Christmas is always 25 December, so stop reminding me how many shopping days are left before i decide to stab you with my dessert spoon.
Go all the way use the carving fork.
I hear you. I work in IT and every year someone gets computer related presents. For some reason it’s almost always my job to get this stuff setup.
This year so far it’s a new computer (which I had to help buy as well), and a router. Rumor is that 3 copies of Windows 7 are in the mix as well.
I would rather freeze to death than put on a snuggie.
If I get pajamas for christmas it will take an act of God to keep me from strangling somebody with them.
Hey sister-in-law: You called us on Sunday and for once didn’t sound drunk off your ass or on some serious drugs, so we picked up the phone. We had a nice chat, you revealed (since your brother and I aren’t going to be at Christmas with your side of the family this year) that you’re my Secret Santa and want to get together to give me your present, you set up a possible lunch on Monday with my husband since both of you had the day off but said you needed to confirm with work, you’d call him in the morning. Excellent. Glad to hear you being sober and sweet.
Monday, you don’t call, and admittedly my husband didn’t work too hard to get hold of you. Monday night you call late, sounding really mad and shocked - and like you were under the influence of some kind of drug - rambling on about why the hell my husband had blocked your E-mail. Against his better judgement, he picked up, and quickly confirmed that he hadn’t, doesn’t know how to do that, and what address were you using again? Oh, the address that hasn’t been valid for almost two years? When you’ve been getting E-mail from him at his current address within the last few days even? :smack: And not only that, you “reveal” that you’re my Secret Santa like it was a surprise. Like we didn’t talk to you less than 24 hours prior about that, and about the lunch you didn’t confirm for that afternoon.
If you’re going to go back to abusing drugs and booze, please stay the hell out of our lives while you’re doing it, and knock off the paranoia in the process.
QFT! And yet, I buy my kids (grown ones, even) pajamas for Christmas! Of course, the difference is, I know my kids wear pajamas, whereas I, myself, do not. Normally, I wear underpants to bed. If it’s going to be chilly, I add a pair of fuzzy socks. If it’s going to be really chilly, maybe a T-shirt or night shirt. If it’s going to be downright cold (single-digit temps or below), I’ll throw on a pair of sweat pants or lounge pants. But I do not wear pajamas!
As for Snuggies, why buy them when I could just wear my bath robe backwards? Better yet, why buy them when I can just wear a sweat shirt and then layer a jacket or something over it if I need to? :rolleyes:
I just wear my bathrobe the right way around, and that way if I have to bend over to pick something up, it doesn’t fall off me. Plus I don’t look like I’ve joined some weird monastic order. 
My mom asked for one for Christmas. shudder I bought her one, but what she does in the privacy of her home is her own business. 
ME TOO! That also applies to flannel nightgowns, hideous overpriced bathrobes ($60? really???), and especially slippers. I don’t care if they’re one-size fits all monstrosities (made from hollowed out fuzzy Muppet toys) or the things hanging on a wall at K-Mart. I’m not ready for the nursing home yet! I don’t want a leopard print fleece ANYTHING. I don’t want another bathrobe to hang up next to the other three I already don’t wear.
To add: Damn old people! They ALWAYS give pajamas, etc.! It’s like a rule they live by - somewhere at some time they believed you give pajamas etc. to people for Christmas and it continues until they expire.
husband always gets me toe-socks - despite the fact that they hurt the hell out of my feet to wear them. I have even said out loud - man these toe socks really hurt my feet! There better not be any this year. Why can’t he just get me some slippers! I like to wear regular socks with slippers over them so my feet don’t get cold.
MY cat, a fat dullard, hasn’t shown the slightest interest in our Christmas tree. Something New in his house? Yawn. Dangling ornaments and blinking lights? Could care less. Tree sat there for 2 weeks, cat didn’t care. Until last night, when he decided to care, when he suddenly decided to chew on every dangling ornament and blinking light like a good Bad Cat should. WTF? Bad Cat, you’re getting a spray bottle full of water for a Christmas present!
