact, it’s stress-filled obligatory energy has me spiraling right into the Grinchy Hulk, which is a creature similar to the oversized kick-ass green guy, except with a more wicked, vile disposition and impressively thick psychiatric file to boot.

Grinch Hulk is a force to be reckoned with.

Sing it…

“You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch. You’re a muther-duckin prick…”

The following rewrite is a necessary polishing where all of my estranged holiday posts have been carefully strung together like a holiday turd necklace… for your reading pleasure.

Also, I’m sending a copy to each degenerate elf in the North Pole who have nothing better to do as they’re drying out during the annual substance-abuse rehab.

It’s kind of like a community service for short overworked toy-making indentured servants, to prevent them from going North Pole postal.

This is your final chance to turn back. Stop reading. The C-holiday is about to be mentioned.

You have been warned.

 

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Things that make the holidays JOYFUL #1

My favorite part of Christmas is definitely when the kids haul out all seventy bazillion boxes of decorations, dig through them like little spider-monkey’s-with-ADHD-on-crack, flinging festive fuckery everywhere… and LEAVE.

I did say LEAVE.

POOF… they’re gone.

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Leaving you standing like a catatonic deer caught in Hells headlights.

It looks like hung-over Satan Santa threw up all over my living room.

Shit. is. everywhere.

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Things that make the season JOYFUL- #2

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FuckYou lights.

They’re distinctly different from regular holiday lights because A. they don’t light and B. they’re wrapped around mutherfucking-garland, which is obviously different from regular garland because it’s tangled in fuckyou lights.

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Things that make the season JOYFUL- #3

Dismal song lyrics at Christmastime.

Who writes a holiday song about a sorry-sap kid who spends his last dollar buying new shoes for his terminally ill mom?

Is it the songwriters intention to suck every last bit of merriment out of an otherwise festive occasion?

Why not just drown a litter of blind three-legged puppies?

Note to my children- if you buy me shoes as a departing gift, I will hurl them at you like a boomerang. A more thoughtful gift would be something in the ballpark of 80ish proof.

Perhaps the dying mother was an ancestor of a certain Wizard of Oz character and her well-meaning offspring assumed her shoes would be the FINAL impression she left on the world, much like her witchy cousin from the east, in which case and only then, bitchin shoes would be a must have departing accessory.

THAT makes perfect sense and would make the song considerably less pitiful.

Hurray for bitchin shoes.

When I leave this world, I definitely want to be wearing ass-kicking shoes, preferably red patent leather that were not necessarily a gift from my children and probably something I bought from QVC when I was drunk on 80 proof spirits that was gifted unto me.

The lyrics have a whole new meaning now. You will never be able to hear it again, without thinking of flying houses, brooms and shiny red shoes.

You’re most welcome for that.

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Things that make the season JOYFUL- #4

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Clusterfucks.

Unfortunately, there are unlimited examples of this particular brain piercing phenomenon.

Today, we’re specifically referring to holiday light clusterfucks.

I have in hand, brand new lights right-out-of-the-box that happen to be a very complicated and entangled cluster. of. fuck. because, as you already know, the fuckyou lights died.

May they rest in peace be recycled in Hell.

I’m tempted to hang them… as is.

In which case, they’d pass for a big fat snowball decoration, which makes sense, since I have a strong uncontrollable urge to hit Santa right smack in the wiener with a frozen snowball. And for the record…I don’t throw like a girl.

I think the sadistic light boxer-upper people over in China are laughing their asses off smoking weed on the assembly line.

“They never get these untangled… bahahahahah!!!!”

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Things that make the season JOYFUL- #5

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Santa’s reign of TERROR

Let’s face it, Santa’s one creepy mo-fo.

He’s been scaring the bejesus out of innocent children and small domestic animals for centuries.

It’s certainly not difficult to understand why our naive fragile counterparts are scared shitlesss.

He’s a seedy looking vagrant who pops up annually, sticking out like a sore thumb in society.

It’s true that he could probably pass for a fuzzy mutant garden gnome, but that may not exactly be an asset for him, so we’ll just scratch that and move on.

The BIG guy’s larger than life, like a gargantuan stuffed toy that escaped from the crane game, and came to life with the sole purpose of condemning and passing judgement on innocent children.

