Tuesday, December 27, 2005

it's a hit

Rilo Kiley - It's A Hit (pops)

Any band that has a former cast member of "Salute Your Shorts" is alright with me. Well, except for Danny Cooksey. And he knows why. If you meet him, ask him. The douche.

Everybody have a good Christmas? Or, the first three days of Hanukkah, for our Jewish or pseudo-Jewish friends? (Kate knows what I'm talking about. Certain people are only Jewish when it gets them out of confession and penance for doing naughty little things.)

I got gypped this year, but I understand the most of it. My immediate family is not doing so great financially, so we basically had a Ned Flanders "imagination Christmas". (If the words "I got a hula-hoop!" are not coursing through your head at this very moment, I'm not sure I want you to be reading my page.) That's not what bugs me, although the shoddy state of the social security system in this great country could fill a few pages with rants.

What bugs me is my grandmother's Christmas present. I got fifty dollars. I'm not saying it's not enough, because it's extremely generous when you factor in my nine other cousins. What bugs me is that every kid below sixteen got fifty dollars and three individual presents from her. So six kids got bonuses while the three oldest (of which I am the youngest) got the shaft.

Previous Christmases, the younger kids got presents, while the three oldest got the cash equivalent. That's cool with me, because it's easier to cash a check than to stand in a return line. I just would like equality, because you can't tell me its somehow fair for the younger kids to suddenly get more this year when they haven't before.

And I already know I'm going to get shafted again on January 11th (my birthday), because no one seems to remember it. They never even send a card with a token five bucks. Even ghetto kids get that, you know. If I get forgotten when I'm seventeen days away from Christmas, imagine if I was born on the actual day, like my aunt was. She always got double Christmas presents, though, because if you're born on the actual holiday, you don't have an excuse for forgetting.

I guess I'm in that golden range where the Christmas buzz has worn off and the hangover of the New Year has started pounding a neverending drumbeat into the skulls of the masses. Go me.

That about does it for this pity party. Remember, you have only fourteen shopping days before the Feast of St. Suplex, the anniversary of the birth of the third greatest human being to ever walk the earth.

Behind Jesus and Chuck Norris, obviously.

Anyway, it's my birthday on the 11th and I expect presents. Sexy, sexy presents.


Blogger Kate said...

I guess this makes you semi on my side then.

10:47 PM


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