I do that! Also, stuff gets “lost”. Mr. Sali’s deceased mother’s priceless collection of peeling aluminum baseball-sized balls that looked so good on a 10 ft. Christmas tree in the 60’s were hung from a garland across an archway for a few years. Until they got “lost”.
Something tells me that the spoon, taking longer to do the job, is going to hurt the stabbee more, and therefore deliver more satisfaction to the stabber.
My kitty is convinced that I only put ornaments on the tree for him to play with! So, when the kids were decorating the tree, I instructed them, ‘only unbreakable ornaments on the bottom few branches!’
This way, kitty bats ornaments off of tree, plays with them. Before I go to bed, I put them back on the tree.
Also, we forego tinsel in favor of garland that has silvery-fringe-y stuff, 'cuz we heard cats can swallow tinsel and it causes all kinds of digestive problems for them.
OOooh, you can send it to me! I would LOVE leopard print fleece stuff!
Hey, are we doing a re-gift exchange on the Dope after Christmas? Because we really should.
You’re very close, but unfortunately, you’re saying the wrong thing out loud to him. I’ll give you a hint: It starts with an “H”, and it rhymes with “Money,-don’t-buy-me-toe-socks-ever-again.”
And in other mini-rant news, I volunteer with an anxiety support group that meets every two weeks. I am the email contact person, and I send out emails to everyone if we have to cancel a meeting. The rule is, don’t hear from me, the meeting is on. In spite of me telling everyone this repeatedly, I have one person who emails me every two weeks, “Are we having a meeting today?” YES, GODDAMMIT, WE’RE HAVING A GODDAMNED MEETING! IF YOU HEAR FROM ME, THAT MEANS NO MEETING. IF YOU DON’T HEAR FROM ME, THAT MEANS THE MEETING IS ON, JUST LIKE IT HAS BEEN FOR THE PAST FOUR YEARS THAT YOU’VE BEEN COMING TO MEETINGS! And she spells my name wrong every time, too. Gah. I’m just going to ignore her email today and if she asks, tell her once again that no email from me means meeting is going as scheduled. And by the way, MY NAME HAS A GODDAMNED E IN IT!
So send out emails regardless.
However, it could also cause the stabber more frustration, epecially with piercing the skin. Perhaps a shallow cut to allow an opening for the spoon, and then the spoon to scoop out innardy bits?
It’s because the damned stuff is so solid. People have literally sliced their cat’s intestines apart by “helpfully” pulling at a bit of tinsel sticking out of the cat’s anus. Tinsel is very, very, very, very bad around pets–you made a good call avoiding it.
But what if you’re lying dead in a ditch somewhere, and no one else has the email list, and the meeting is cancelled, but they have no way to tell everyone, so she shows up and there’s no one there?!?!?!
Well, I mean, it is an anxiety support group - you’re surprised that they’re a little high strung?
Dear employee of mine - why are you fucking me over? I am getting calls because you did not do an out-of-office, you did not post your status on the calendar, and nobody (including me) knows where you are. I can not cover for you, and instead I get to chew your ass off when you come back from Christmas. I don’t want to do this, but you leave me no choice. I am tired of taking calls from MY managers about the location of MY employees. Crap - I got yer back, but only when you give me inforfuckingmation.
SIL: Chill out. I love you. Don’t buzz roach my holiday by taking your shitty marital issues out on us.
BIL: Quick being a dick to SIL. Yes, you are quite charming to me and mine, and generous as well. However, you suck at the whole “love your wife” game. The only reason you two are still together is that SIL is scared of the financial implications of the Big D (and she is addicted to your income stream and her ability to be a stay-at-home mom to your kids).
FIL: Keep your racist shit to yourself. I don’t need my elementary school kid picking up any new words from you this trip. My older one already knows how to discount your statements. He will play chess with you, though.
Self: Don’t drink and eat so much that you are a bloated tick at the end of the evening.