Judge, jury and executioner.

No wonder kids are terrified.

Yet, parents everywhere continue to feed their children’s greatest fears by unknowingly repeating ritualistic holiday threats.

“Santa’s watching”

“He’s can see EVERYTHING you do.”

“He knows when you’ve been good or bad so be good for goodness sake. Oooohhhh… you better watch out!”

The mixed messages sent by trustworthy adults are absolutely riddled with holes.

“Don’t talk to strangers, unless of course they’re dressed like an oversized garden gnome that escaped from the Home Depot and you want a new Xbox for Christmas… then it’s okay, but only during the last two weeks of December.”

How utterly confusing.

Kids are like animals, they can sense danger.

Their instinctual shrill cries, kicking and screaming are your warning signs to abort mission. Get the hell out of Macy’s.

Now.

Run.

I also heard somewhere that if you play the vinyl 45 record of Santa Clause is Coming to Town backwards, it actually sounds like Highway to Hell, which by the way would be an immense improvement.

Just saying.

Not only is the whole Santa thing unsettling, it’s downright unfair to children.

It’s virtually impossible for kids to behave all of the time. Even the most well behaved kids are gonna slip up now and then.

Messing up is what kids do best.

It may not even be big slip ups, but to the normally well behaved kid, something like feeding your asparagus to the cat, tinkling on the guest towel in the bathroom or undressing your baby sisters Barbies and posing them in compromising positions may be enough guilt to send you spiraling over the morality cliff- straight into a life condemned by Santa induced pyscho-therapy.

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Santa Substitutes?

After careful consideration, I came up with a list of Santa substitutes that would be significantly less threatening, and therefore more likely to deliver a reaction from children that isn’t terror.

A kinder more gentler holiday mascot without the fangs and claws.

The potential replacements up for consideration are…

*A cutsie spider monkey with a candy cane striped tail. I can imagine this guy swinging from the branches of the Christmas tree. I’d definitely enjoy Christmas trees more if they had monkey’s frolicking in them. Monkey’s are fast, efficient and fun. They could also be rented out anytime after Thanksgiving to complete all of your dreaded holiday errands and attend obligatory functions in your absence. Perfect.

Obviously, they’d poop Hershey kisses.

*The Grinch AFTER he smokes a doobie. (or ten) If he’s feeling too grinchy or he’s already booked up, Cheech or Chong will do in a pinch. Those guys are Fun with a capital F. Plus, they have the required facial hair, can smoke a mean pipe and would be happy to indulge in your obligatory holiday munchy offerings of cookies and milk.

More obscure yet fun replacement options could include…

George Burns.

He’s dead you say?

My point exactly – still less scary than a red velvet garden gnome who smells like beef & cheese.

So, there you have it.

Potential replacements for reign of terror we call… Santa Clause.

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Things that make the holidays JOYFUL #6

Live sap-regurgitating pine trees that contain something like eleventy gazillion pine needles that will inevitably end up in your underwear… and other dark recesses.

Especially when said sap bleeding monstrosities are acquired during a blizzard… when it’s 10 degrees and blowing out.

Jack Frost definitely blows.

Hell NO, I didn’t cut one down like Carolyn Fucking Ingalls on crack.

Leaving my warm castle and driving to the farm stand in frigid conditions was already extra credit in my mom call-of-duty book.

It went something like this- “That one looks good.” And, a new Christmas-tree-picking-out-record of under 5 minutes was made.

My eeny meeny miney mo blind selection wasn’t half bad either. This year I won at Christmas tree roulette.

Technically, she’s not fully decorated but that’s all I’m going to do. If my minion elf staff would like the remaining dozen or so bulbs and tinsel hung, they can do it themselves.

No kidding… we still use tinsel. The only real perk is glittery dog and cat leavings.

Really.

The yard and litter box are beauteous. Even our pets help defecate… decorate.

Yes, live trees are lovely and they smell amazing, but after 20 something years of pine needle enemas, I’ve finally had enough. Who needs the extra work and aggravation during this joyful season of stress, exhaustion and pulling the last hair out of your head?

Count me out.

A couple of years ago, against my families wishes I bought an artificial tree, figuring it would grow on them.

