I am not sure that Jesus would appreciate this. But I am pretty sure that Santa and his little people would. Actually, I think Jesus *would* appreciate this – especially if we’re talking about Baby Jesus.

So I haven’t written a blog post in damn near a month.  And let’s face facts, I only post once every two weeks at best.  And the only thing happening regularly these days is my…yeah, TMI.  I would like to tell you that it is because each and every post is a magnum opus, that I am a blogging artisan who carefully considers each word and places them delicately in harmonious unison within the careful structuring of a master class sentence.  But if you have been here before, well, then you know better.  If you haven’t been here before, well…welcome. And I apologize.   

I would like to tell you that I had to slow down.  Because I used to get paid for my blog posts.  And since that is not happening anymore, I can’t blog as frequently.

But that’s not 100% accurate.  There was a short period of time when I could write a post at work and, since they pay me there, *technically* I was getting paid to blog.  Which was awesome.  But that was back when I had a Hobbit for a boss.  But he has since been exiled to the Shires (which is totally a good thing) and now we have a new Commander in Chief who is just chock full ‘o ideas.  GREAT ideas.  Ones that are seemingly specific to my department and only my department.  And the timeline for these projects is…NOW.  I have a sneaking suspicion that the newbie didn’t get the memo about how December in the workplace is designed for internet shopping, bitching about the holidays and looking for new Christmas cocktails for the party that you have planned 100% from the discomfort of the ergonomically incorrect chair at your desk. But this December – there has been none of that.  And it really pisses me off when people don’t respect time-honored holiday traditions.

I could blame my lack of blogging on any number of things, but in the spirit of sharing and making excuses because that is what the holiday season is all about, I am going to share the dark, dirty secret that has kept my fingers far from my keyboard on the weekends and most evenings.  I realize that in sharing this, I am probably going to lose the little bit of street cred that I have.  The threats to hurt people who wear Snuggies and promises to loudly out people who pee on the seats in public restrooms will be washed away by my odd little holiday obsession. 

So, for the better part of December, mixed in with online shopping, marketing campaigns that were trying to kill me and copious amounts of wine, I was putting up this:

 They say it takes a village to raise a child.  Well, I have no children.  And it took me and my dad a ridiculous number of hours, with the fate of our relationship hanging delicately in the balance, to raise this village.  And I am not going to lie – putting this shit together is a pain in the ass.  A real pain in the ass. 

 But in hopes of gaining back just a little bit of respect, there are minor details I need to point out about my village.

My village people like to drink. A lot.  There are two stand alone bars, a winery and I am pretty confident both the hotel and the ski chalet have bars inside – or at least fully stocked rocking mini-bars.  And there are no cops in the town.  So the crime and drunken fighting – it runs rampant. 

The Ski Lift of Terror is one of my favorite pieces.  It moves back and forth, which is awesome, but there is no possible way for people to get off.  These cable cars rock – back and forth.  Sometimes, they bang into each other, sometimes they hit the top of the winery. 

There is a subway.  With a shoe shine and a musician begging for money.  And a rat. 

Someone lost his head.  Quite literally.  In a freak ice skating accident.  And every year he skates the mirror-pond.  Headless.  As it should be.
 

So this is what I have been doing. For the past month.  And I am filled with equal parts of shame, pride and wine.  And the more wine I drink, the more I realize that this huge city sitting in the middle of my living room is becoming a bit hazardous when I am tipsy.  If you ever see a news story about someone that was tragically impaled after falling onto her village church’s steeple, know that it was probably me.   

Happy Holiday!

PS – It is December 24th and I totally just got paid for writing this blog post. Thank you baby Jesus – this village is especially for you!