My mother sucks the joy out of Christmas

My mother is crazy. We all know this. Not crazy in the gimme-my-stuffed-dolphin-or-i'll-poop-in-your-refrigerator sort of way, but in much more subtle ways that leave you with a dull pain in your head from trying to grasp her very special sense of logic.

One of her oh-so-interersting personality traits is the desperate and frantic need to get all her Christmas shopping done before Flag Day.

Okay, I exaggerate. But she WILL have a complete break-down if she has to go to the mall after Thanksgiving. This results in the annual pestering for Christmas lists before I've even decided what I'm going to be for Halloween. (This year I think I'm going as "Unemployed girl with a cold" - has a certain ring to it. I love Halloween costumes; we just don't have any plans this year, so why bother dressing up for the cat. However, the pure joy I get from dressing up as inanimate objects and random historical figures is a subject for a different day...)

This year, my mother has already requested lists twice from the boy and me. We have no idea what we want yet! But yet, I am forced to come up with a bunch of objects that might bring me holiday cheer in the middle of October because my mother is scared of standing in a line of more than three people at Target.

Now, I like to get my shopping done well before Christmas so I have time to wrap things pretty, but in my world that means being done by about December 20th. I have no interest in the last minute, Christmas Eve, forgot something for Aunt Gertrude, dash to the mall in the hopes to convince myself that yes, she would LOVE a giant steel barrel of unnautrally orange stale popcorn. But I do like being in the stores in December and searching for the perfect gift for my friends and family. (and then, after looking at the price-tag of said gift, finding a lovely alternative in my, um, shall we say "cozy" price range. ) There's something to be said for the warm-looking decorations and happy holiday music in the background. Even if I don't find anything that particular day, I have a nice time looking at all the neat stuff that I will buy for people once I have a grown-up income and trying to convince the boy that, yes, the kitty does need a Santa suit and her own sleigh. (You can find all sorts of fun things at Christmas-time!) I also find that the less I have to spend, the longer I like to wait because since I can't buy very much, the experience is over quickly. And that is sad. Almost sad enough to make a girl want to chug egg-nog. But nothing is quite THAT sad.

Crazy lady on the other hand prefers to shop for these warm-fuzzy holiday trinkets while the witch hats are still on the shelf and the stock-boy is just starting to unpack the cornucopias and turkey stickers.

So, this is why, on this Friday in October, I find myself writing a Christmas list and starting my shopping budget estimates a full two months before Christmas. Who wants to buy me a bicycle? And shall I put everyone down for a vat of popcorn?

Jesus does not care if you get to the pit-stop first.

I hate the Weaver family. I hate them so very much.

Yes, I watch the Amazing Race. I watch a lot of television. I’m unemployed and it’s gotten cold outside. If you have a better suggestion, shoot. Today, I am working for the day at my old job. I have nothing to do. So I have decided bitching about a television show would be the most productive use of my time. Anyway, mock if you will, but I think it’s a spiffy show. It certainly trumps most other reality tv crap.

However, this season of this normally spiffy show is the “Family Edition.” Ick. Who wants to watch a version of the show full of little kids in which contestants rarely leave the US? I was less than excited about it, but decided to give it a try. Again, unemployed – what the hell else am I going to do?

Turns out the only two really young kids on the show (under 10ish) are two of my favorite contestants. They’re some of the best athletes – they run marathons with their parents in real life (and yet somehow, I STILL like the crazy little bastards) – and, more importantly, they don’t complain. In fact, the little girl seems to have the ability to spot anything in the distance and the boy is quite a funny little dude. (“She’ll be comin’ ‘round the mountain when she comes – WHEN SHE COMES!!!”)

My problem is the Jesus family. I, along with what seems to be every other contestant on the show, find them to be vile humans with absolutely no redeeming qualities. Yes, dad died in a horrible accident in the year or so before the show. I’m not a completely heartless demon – I’m sorry your daddy got run over by a race-car; I’m sure he loved you. Now shut up – no one else does.

My problem with the Weavers from Florida is they are a group of selfish Jesus-lovers who have no problem being rude and mean to others but get horribly offended when a similar lack of love is returned to them. Now, I will preface the rest of my ranting with the admission that I, myself, am not much of a Jesus person. I’m sure he was a swell dude. I just prefer to sleep and watch Best Week Ever on Sunday mornings. However, I’m all for others having a Jesus party – just don’t get mad when I don’t want to partake in the metaphorical Kool-Aid. Now, I’m also okay with some Jesus talk - I spent a semester in Kenya where REALLY missionaries accomplished their goals– Kenyans love them some Jesus.

Anyway, my point is that I do not hate the Weavers because they like Jesus. I hate them because they are incapable of talking about anything else. They ask Jesus to help them on every mission and believe that he is the reason they de-headed shrimps faster than another team. Like Jesus has nothing better to do than help a family of dumb blonds decapitate mollusks for a game show.

They are also rude. They won’t even speak to other teams, they sang for an entire 8 hour bus ride and annoyed everyone else and last night they told another teams’ boat captain to drive slower so they could get ahead. If this were all, I would be fine with it. It’s a game, be rude. Boston Rob and Amber almost won last year by scamming and lying and I thought they were great – it’s a game! But these people are rude to everyone and then surprised as hell (I’m sorry, heck) when it comes back to them. They were appalled last night when another team started in with “hey, batter batter…” as the Jesus son was attempting to hit a baseball at a challenge. The mom told the other team that “that’s mean, you should just be encouraging.” The son had to be at least 13. If a little taunt like that is going to mess him up and make him cry, I certainly hope he likes getting thrown into lockers and giving away lunch money. Grow a pair, kid!

I truly wanted to smack them when they got into a cab in Panama. They greeted the driver with “hola!” which is super. Good effort, I thought. Not so fast... They then added, “burrito!” and “conquistador!” I’m fairly certain they were not trying to begin a debate with the driver about the favorite snack food of Vasco Nuñez de Balboa, so I took it as them being assholes. I bet the driver agreed with me.

So, you see, I hate the Weaver family. Perhaps next time I will find something more cerebral to write about. Or I may contemplate the many uses of bubble wrap. I shall leave that decision until later. For now, I just hate the Weavers.

Jesus hopes you lose. And so do I.