Let’s face it – everyone’s family is nuts.

Yes, even yours. And I don’t mean your twice-removed aunt that shows up on Christmas Eve clearly off her meds. Even the “normal” members of your family are crazy. How could they not be? There’s decades of dysfunctional family history stored in everyone’s hippocampus. Quite frankly I’m impressed you turned out as well as you did. Let’s face it – you’re a survivor. And then every December you voluntarily go back into that den of insanity! After what they did to you! I wish I was half the man/woman you are. To go back and face your antagonists, wow. Just wow. I moved the laptop to the top shelf of my bookcase – right this second – because I needed both hands free. Yes, I’m clapping for you. That’s what you do for heroes. You clap.

This holiday season is going to be both fun and horrible. And while you can handle the fun stuff (eggnog, presents, throwing a snowball packed with an ice at the back of your grandfather’s head), you may need some assistance around the horrible. Allison and I can help you cope.

Don’t think for a moment that Allison and I are master coping gurus. Our stats are worse than yours. However, we’re really competent at telling other people how to fix their stuff. In short, we tell you the truth most people wouldn’t. And we’ll pepper it with a few dirty jokes to help soften the blow.

So, what are you worried about this holiday season? Submit your question here and tell us your problem. We’ll take some time to ponder your quandary (each day opening another window on the advent calendar revealing a delicious chocolate coin!) and return back sage advice. Hey, I like that! We’re sages!

Click her to submit your holiday question that needs fixin’!

I have pounds of deli sliced turkey from back in October, never touched. There’s a Lean Cuisine something or other – the box is covered in frost. This is especially awesome since it must have been from my ex-wife and she hasn’t lived here in three years. I have, for some reason, some low-cal tortillas, a pint of Breyer’s, what I believe is beef tenderloin, some ice packs (have never used an ice pack in my life), a sleep mask (also never used), and various other meats, cheeses, and vegetables.

I have one of those freezers on the bottom where it’s just a big bin. So the things you throw in there are on top. You know, LIFO (last in, first out). I have over ten pounds of frozen chicken breasts which is great, but I want to eat now. Plus, thawing those bad boys takes like ten minutes. Then I have to fry them up with frozen veggies. It’s a whole scene.

I scoured the bin looking for the easiest and most satisfying meal available. I found it.

Helen Keller wrote, “Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all.” And that woman had it rough hiding out from Nazis and all. Wait – that was the other one. Yeah. Anyway…

I just texted my friend Karen – “I’m currently eating meatballs leftover from my parents’ Christmas Eve party. An adventure awaits me in the bathroom.”

I have a belief that meat stays fresh forever in the freezer. I’ve yet to be proven wrong and I recently cooked up a steak that was well over a year old. When you cook stuff, bacteria stuff goes away. That’s what I remember from junior high science class. To be honest, I was a little concerned that the meatballs could make me sick. I outsmarted it, however. I decided to double cook them.

First I defrosted. Now, normally I think defrosting is for pussies. You can cook that shit frozen if you know what you’re doing. But I didn’t want to be out all day tomorrow with dysentery, so I defrosted, then cooked. I’m smart like that.

It’s near the end of this post and it’s been about forty-five minutes since the last meatball was consumed. I’d like to mention that I put down over a pound of meatballs. Then the majority of a box of Good & Plentys. My eating habits are questionable. I know this. It would be dishonest of me to say that I don’t feel a little queasy. I feel like I ought to lie down. Going to sign off here.

If this is my last post please remember that I always loved that girl from first grade. I don’t recall her name now. Something like Jenny. But not Jenny. Janell?

Okay, scratch that. Tell my parents my death is all their fault. That’ll be a real hoot to watch from heaven.

Here’s part II.

• Sarah G.  –  Tell us about when you found out Santa wasn’t real.

Third grade. A little piece of shit named MonkeyMan Magoo (not his really name, but he might read the blog, plus he looks like a monkey) decided to tell all of us. We were all lined up to hug our third grade teacher Mrs. Groesch as we were leaving class to go on holiday break.  MonkeyMan Magoo decided to ruin the surprise. He walked up the line telling everyone one-on-one, “There is no Santa Claus.” Traumatic – yes. However he went on to develop a bad drug addiction, outstanding warrants, and even some jail time. That erased any trauma.

