Ya know Christmas is actually my favorite time of year, but honestly I just can’t wait till it’s all over.  I think part of the problem is that we chose not to do presents this year.  A large part of Christmas is going into debt from all the presents ya buy folks, then the hours you spend meticulously wrapping them.  You can prove your trailer trash heritage by slapping a Bob’s Purty Good 25 cent bow on your crappily wrapped package, or you can be like me and wrap one so fine people are afraid to open it – and they should be.  Seriously, I would love nothing better than to wrap packages all day; as long as I’m allowed to do it my way.  Too bad there’s not a Neiman Marcus around here.  I wonder if Clint needs someone to wrap his packages for him.

But all this constant baking and cooking is really fucking tiresome.  I don’t want to dip anymore Ritz Cracker Cookies; I’d rather set the kitchen on fire.  You shoulda seen me the other day after making Russian Tea Cakes, I looked like fucking Frankenstein; hunched over, limping and growling.  Once I was finished dipping the lil bastards in powdered sugar again I told Mother, “I’m gonna hobble off and go find a quiet place to die now.”