Technically, I lost by a vote of 5 to 1, in favor of a REALmutherfuckingmessofatree.

I don’t concede easily, so I presented my fake tree as now-we’re-one-of-those-hip-families-with-two-trees kinda thing, hoping sooner or later they’d accept it and I’d be free from tree fuckery forever.

Notta.

I’m still waiting.

For the record, it’s not just the sap and needles that makes my hair stand straight up like Marge Simpson, it’s a combo of that and the ceremonial wrapping and unwrapping of the FuckYou lights, which are inevitably tangled, dead or both every. single. time.

I absolutely despise dancing the tango with lights. The end of that chapter almost always involves scissors, alcohol and singing the annual holiday overture called FuckThis and FuckThat.

So, for the next few months, I will be dissecting pine needles out of my unmentionables and chanting the FuckIt overture.

Having sex with a hostile sticky porcupine (which is actually a tree) is número 6 on the… Things that make the season JOYFUL list.

Next…

Things that make the Holidays Joyful #7

FRIGID temperatures and an over abundance of the nasty white stuff.

Winter sucks Frosty’s snowballs.

Word.

Screw snow.

Also screw Jack Frost, the Abominable Snowman, the Winter Warlock, Snow Meiser, Yukon Cornelius and his pet Bumble, Mr. Softy, Queen Frostine from Candyland and the entire cast of Ice Age.

The only acceptable snow is found in a margarita.

Margaritas and Christmas cookies… perfect.

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Things that make the holidays JOYFUL #8

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Baking Obligatory COOKIES.

I just renamed Italian drop cookies… YouStickyBastardMutherfuckers.

It seems fitting.

No wonder my Italian ancestors drank so much wine.

Also, since this description happens to fit so many varieties of the cookies I attempted to bake, I shall assign them each a number at the end of their like name.

Example- YouStickyBastardMutherfuckers #1 are snickerdoodles, YouStickyBastardMutherfuckers #2 are Italian drop cookies, and so on and so forth.

Things that makes the Season Joyful #8 is Baking Cookies- those StickyBastardMutherfuckers. I love/hate you.

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Things that make the holidays JOYFUL #9 is Christmas cards.

Not sending them.

Just say no. Let’s save the rain forest together. I for one, am super conscientious of the negative effects deforestation has on my monkey friends.

Monkey’s live, play, eat and fling poop at other monkey’s from trees. (that may or may not be evergreens, but that’s totally not the point here)

One can therefore conclude that Christmas cards are made from bulldozed monkey-family condos and Chuck E. Cheese primate establishments where baby monkey’s eat banana pizza and play Whack-The-guy-in-the-yellow-hat.

Insensitivity toward monkey’s comes to mind when I think of sending Christmas cards, and my love for monkey antics far outweighs my tolerance of humans.

Join the 21st century people and send an e-card.

Also, if you send one card, you have to send all 75 cards, and quite frankly I no longer have it in me.

My goodwill meter run loweth.

I’m a monkey enthusiast who prefers mischievous furry primates with long tails over most humans and I’m totally okay with it,

Note- I happen to love getting YOUR cards. Keep sending them, especially the ones with photos. I love those. I however, have chosen to become an exclusive e-communicator. If you ever get a hand written note from me, know that I’ve definitely been abducted by aliens.

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Next…

Things that make the holidays JOYFUL #10

Mutherfucking turkey, which is distinctly different than regular turkey found in glossy magazine photos or that you’re invited to eat in other peoples homes, because it’s dirty greasy carcass is found in your very own kitchen, that’s why.

I’m sorry if I shocked you by blurting out MUTHERFUCKING TURKEY, but it came shooting out of my brain like a kamikaze pilot. It also came directly from the heart, meaning I really meant it.

I’m a ham and lasagna kinda girl from way back, because A. Saucy Italian food trumps meat and potatoes any day and B. Ham is a no nonsense meal. Meaning, you stick it in the oven with unpeeled potatoes and POOF… Dinner is served!

No sticking your entire arm up the turkey’s ass to remove a neck that shouldn’t be in there in the first place, only to turn around and stuff it with stale bread.
Furthermore, the fancy bird-beast requires mashed potatoes, meaning you get to peel (step one), dice (step two), cook (step three), mash (step four), and cleanup (step five) peeler, spoon, mixers, pot, strainer, bowl, not to mention, bandage your bloody knuckles and clean up potato peels that are everyfuckingwhere, except in the garbage can.
Fun fact- potato peels stick infinitely better than those window clings you decorate with on holidays.

