Blogmas is starting to feel like the Advent Calendar from hell. I’ve been trying to write something everyday since December 1. I’ve been told by some wonderful bloggers I’ve met through this process of starting a blog that it’s okay to fail at Blogmas. But I’m stubborn. I want to do this. So here’s another fucking blogmas post, number 20.
I’ve been doing a lot of errands and running around trying to get things ready for Christmas and helping my grandfather-in-law write and send Christmas cards. He’s 91 and still knows so many people. TOO many people. After writing addresses on the envelopes of 44 cards, licking the seals (didn’t die like Susan from Seinfeld thankfully, but tasted yucky) and putting all the stamps on, it ended up being about 8 hours of work. As we went through my grandfather-in-law’s address book, I would say a name and he would debate whether they should get a card. And at 91, a lot of his friends had died, which is sad. Does it make me a bad person that for each friend who he said was dead, I wanted to do a dance of joy because it meant we could skip the whole greeting card part?
I also went with my bestie Sam (the Blog Broad) to do some shopping tonight and we saw this:
I finished some of the baskets I was working on and I thought I’d show you the finished product. Original article can be found by clicking HERE.
And finally, I saw a car today that I wish I had gotten a photo of. It was your typical SUV that is really just a sportier mini-van with the family stickers on the back [Eye Roll]. And on the roof of their truck, they had constructed a reindeer out of wire and souped it up with Christmas lights. I followed them with the intention of taking a photo but then couldn’t find my phone. Then I realized when I got home that it was in my pocket THE WHOLE TIME! Mother-humper!
But here are some other tacky things I saw.
That’s it for Blogmas 20. Happy 12/20 everyone. Why isn’t 12/20 a thing? Maybe we should make it a thing? 12/20? Jays? Anyone?
Today I found out about a merry little blogging tradition known as “Blogmas.” So everyday up to Christmas you do a Christmas-y post, like how to make Christmas crap crafts, decorations, recipes and the like. I love Christmas! But, unfortunately, I’m not one of those “lifestyle” type bloggers, I’m not super-artistic, and I don’t really entertain or throw parties much. In fact, at most parties I have one of two strategies that I use to get through them.
Get really drunk, lose all inhibitions and make a fool of myself.
Stand in a corner and watch everyone else enjoying themselves. Try to make entertaining comments to those who try to socialize with me, end up saying something socially inappropriate, not purposely but because I’m just so awkward.
And both strategies end with what I recently learned is called an “Irish exit” by most other people. An “Irish Exit,” I learned, is sneaking out of a party without saying goodbye to anyone or thanking the host. Yep, you just bail. And no one misses you because there’s usually enough people there for you not to be missed. It sucks though when it’s a smaller party because then you can’t easily sneak out. I had always known the sneaking out move as the “Clairmont Shuffle” (coined by my hubby) because it’s how my dad gets out of parties. I learned from the best. Things is, generally if you try to leave a party, people try to convince you to stay. I’m not sure why. I personally know I add very little interest to parties and it’s more likely that I will spill red wine on your white carpet, furniture, outfit, or my own outfit. (Santa, please bring me a bib.) Or I may puke on your stuff if I get drunk enough. I’ve also been known to get head-wounds when I’m drinking because I fall a lot. So blood from my head is a real possibility if you invite me over for a party. Consider yourself warned.
I’m thinking the term “Irish exit” is probably a racial slur, or at the very least, a language-group slur, and this is a perfect example of one of the awkward things that may come out of my mouth without thinking of the implications. Or other times I over-think what I want to say and end up with verbal diarrhea trying to explain my way out of a hole. Ex. “I know I called you a stuck-up bitch but I didn’t mean to call you a bitch, what I meant is you’re so cute like a dog. And when I said stuck-up, I was talking about how you always stick up for people. I’m really sorry you think I called you a stuck-up bitch, but I meant it in absolutely the nicest way possible.” Anyway, my point is the only “lifestyle” advice I can give you is “how to be very awkward at holiday parties.”