Remind me the next time I am out of liquor and the only option is bitch beer, and I say that “something is better than nothing” that I am WRONG, SO WRONG!
I drank that crap last night thinking it wouldn’t do a thing for me and ended up completely trashed by 11pm. This never happens; leave it to me to talk shit about bitch beer being weak and then not even be able to function three drinks in. It was so bad I couldn’t even type and had to put myself to bed in full makeup, dirty teeth and all, just so I wouldn’t end up puking all over myself.
It is those nights where you know you’re going to wake up in a world of hurt, and oh boy did I. Luckily I didn’t feel too pukey, but my head throbbed like i’d downed two full bottles of wine by myself… oh wait, that was Thomas. He wasn’t feeling too fantastic this morning either.
This was a headache that rivaled many of the ones back from my “i’m in my early twenties and so i’m going to drink myself into a stupor every single night because I can!” days.
We’d been promising the boys for months that we would put up the Christmas tree either on Thanksgiving night, or the day after… but somehow I couldn’t even manage to do anything other than sit on the couch and groan in agony.
I had to say to myself for the thousandth time: I am too old for this shit!
It wasn’t until about 5pm that we finally got off our asses and made good on the promise… and let me tell you, it was hell.
I don’t know what it is about Christmas trees, but it is like catnip for little kids. One of the best things about not having cats anymore is not having them climb their asses into the tree and knocking it down because trees are like crack to cats, that’s the whole reason we didn’t even have a Christmas tree until 2 years ago… and now I have kids that do absolutely the same thing.
The pulling of the limbs, the tossing or ornaments, the yanking on them once they are hung, and the crying because I continually scold them for doing so. It was a hot mess of a time, and most of the pictures I took (even if I can’t fucking upload them) have children with faces that appear to be melting with tears and snot.
Neither of them are excited about Santa (and I fear what will happen if I attempt to put them on his lap this year) but fuck-on-a-stick, they sure do love that tree. I fear leaving them alone with it and coming back to find it crashed onto its side, ornaments scattered about the living room, and the boys rolling around in the mess like it’s all laced with LSD.
This next month is going to be very very long, I can feel it now. I’d better stock up on rum, better safe than sorry.
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