Myself for being born 4 days before Christmas. Hell, let’s just say the entire month of December. :smack:
My mother. I tried to have a discussion with her about whether you should “lie” to your kids about Santa or not, and this woman in her sixties will still not admit, to me, her quarter-of-a-century-old daughter, that there is no Santa. THERE IS NO SANTA. And don’t “Yes, Virginia” me either, there is no Santa! It was practically pathological, she ended up screaming at me “It’s NOT A LIE! THERE IS TOO A SANTA!” and we stomped off.
She is not normally like that. I blame Dr. Phil.
What the heck is a smoke hangover? :dubious:
I pit people who think the whole fucking world should be closed on Xmas. Some people don’t celebrate, and some of us need something to do on December 25th. I always take a bus to NYC where people are more civilized and recognize that need. The Times Square stores and restaurants are always open.
Based on a phone conversation with Mom last night, I can tell that she is buying me clothes for Christmas. Mum and I have never had the same taste in clothes, and surely she should’ve figured this out by now. In the 18 years I lived with her, I had to either wear the clothes she bought me (not a chance) or tell her the truth. So for 18 years she got the truth.
One year she gave me the ugliest dress I have ever seen. It was grey and brown! I asked her if she really thought the dress was pretty, and she said, “Well, I figured that since you hate everything I like, you might like something I hate.”
So she KNOWS we don’t have the same taste.
Since I left the nest, I politely thank her for gifts of clothes and then take them to Goodwill. But shouldn’t the fact that she never sees me wear these clothes be a clue?
Mum will probably spend a considerable amount of money on these unwanted clothes, and it makes me sick. There are lots of things I could genuinely use. Or the money could go to charity. Anything… just not more damn ugly clothes.
Does she not leave the tags on? If so, I would say thanks and hoof it to the store to exchange the stuff for something else. Even with no tags, the store will almost always take it back for store credit if they usually carry the item, especially in the 10 days or so after Christmas. I was once given an unbelievably ornate 2-ft. tall jewelry box (no tags, and definitely not my taste) that I was able to swap for an expandable duffel bag. That bag lasted more than 12 years of heavy use, so it’s probably the best exchange I’ve ever made. And the gift giver never knew. 
Things I feel like pitting:
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My just-over-1-year-old stove, for crapping out right when I was gearing up for Christmas baking. Since we bought the stove last year in October but I didn’t get around to registering the warranty until December, Frigidaire considers the stove to still be under warranty, but the appliance repair place doesn’t agree. So I had to buy an extension to the warranty, and I have to wait for the certificate to arrive in the mail before the repair people will come out to have a look without charging me an arm and a leg. Unlikely to happen before Christmas. Argh.
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Publishers who create nice gift sets of children’s books, and then print “A $17.95 VALUE FOR ONLY $14.95” on the sleeve for the gift set, instead of putting it on a sticker to be slapped on the plastic wrapper. Gee thanks, I’d like my gift recipient to feel I was thinking “what a bargain!” rather than “they are going to love this!” when I picked it out.
The nasty stuffy head ache that makes you feel like crap for a good day or after being in a smokey house. IMO, it’s worse than a regular hang over.
There’s gotta be a joke there about your name and this statement, but I’ve got nothing.
My Christmas pet peeve: my in-laws always have Christmas at their place. This year, Dave’s biological mom, and my mom and dad, are coming. And I can’t have Christmas here because it’s traditional that we do it there. She makes weird foods from what I’m used to, as well. Dammit.
I love them a lot, and I like them a lot, but I just want to do Christmas at my house! Thank God for Dope-The-Halls, or I’d go insane.
Sorry nitroglycerine - I hope your day is merry anyway. Any co-workers who owe you a favor?
I adore Christmas, but there is one little itty thing I’ve been wanting to bitch about.
My MIL. Sent gifts. For the babies. A bunch of them. The items that fell out of one of the gift bags are actually pretty nice, a couple of cute “Baby’s First Christmas” stockings (one pink, one blue) filled with bath toys.
I wish this woman would make up her mind. Last year, it was Christmas at an Undisclosed Location for the rest of Hubby’s family - we weren’t invited, and they had specific instructions not to tell us where she lives.