Screeeeeeeeeeech!!!

I almost forgot to bitch about the gravy. The hubinator makes his own gravy, adding an open canister of flour of which most is airborne, a colander, sifter, grease separator, small sauce pan and gravy boat to the on-deck prep station adjacent from the sink from Hell. Yes, he makes his own gravy and it’s delicious. A delicious explosion in your mouth and all over your kitchen.

There are so many steps involved in the preparation of turkey, potatoes and gravy that the FuckYou factor is amplified by like a kazillionish.

You could travel to a foreign country and back in the time it takes to prepare and clean up the dreaded aftermath from a festive birdzilla dinner.

Young ladies, take my advice and have the absolutely-NO-turkey-on-holidays verbiage added to your prenup agreement immediately. You will thank me.

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Things that make the season JOYFUL #11 is The Groundhogs Day Concept.

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The Groundhogs Day Concept-according to the movie starring Bill Murray and not the furry rodents big debut in February that he almost always fucks up.

What I mean is, you wake up and it’s Christmas over and over and over again.

My sister and her family live out of town, so in addition to having a full blown Italian seafood feast on Christmas Eve and a Mutherfucking turkey on Christmas Day, we celebrate with her family after Christmas, accounting for Groundhogs Day #2, 3, 4 or however many days they stay.

The prep, the food, the extra bodies, the clean-up… over and over.

Note- not only do these tiring celebrations extend through Christmas, they continue into the final week of December encompassing my oldest daughters birthday and New Year’s Eve. We’ll call these Groundhogs Day #5 and #6 respectively.

Don’t get me wrong- I love my family.

However, I do not joyfully embrace an entire week of holiday overstimulation.

It hurts my brain and makes me grumpy.

Just ask anyone.

There seems to be no flicker of light at the end of this seemingly endless dark holiday tunnel called perpetual Groundhogs Day.

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Numero 12 is…

Batshit Crazy Relatives in the house EARLY.

Holiday Tip- If your son ever breaks a bone the first day of snowboarding-after-you’ve-dumped-several-hundred-dollars-into-equipment, hold on to his extra doctor prescribed feel-good pills 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 calls to say they’re on route to crash 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 comatose teenage bodies draped across every horizontal piece of nonjagged furniture in my house, dishes and half eaten food everyfuckingwhere, and the now crazies on route.

Just… Shit.

Hell no, I’m not scrubbing my toilets, emptying the trash or even removing this mornings hairball from the stairs.

Pearl Harbor was not a pretty sight.

Things that make the season JOYFUL #12- Batshit crazy relatives in the house… EARLY.

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The Joyful series was supposed to wrap up after #12, making it- The 12 Painful Days of Christmas, but thanks to the Groundhog’s Day Concept, it keeps going and going and going…

Stick a fork in this furry rabid rodent, people… I’m done.

Finite-o.

But wait… there’s more!

Act now and receive #13 – The Brain Crisper Addendum absolutely free!

In fact, we’ll double your order… to make certain your entire brain is toast.

At this point, your brain probably looks something like a deep fried rice Krispy treat.

Sizzzle.

This holiday and 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.

Quite appropriately, things that make the season JOYFUL #13, the grande finale and unlucky número 13 is… Deep-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.

God give me strength.

At this point, I’m finding it difficult to put words or more specifically- lucid thoughts together as well as wipe my own drool, because my brain cells seem to be experiencing a sort of coma that’s probably a precursor to brain death.

They’ve gone up in a glittery puff of smoke.

This unfortunate deep-fried state of my grey matter may or may not be the result of random family members prodding my cerebellum with invisible dull corkscrews… or quite possibly from the indulgence of a katrillionish empty calories.

Probably both.

Do not attempt to eat a katrillionish calories at home because you will undoubtedly become a brain dead jiggly amoeba sloth just 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 cheesy, gooey, deep fried calories dipped in chocolate sauce.

