In Flames—A Sense Of Purpose
Since it's Christmas week and we're all supposed to be full of false
cheer and kindness towards our fellow man, I'm not going to write about
the funeral. I'll save it for another week, just because I can. So for
those expecting it, too bad. For those that don't read anything I write,
too bad. For those that read what I write but don't care what I write,
too bad. And for everyone else, too bad.
What's a bummer is that I haven't received any Christmas cards yet. The
woman has received quite a few and has proudly displayed them, all
thanks to her cold, dark heart. We did get something that was addressed
to both of us from one of her aunt/uncle combos, but it wasn't a card.
It was a letter stating that they made a donation under our names to
their fucking church.
What bullshit! When asked what I wanted money donated to, I told the
woman to tell them to donate money to the ASPCA or Humane Society or
something along those lines. You know, something for those that cannot
help themselves. But no. My request fell on deaf ears. As usual.
What we've told everyone is that the only thing we want are (yipes!) Wal
Mart gift cards. We don't care what amount they're for, we just want to
buy an astronomically huge tv so I have something to do during the day.
So the word gets out about what we want and then one of her brother's
decides he's going to give us a gift card to a fucking restaurant. A
restaurant! We do not go to restaurants! I don't like sitting in
restaurants getting served by someone and making fake conversation. I
don't like the sound of cutlery scraping on plates or the sound of
people slurping their drinks, I don't like the laughter at stupid jokes,
I JUST DON'T LIKE RESTAURANTS. But now we're stuck with a gift card
we're never going to use. I'm really hating Christmas this year.
There's a scene in "Black Christmas" where a group of carollers come to
the door of the house and they sing their songs. The person in the house
stands in the doorway just staring at them as they sing. I found this
quite unsettling for some reason.
This past Thursday I was settling in for some good ole tv watching when
the doorbell rang. Since I was in my Thunderbirds Are Go! pj's, I had to
throw on some regular clothes before answering the door.
When I finally got the the front door, I saw a group of people walking
down the driveway, some of them holding flashlights. I opened the door
but didn't say anything, just let them walk away.
The woman comes to the front door asking who they were and I told her I
didn't know, but maybe she could ask. She refused, I refused and we
watched them walk away. I told her maybe they were looking for a lot
animal or something, she didn't care what I thought and headed back to
However, her phone rang and it was her mother. She told her what
happened and her mother said it was probably carollers. I thought this
was stupid and went outside to smoke.
And out in the garage I could hear them singing next door. They were
carollers after all.
I went back inside and told the woman who told her mother and they had a
good laugh. Then I asked what exactly do you do with carollers? Do you
stand there and stare at them as they sing (like in that movie)?
Wouldn't that make you uncomfortable? Wouldn't that make them
uncomfortable? Do you have to give them money when they're done? If not
money, do you have to give them something?
They were quite annoyed with all my questions, but did answer the last
one: You ask them if they would like some hot cocoa and if they say yes,
ask them to go to the store and pick some up. So simple and I couldn't
figure it out.
So there you go, my annual Christmas post is done for another year. Much
nicer than reading about a funeral I think.
Oh, well. Merry Christmas I guess.
COMING NEXT: Top tens, funerals, something and something maybe, maybe