She’s never met the twins, apparently she’s waiting for us to drive them to her 8 hours away. I’m not in any big hurry to do so. She’s the one who told us (upon being informed of my pregnancy) we shouldn’t have kids, we’re too selfish to be parents.
We had a big, hilariously fun Christmas gathering a few years ago at which she was present, because she was living with us at the time. We’d taken her homeless, jobless, penniless self in. All of my family was there and we played Pictionary - which was truly hysterical since my (really) incredibly bright sister has a phoenetics things with words and mixes them up all the time. Everyone played and laughed.
MIL later complained about the games. She specified that there were to be no games at the next Christmas get-together.
She’s got a lot of nerve, sending nice gifts.
Lathe I suspected it might be to dry but by the time I realized there was nothing to be done. There was no milk in the recipe, thought, do you think water would do? My other cookies came out well and the “peppermint stick” cookies I made out of the messed up ones were a hit, so I’m not stressing too much.
C&T came and brought zuccini bread and loved their gift so the first Chrismas disaster is averted.
A quick new one. Liam, dear friend, I’ve known you 8 years, I adore you, I do. But could you please please tell me when you’re coming next week? Around the 20th was okay two weeks ago but now it’s the 18th and I need to know when you and your large dog will invade my nice, cat filled home. I don’t mind you staying here, but I’d like to know when. Also, don’t snap at me about arranging the group Christmas Party on Christmas Eve and “not giving you enough notice” even though I told you on the 10th and then on the 15th ask me if it’s okay if you go to San Diego for three days and leave us alone with your giant dog in our cat filled house. Two weeks is not short notice for a party. Ten days for giant dog sitting, that’s pushing it.
Sigh, sometimes it’s hard to be the friend group mom.
A friend and I always go to the movies on Christmas because after a certain point we all need to escape. We are most certainly not alone in a dark and empty theater, trust me. Even when we saw the last Star Trek movie, months after it came out. Place was packed. Be nice to just be able to hop a bus to NYC for it, though.
The people I know who have to work Christmas get time and a half. Seems fair enough.
That’s the one. I get headachey, a little queasy in the stomach, a little stuffy - I just generally feel like crap after being exposed to a lot of smoke for a couple of hours. And Jim has asthma and respiratory allergies. Not a great environment for him.
Zsofia, I guess it depends on your situation and how much you value money vs. time with your family. For me, time and a half is not adequate compensation for not being able to see my loved ones at all on one of the three days a year we generally manage to get everyone together. It’s just not. The pay’s too low and my family’s value is too high to make it anything like an equitable trade. And a whole lot of the places that are open on Christmas, like gas stations and restaurants, pay less than I make.
For people who get to see their whole families on a regular basis, or who make a lot of money on a holiday, or who have short shifts that allow them to still take part in family celebrations, or who aren’t particularly close to their families, it’s probably a much better deal. For me, though, working a holiday means I don’t get to go to Kentucky and see my family. I can go see the ones who are still in Kentucky later, but I’ll have missed the others who live out of state. This means I have relatives who I haven’t seen since Thanksgiving of 2002. If I wasn’t off this Christmas, I wouldn’t get to see them again until next Thanksgiving. Working a holiday means I generally don’t get to even see my husband till late that night. It means I get screamed at by clients who think our inability to get them in and out in half an hour is ruining their Christmas plans. (Yeah, the 10 or 12 hour shift here ain’t doing a whole hell of a lot for my holiday plans, either, bitch, so sit down and shut the fuck up. We’ll get to your pet when we get this dog that’s trying to die stabilized.)
Friendly’s isn’t national. They’re regional. You get any further south than Pennsylvania and you’ll never see another one. Every time I go home I make it a point to go out to one with my parents. The ice cream is also not distributed nationally, but only in the region where one can find their restaurants.
They used to be all over the place here in Maryland, but they’ve all disappeared in the last year or two. They used to be great places, but the service and quality suddenly went waaaay downhill, and then they all closed up.
I believe there’s one or two still around (I know there’s one in Lutherville), but that’s about it.
My family and I sometimes go to the movies on Xmas. Once you finish eating dinner, there’s really nothing left to do. Also, one year when my parents weren’t getting along I had to eat Xmas dinner in a restaurant with my mom, that wasn’t a fun year.