It went something like this…

She ate through two pans of lasagna, one mutherfuckingturkey, three extra cheesy sausage rolls, four trays of Christmas cookies- thosestickybastardmutherfuckers #1 – 4, one fudge roll and one bottle of Godiva chocolate vodka.

Burp.

Nope. There’s no beautiful butterfly here.

No way in hell is this amoeba sloths massive carcass is lifting off the ground.

 

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This has been an Extreme Mom Bedtime Story and holiday exclusive.

All functioning grey matter has been destroyed in the clusterfuck of holiday chaos.

No surprise, as this time of year, chaos tends to completely dominate my existence, much like an elephant sitting on a flea.

Let the brain cell regenerating begin… NOW.

The Things that make the season JOYFUL is far from over.

The grande finale is not when the fat lady sings – Grandma got run over by a reindeer, but when she finally face plants into home base otherwise known as New Years Day.

Then you may applaud LOUDLY.

If I’m not dead, I may join you.

The End.

Have an Extremely Happy New Year!!!

Extreme Czar of Special Days

Posted in Everything Extreme, Facebook Parodies by

Dear Trigger-happy-Facebook-sheep who re-post anything and everything,

I have a bone to pick with you that goes something like this… EVERY day can’t possibly be Mental Illness Day, Special Needs Day, Autism Awareness Day, ADHD Awareness Day and Every Other Cause Under the Sun Day.

It just can’t.

This unnecessary grassfire of confusion is total bullshit.

Someone grab the BS extinguisher and douse the ignorance inferno already.

Each cause is entitled to an allotted day, month or whatever.

Fair enough.

I totally respect special cause days. Awareness and education are key in promoting support and acceptance.

My point is simply… the verbiage is all WRONG.

Let’s get it right people, because the inconsistency hurts my brain.

Think of it this way. How outrageous would you be if someone posted, “TODAY is Mother’s Day. Repost on your wall for 30 minutes if you love your mother” on ANY random day in July and December and wheneverthefuckever… over and over again?

It’s ludicrous.

Everyone knows Mother’s Day is in May.

So when this crap pops up repeatedly in December, your brains like “WTF man? Stop messing with me.”

The brain can only be pushed so far before you can fry an egg on it, like in that very famous this-is-your-brain-on-drugs commercial.

This is your brain on Facebook.

Ssssssssssizzle.

So, get your shit together people.

On a completely different, yet worthy note I’d like to officially hose down those lame bully tactics daring you to re-post or share if you’re not embarrassed or ashamed of the said cause or what-not.

Screw you, Facebook bullies. You’re not the boss of me. I’m a rebel who will re-post nothing when manipulated or threatened.

No can do.

Bite me.

Obviously, Facebook could use some sort of official calendar czar to sort through and regulate this ridiculous chaos.

Clearly, people are confuzzled over what-in-the-hell day it REALLY is and I fear that soon they’ll be stuffing chocolate bunnies into red fuzzy stockings waiting for the ADHD Fairy or Temple Grandin to leave them a shiny red choo choo train filled with common sense.

It’s very similar to the wise familiar tale, “The little boy who cried wolf.”

Let’s face it, when something shows up in your newsfeed every single damned day, the BIG event is reduced to background noise when it finally rolls around. It’s SPECIAL is kaput.

It’s kind of like the repetitive movie Groundhogs Day, which quite frankly makes me want to swan dive off a tall building directly into Rodney Dangerfield’s stinky golf bag.

I’m so confused.

This insanity just can not continue.

Here it is in OCD order. An incomplete listing of the days that seem to get the most Facebook air time, screen time or whatthehellever you prefer to call it.

January is Birth Defects Prevention month. (not to be confused with World Prematurity Awareness month which is actually in November and not January)

The March of Dimes who’s mission is to prevent birth defects holds their annual fundraising campaign Walk for Babies sometimes in August, September or October, which is why I diligently listed this cause on our very precise calendar.

Pencil that in.

February is African-American History month not to be confused with Martin Luther King Day which is in January. It’s also American Heart month and Women’s Heart Health month.

Women’s Heart Health month??

Let’s just chill the F out ladies. It’s already Heart Health month. Stop being such attention whores and just share the month with the men. THIS is exactly the sort of thing that gives women a bad name. JC on a stick. Just stop whining. Pretty soon you’ll be demanding your own planet. No wonder you have heart problems. Y’all are self righteous spoiled brats looking for an injustice to bitch about. Bitching raises your blood pressure and will eventually kill you.

