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December 06, 2005 - 7:01 p.m.

Every year for Christmas I try to send out little tiny packages to people, usually something homemade and invariably it has my face plastered on it somewhere. Last year I sent out CDs and ornaments, and this year I would like to top that, with the help of my fanzy-ass new Canon printer-scanner-copier. All the world is my oyster and I get the pee-pee feeling just thinking about the possibilities.

Boy, do I have negative feelings towards the Christmas holiday. It is so much more than dislike or hate. It’s like…deep-seated disappointment. And sorrow. Is that dramatic enough for ya? Because I could go on about how I feel alone even when I’m in a crowd and stuff.

My dislike isn’t caused by stress or money. And it isn’t about greed, consumerism, or materialism, although all of those things are annoying in their own right.

What happened is, my parents sat us kids down, or tied us down, rather, applied eyeball clamps, and ala “A Clockwork Orange” systematically tortured us while forcing us to watch Christmas movies. Or something very similar to that.

So Christmas makes me feel similar to how you might feel when you, say, hear a gunshot, or see a clown, or your boyfriend asks you for anal, or Uncle Touchy puts his hand on your shoulder.

Dread.

That’s the word I was looking for.

I have a few options. I could “opt out” of Christmas, but then everyone would think that I’m a Scroogey self-righteous A-hole, and I would shit on everyone else’s parade and further isolate and alienate myself from family, friends and society.

Opting out is not an option.

Or I could go through the motions like many people do, buying and receiving and smiling and faking joy and good tidings while secretly dying inside.

That’s what I’ve done most of my life, and I cannot tell you how many times I crawled under the Christmas tree and cried when I was a kid.

For me, the Christmas Tree is a symbol of Crying Under Multi-Colored Illumination.

I figured out a system a few years ago and so far it has worked like a charm.

I decided that Christmas is “your” holiday, not my holiday. And I immerse myself in all things Christmas, building, buying, doing, donating, creating, wrapping, and it’s all for you, meaning anyone but me. Me has been removed entirely from the equation. It has to be one-sided, the tidings can only flow one way, and that’s just how it HAS TO BE. Anything else and I will be left feeling hallow inside and I’ll have no choice but to fill that void with Vodka and float down a Cosmo River on a lemon wedge until December 26th.

I do often run into the problem of people wanting to reciprocate and give me presents back. Not that there’s anything wrong with gifts, but do not let me pause, think, or actually register that I am unwrapping a gift. It’s important that I be allowed to open it quickly, give thanks quickly and point the spotlight back on you or I might FREAK OUT. My mouth will be moving a mile a minute, but inside my head I will have my fingers stuck in my ears saying “LA LA LA LA LA LA,” - and I don’t mean “Fa-la-la.”

I suppose there are a few people reading this who are thinking, “huh?” and “I’m never buying that asshole a present again.” Well, hey! Uh, sorry! It’s not that I don’t LOVE gifts, cuz I do! Whether it’s reindeer panty hose, a thong, a switchblade, or deodorant and socks! It’s just better for everyone involved if I wait until December 26th to really look at and appreciate the gift, when the holiday is over. Otherwise I’m bound to offend someone with my sad chickenface, that looks like disappointment in the gift, but really it is disappointment with LIFE!

To summarize: I hate Christmas but I taught myself to love it by dissociating from myself and drowning in other people’s joy, and my own denial, much in the way that Martha Stewart preoccupies herself making sparkling bird centerpieces, instead of thinking about the fact that her daughter hates her and she hasn’t had a boyfriend in 20 years.

(no offense Martha! I love you! *heart*!)

To summarize Part II: Do you want to be the target of my obsession? Do you want to receive my mania, in an envelope? The embodiment of my hysteria, sweat and tears? Email me at whitehelmet at diaryland dot com if you wanna be put on my Christmas mailing list.

And if you’re too a-scared to give me your home mailing address, then I suppose you can give me your e-mail address and I can whip up an electronic version of my LOVE, though it will totally suck compared to the three-dimensional, stamped, sealed version of my love, which comes with a complimentary sample of my DNA.

*S.W.A.K.*

Happy Month of Holidays!

PS - Did you follow that first link back to the entry from Dec. 26, 2004? I just tested that link and noticed that I had made a custom cancellation stamp on that red envelope. What possessed me to write those words? I done forgot! HA HA HA!

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