I hate the fact that my parents, who know that I am a fairly rabid boycotter of Walmart after seeing their business operations first hand, are probably going to buy my presents there even after I begged them not to because I can’t enjoy anything that comes from that place. And I also really hate that whenever I talk about Walmart in front of them, my parents just laugh, sing the song from the commercials, and tell me that I’ll grow out of it (the hatred) one day. The FUCK I will! I really don’t believe there’s an expiration date on ethics. So now I have to worry that I’m vicariously supporting evil by being alive and receiving presents obtained at the Evil Empire.
If I were still working at Walmart, I’d have to work on Xmas morning, and it wouldn’t even be time and a half because it was overnight work so it doesn’t technically “count” as Xmas. That’s one of the reasons I boycott it.
Oh good, I’ve been holding my pettiness in all day.
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Get out of my way! Get your stupid huge ass cart out of the middle of the aisle!
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Learn to make your own damn candy! I am not the magical candy wizard who can summon up goodies at your every sugar-crazed whim (sorry… I’ve just made five batches of toffee and one of brittle and I’m cranky).
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Mandatory socializing is not fun. I don’t appreciate being ordered to attend a work party on my day off when you, dear boss, will not be there because of “personal plans”. Maybe I’ve got fucking personal plans too, bitch! Gimme back my toffee.
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If you are coming over here the day before Christmas Eve, when I have to work all day and get up the next morning to drive five hours, you will eat whatever I damn well serve! Please see #2 in regards to precious food requests.
Thank you. I feel better now.
How will you KNOW where your parents bought your gifts? Do you ask them???
I’m sorry, but if someone gives you a gift, the proper response is “Thank you,” not “Where did you buy this?”
Kids these days, I tell ya, silly ungrateful twits. Coal and sticks for you. :wally
Just because I’m a freelance writer/editor does NOT mean that I appreciate working over the holidays! Yes, I appreciate the money it brings, but DO NOT drop a 2,000 page editing job in my lap, then happily chirp, “Oh, I hope you’re not going out of town for Christmas - we need this done by the end of the year!” Well, fuck you, too. Even if the two weeks you’ve given me weren’t interrupted by a holiday, it would be extremely difficult to do a decent edit on 2,000 pages in that period of time. If you want quality work, hire an additional editor or two to split the project with me, instead of demanding I spend my entire Christmas slaving over this project, and eventually giving you a shit editing job because you didn’t give me enough time to do it.
Oooh, and to my sister: You poor, poor thing. I know that, as a size four, it must be a trial to fit your skinny little butt into that elegant Christmas dress, especially when you’re being plied with cookies and mulled wine and cider by our mom who thinks it’s her duty to overfeed us; however, if you feel so fat, go for a jog or a walk, or do the exercise videos mom keeps at home for us specifically so we won’t feel fat. And stop complaining about how big you are when you’re a twig and you know it!
And to my brother-in-law: I love you. You’re truly like a brother to me. However, I generally leave the room, go into my bedroom and shut my door, in order to be alone. When you follow me, still jabbering away about law school and your financial woes, and won’t allow me to escape to my room just for ten minutes of blissful silence, that really bothers me. Oh, and stop talking during every fucking movie! Why do you rent them if you’re just going to talk through them??
Oh, yeah, and Mom: Every Christmas, you moan about how much cooking you have to do. So, every Christmas me and my sister offer to help. We wind up cooking the entire meal without any contribution from you, and when people compliment you on the wonderful food, you pretend you cooked it yourself! Then when people leave, you insist that, since you slaved all day cooking, my sister and I have to wash the dishes, too. After all, whoever doesn’t cook cleans, right??
Holiday newsletters should be outlawed, and any violators of this new law should be forced to listen to their own drivel every five minutes at high volume, with no chance to cover their ears, while they sit in a fetid, deep, dank pit.
At least, one person was honest enough to mention that her son spent seven months in jail over the past year. But the others feel it’s necessary to ramble on for a dozen tiny paragraphs, in a teensy little font, for two pages front and back, on their incredible feats and exploits, including those of their kids and pets, in excruciating detail.
Stop it already! No, really: STOP IT!