Just chill the F out.

March is my birthday, Developmental Disabilities Awareness month and an excuse to drink green beer and kiss midgets. Go figure.

April is Autism Awareness Month. Did you read that? It says APRIL. Pack your Autism decorations away in a trusty Rubbermaid tote, so you may hang them appropriately in April.

Clarification- I post informative autism related information ALL of the time, because I have a son with Asperger’s so pretty much every day is Autism Awareness Day for me. The difference is, I’m not posting some dumb shit that says, TODAY’S Autism Day, so pass it on… every single day.

From hereon in, we’ll all KNOW that World Autism Awarness Day is April 2nd, so we’ll be ready to hang our Autism stockings by the fireplace and decorate our Aspie tree on cue… in APRIL.

In May we recognize Law Enforcement Appreciation, Teacher Appreciation, Nurses Appreciation and Mother’s Day. Under-appreciated service vocations or messy jobs month apparently.

I didn’t say Dirty Jobs you guys. Mike Rowe’s birthday happens to fall in March, same as mine. Lucky coincidence. Some day we’ll toast one another with warm tankards of Guinness and he’ll clean the green stuff outta my fridge.

A girl can dream.

June is Gay Pride month and Father’s Day. Don’t confuse these two. Not all dads are fond of rainbows and not all gay men like neck ties or maybe that’s multicolored rainbow designs on neck ties?

Whatever.

If your dad is gay, you can kill two birds with one stone, which is awesome if you’re a multitasker. (unless of course, your dad is straight and has incredibly poor aim. In which case, you can disregard everything)

September is ADHD Awareness month. Right in time for back to school. Perfect.

Was that a squirrel?

I repeat, “September is ADHD month.”

October is Aids Awareness, Breast Cancer Awareness, Domestic Violence Awareness, Downs Syndrome Awareness month and Fire Prevention month.

*Note- there’s way too much going on in October. Spread that shit out. There are 12 perfectly good months on the calendar to choose from you psycho nut jobs. You’re like bratty little kids fighting over the only blue Popsicle. Someone’s going to have to chose a different month. I’ll just sit here and wait while you sort it out amongst yourselves.

Also, enough with every Tom, Dick and Harry cause having their own ribbon color. Aids started it and everyone had to be a copy cat. Originality is dead.

You need an answer key to figure out which color belongs to whom.

November is Lung Cancer and Diabetes Awareness month. Diabetes, really?? The same month that the Thanksgiving cornucopia’s overflowing with chocolate pudding and whipped cream. Who’s in charge of these things anyway, Homer Simpson?

Incidentally, the Great American Smoke-out also takes place on the third Thursday of November.

How convenient.

Grab a piece of pie to tame your craving and end up with dia-fucking-beet-us.

I’m calling Wilford Brimley to tattle on you.

Last but not least…

December is Political Correctness Awareness month. Seriously? You cannot make this stuff up. Which supports my point that PEOPLE (whomever the officials are) will declare just about ANYTHING worthy of having it’s own recognition month.

Appropriately enough, it’s the very same month people max out their credit cards like gypsies on crack, eat and drink themselves silly and overindulge in any and every possible way. All in the holy sacred name of Jesus???

Whoa…

Our society has successfully managed to reduce the once holy Christmas season to a batshit crazy stressful time measured in profit margins and sales. It’s the time of gimme gimme gimme.

I’m not a fan of the C holiday.

There’s no Christ in Christmas anymore. We may as well change the verbiage to Merry Cha-ching.

Christmas and political correctness share a common denominator in that they’re both equally out-of-control train wrecks caused by too much interference.

Some things should be left alone.

If it ain’t broke…

But, THAT’S a completely different post.

 

Christmas is in DECEMBER dammit

Posted in Everything Extreme, Holiday Bullsh*t by

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Where I come from we get something like three-ish months of summer, which equates to MAYBE a meager 30 days of warm sunny weather- picnics, watermelon, fireflies, swimming and sandy flip flops.
 
In short, we have ONE summer month and… the REST of the year.
 
