Tis The Season To Be... oh Fa-la-la THIS

You know, I have to say that getting into the Christmas spirit has not been seamless this year. Shopping is, as is always the case this time of year, a nightmare.

I hit the antique district only to find that "district" really means store, as in individual store, as in "dammit, I can't find the right crystal pattern for my sister-in-law." I'd buy her that lovely Clinique scent she adores, but I'm sick as shit of hearing that perfumes have three notes: "a top note, a middle note, and a..." yeah, I get it... a bottom note. Hey Spray Bitch! This ain't a fucking symphony. You HEAR notes, you SMELL shit. So if I tell you that your perfume SMELLS like a pig's ass, it doesn't mean I'm tone deaf? Got it?

Before I make it through the first toy aisle at K-Bee, I'm bruising like I've been bitten by a thousand recluse spiders.

I try to hum along to the cheerful music, but all around me, screaming kids are making the "christmas face".

Yes, that's the one. It says, "I don't care if Santa is going to bring it in a week, I want it NOW!" Why the FUCK to parents take their toddlers Christmas shopping? What neo-torture devise IS this? And who are they trying to torture, their offspring, or me?

Then -- OH THEN -- there's the overly anxious, neurotic, people-pleasing sales clerk that acosts me with her Christmas cheer. "Merry CHRISTmas," she says, as she takes my face in her hands and breathes stale pretzel bites into my nostrils. "Merry CHRISTMAS". Yes, you Christmas Warrior Freak of Nature, I smelled you the first time. Yes, you and Bill O'Reilly put the Fa-la in falafel, I get it. Now give me my fucking $9.00 t-shirt and leave me be!

And don't you just love those poor, commission-hungry sales associates who are forced with cattle prods into begging you to open a charge account and save 10%? You tell them no, and they look as if you've sentenced them to death by water torture.

What about the kiosk nazis? No, my nails have a natural un-sheen I am quite fine with. No, I'm very happy with my cell phone service. Why yes, I DO think I could stand to lose 15lbs, but I'm NOT trying your Wonder Girdle on over my pants in an establishment brimming with 15,000 angry shoppers.




You know what? How's about you all just make room for me at the front of the Barney's line and nobody gets hurt? That's right, Barista, pour me some of that Santa's White Christmas, leave room for cream and sugar, and MAYBE I'll hum a few bars to Silent Night. I've got five more days to get my Christmas Groove on, so you might want to drop a shot of espresso in there, honey.







This is Funky, and that is all.