Merry Christmas faithful readers! Yes we have officially passed November 25th and it’s one month to go to the big day. The Mitch Tree is up and decorated already. You can see the glorious breathtaking results in the pic on the Facebook page. Wow, let me tell you, that fake tree sure goes up a hell of a lot faster when you disregard the colour coded numbered branching system. The Mitch Tree looks like either like a misshapen giant green stain, or like it’s doing “high jazz hands,” 5, 6, 7, 8, step, turn, sha-cha!
Would I classify myself a Christmas person? I have to admit, I love Christmas but for me it’s not so much Christmas that I love, rather the lead up to Christmas I enjoy. I love putting up the tree, decorating the tree, and the instant coziness the tree provides to my living room. I love egg nog, I even love the regret I feel 45 minutes after my nog indulgence, when my bowels decide to betray me due to my love affair of the nog. I really should add “get tested for lactose intolerance” to my bucket list for 2011. I said bucket list, I never said it was a good bucket list.
I love going to the mall even when my Christmas shopping is done, just to enjoy the atmosphere. Which in itself is extremely contradictory for me. As I have mentioned in past blogisodes, I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder which means I have germ issues, more specifically I have issues with other peoples germs and what is the mall at Christmas? A giant festering pile of human germs, illness, disease, bacteria, and that’s just the food court. Yet at Christmas I can tolerate all the germy disease to just enjoy the holiday environment, it makes no sense. What can I say? I’m a complicated man and no one understands me but my woman (Mitch!). You’re damn right! (I try to work in at least one “Shaft” reference a week, great film).
I love watching my favourite shows like Charlie Brown Christmas, A Christmas Story, Love Actually, A Muppet Christmas Carol, It’s a Wonderful Life and Die Hard. I even love the annual argument with Mrs. Mitch who refuses to admit that Die Hard is a Christmas movie.
Mrs. Mitch: “I don’t care what you say Die Hard is not a Christmas movie.”
Mitch: “They are taken hostage at a Christmas Party on Christmas Eve, McClane tapes a (expletive) gun to his shoulder blade using Christmas (expletive) tape! How can you even remotely THINK about arguing this with me?”
Mrs. Mitch: “It’s not a Christmas movie; and I hate that stupid movie.”
Mitch: “Look I now you’re angry right now and saying things you don’t mean so I’ll pretend I didn’t hear you just say that about my beloved greatest action movie of all time.”
Mrs. Mitch: “IT’S…A…STUPID…MOVIE!”
Mitch: “(GASP)! You could have killed my beloved childhood dog and I could forgive you for that, but this, THIS… is unforgivable.”
Mrs. Mitch: “I’m married to an idiot.”
Mitch: “I’m kind of turned on right now…you…uhh…you wanna?”
Mrs. Mitch: “Awww god! Are you kidding me?” (While making a “Is that burnt cheese I smell?” face)
I think for me, ultimately I love the build up to Christmas. My favourite time of year is that period from November 25 until December 24. It’s like month long holiday foreplay.
Sandwiched in between all the festive activities of Christmas is my birthday. I really kind of stopped caring about my birthdays after my 21st, I could finally gamble in Vegas. After that none of my birthdays were really that remarkable. I had a minor panic attack on my 24th birthday when I realized I was 6 years away from 18 and 6 years away from 30, and still right in the middle of my arts degree* with no career plan in mind whatsoever. *(AKA enough student debt to keep me from home ownership until my 40’s). 30 came and went without much fanfare. That age wasn’t a big deal for me, I was kind of looking forward to 30. Mainly because when you bitch in your 20’s you’re tired, or something aches, people always respond “What! You’re young! You should have tons of energy!” In your 30’s they just agree with you and offer you some of their Advil.
This year though, I do want a noteworthy birthday. We need to make up for last year’s crapstravagnza knows as my 32nd birthday. What did I do on my birthday last year? Well on a -37 Celsius day, Mrs. Mitch and I spent, 7.5 hours in a doctors office waiting for her Gynaecologist to finally tell us at 10:30 PM, her appointment was at 3 PM, that we should not have anymore children due to the risk of her having another premature baby would be exponentially higher and the baby would come even earlier than the 2 months early Little Mitch came, and earlier means more health risks. Good times, good birthday times.
So this year I want to make up for it in a big way. We are hopping in the Mitchmobile, for our first ever family road trip. We are going to my “happy place.” Jasper, Alberta, Canada. I love the mountains, I can’t explain it, and I don’t know why but the Rocky Mountains bring me inner peace. The ironic thing is after the events of last year’s birthday we are returning to the place where Little Mitch was conceived. It was on a winter ski trip, and after I got into the Jim Beam, the Bud Light, the bottle and half of red wine, seven months later Little Mitch was born. Right now I know what three things you are thinking and using my psychic Mitch powers I shall answer them:
–Seven months? Little Mitch was born 2 months premature remember?
–You did not drink that much. Did you? Indeed I did, and let me tell you “Hangover” does not even begin to describe the pain I felt for the next 3, that’s right 3 days.
–You could not have conceived that night considering how drunk you would have been, could you? Oh, I performed, my friend. Mitch always bring his “A” game to the naked table. 100% pure Mitch. Pure Mitch ladies, pure Mitch.
No need to thank me, I’m an idea man, it’s what I do. I’m off to watch some Die Hard.