Eleven months of the grey season, which includes but is not limited to rain, drizzle, snow, ice and every other possible form of precipitation currently known to man.
 
 
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 So yes, when people (lets call them psycho-holiday enthusiasts) try to contaminate our sacred sunny month with Christmas pollution we tend to get a bit crabby.
 
 

Justifiably crabby.

  
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I for one, happen to be a solar powered individual.
 
 
I get my energy from the sun and my reserves happen to be dangerously low these days.
 

The makers of Prozac can only do so much.

 
They’re like, “You’ve reached your limit lady… our hands are tied.”
 

“Go get some mood enhancing sunshine.”

 
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And, so I do what I can. I soak in every single moment of summer.
 
The problem with winter-related holiday nonsense (no, I will not say the C word again) is that it’s like kryptonite for us who reside in the grey area.
 
The mere mention of the dark side during our sacred sunny sabbatical is enough to boot us out of our happy place clear into the fiery pits of hell, except in OUR hell, it’s snowing.
 
 
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Resisting winter is a northern defense mechanism that’s been etched in our brains since the ice age.

 
To top it off, we broke records for cold AND snow in 2013.
 
I think we did. It felt like it anyway.
 
That’s my story and I’m sticking with it.
 
It sucked Frosty’s longest hardest icicle if you get my drift, then to top it off, we shattered all previously set rainfall records.
 
It felt like it anyway… the record breaking part.
 
 We did, however experience actual flooding.
 
Also, we made the big time meaning we were featured on The Weather Channel.
 

 It was definitely a How-many-Yeti’s-can-you-fit-on-Noah’s-ark? kinda year.

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 Nobody really cares what the answer is.

The point is- when Yeti’s and Noah’s ark are mentioned in the same sentence you’re clearly fucked and there’s not a damned thing you can do.
 

Mother Nature is one moody bitch.

 
As a result, my people (those of us who reside in the grey area of CNY) have morphed into foul-weather warriors who’ve proven again and again that we can tough that shit out.
 
However, uninvited winter holiday hoopla in July tends to drive some of us right. over. the. edge.
 
For the publics safety we’ve established guidelines called…
 

The Northern Survivalist’s STRICT Winter Holiday Timeline.

 
Halloween– the fright fest officially begins Sept 30, although mums and pumpkins may be put out any time after Labor Day. (Note- generous leeway given, because I happen to be a mum fan)
 
 
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Thanksgiving shall occupy the time period between Halloween and the C holiday.
 
 
 
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The C holiday– not one bell shall jingle or hallway be decked prior to the conclusion of turkey day feasting.
 
This means the dishes are washed, dried and put away. Also, the turkey carcass is gone. I freaking hate the turkey-beast carcass with ever fiber of my being.
 
I would rather get a root canal than harvest meat from the leftover turkey any day of the week.
 
Make that two root canals and a pap smear.
 
(I threw that thing in there about the dishes, because I don’t care for the C holiday and I’m trying to keep it away as long as possible. Scrubbing a zillion dishes gives me a little breather)
 

Let’s call this- living in the goddamned moment.

 
Quit racing around like blind mice on meth preparing for the next three-ring circus that’s six months away.
 

Relax.

 

Breeeeeathe.

 
If you must shop or bake cookies in July, that’s your business. Just keep that premature holiday pollution off my facebook.
 
Also, I’ll be happy to taste your cookies.
 
I’m generous like that.
 
I may be a holiday bitch, but I’m an excellent taster of cookies.
 
Unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do about greedy in-your-face retail peddlers who prematurely puke holiday what-nots throughout the land.
 
Winter holiday whatchamafuks will start polluting stores in August.
 
It’s the devils way.
 
Not only do I look the other way. (and say bad words) I also refuse to buy anything.
 
They’re not getting one premature cent from me until The Northern Survivalist’s Strict Winter Holiday Timeline says it’s time.
 
When I wander into Home Depot on August 15th in search of charcoal briquettes and get blindsided by a 12 foot blow-up of Frosty-the-freaking-unwelcome-snowman, I will breathe fire.
 
 This actually works out, because then I dutifully scoop Frosty up in a plastic cup and have something to chase my chocolate vodka with.
 

Hence, the only acceptable snowman in August is the one you drink.

Cheers…

 
 
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