• Cheryl Z. – How you got stuck in a chimney

I once got stuck in a chimney because I wanted to hang out in a chimney. It seemed cool at the time. Neither hanging out in the chimney nor getting stuck in the chimney kicked fanny. 3/10

• Ashley O – The necessity of wine over the next 48 hours.

We’re of course talking about family. I don’t drink at all because I love to drink more than the average person who loves to drink. So, we’re really discussing tolerance. I don’t mean alcohol tolerance but tolerance of things that are done that we don’t like by family. I escape, not through wine, but through being alone. I retire to my childhood bedroom to “write” when I mostly just screw around. That’s unhealthy too, though, so I’m learning how to sit in environments I can’t control – a family. My parents and sister are wonderful, but I still get annoyed at things they do. This whole vacation I’ve been saying “tolerate” in my head when I get a feeling to run away at full speed. It works.

• REC1PROC1TY –  Twinkies of course!

Okay, before Hostess closed down the Twinkies offices I propose none of you bastards had eaten one in twelve years. Nobody gave a rat’s darn about the Twinkies before or since. Yes, I know we like to wax nostalgic about it, like we do with awful bands like Poison, but the fact remains if Twinkies were a great treat we’d be eating them as adults. Now, if you’re a mom you get no input on this one. Yes, you eat Twinkies but that’s only because you buy them for your kids. You also eat Lunchables, too. You’re just in the general proximity of Twinkies. Yes, they were a fine snack but I felt they paled next to a Hostess Cupcake. Anyone who chooses a Snowball is a complete psychopath in my book, fyi.

• Laura L –  How it sucks ass to work on Christmas Eve.

The last time I had to do this I was sixteen and working in a bar. I got tons of free booze and was off by 6pm. So I have no complaints. But those of you who work in retail or are nurses or prostitutes who moonlight on Christmas Eve, I am sympathetic to your plight. Here’s what I say to you – you’re not missing as much as you think. We have a huge party at my house on Christmas Eve, and while it’s fun, we’re washing dishes until 2am. Plus, you know there’s the drunk uncle that likes to hug a little too long. And if it’s just time you get to spend with your children and husband, you can do that whenever. Take ’em to the zoo in April. It’s basically the same thing.

photo credit: Tambako the Jaguar via photopin cc

Read Part I Here!

During the cleaning, we had set up an assembly line with my sister and mother bringing over all the glassware and dishes to the sink.  Al, my sister’s boyfriend, washed everything by hand and then handed to me for the drying.  My dad was breaking down the bar.

After twenty minutes and twenty dishes, I announced I needed a breather.  I sat down and felt that vaguely familiar feeling of being drunk.  Now, mind you, I haven’t had a good alcohol high in nearly eight years.  And the worst part, from what I remember, is when things started to speed up instead of slow down.

Alcohol is a great relaxer.  Sure there’s some folks that get crazy on whiskey and tequila tallboys and punch out a bar-back, but for most of us, drinks mellow.  At least it did when I boozed.  But when things start blurring and the room gets bright, that’s when the trouble starts.

I sat down, took a few deep breaths, and then stood up again.  I nearly passed out.  Apologizing as I headed upstairs, I needed to sleep.

In my bed I couldn’t get comfortable.  I felt something in my throat pushing, wanting to come forth and out.  But it wasn’t quite bad enough yet for a manual eject and I tried to fight it.

Throwing up totally sober is among the worst experiences your body can handle.  I mean it’s not quite the same as that dude from the movie who cut off his own arm, but I don’t mountain climb, so this is my version of that.  It’s a strange thing because you know you’re going to feel better after, but the act of puking is painful.  Maybe I’m just a giant pussy.  (Not literally)

I ended up puking six times throughout the night.  Also, I’m having what I would delicately call “stomach issues.”  Less delicately I would call it extreme shitting.  If it were an X Games competition, I’d be on tour and sponsored by Charmin.

In fact, and I think this was funny, one time I’m sitting on the toilet doing the deal, and I realize I have to puke.  Since I was mid-liftoff, I couldn’t change position, hit the ground and throw up into the bowl.  Still sitting, I grabbed the mirrored garbage can to the right of the toilet and unloaded.  It was perhaps the saddest moment of my life.

The next morning, being Christmas Day, I was awake only two hours.  I missed the opening of presents, the dinner at a family friend’s, and any semblance of holiday cheer.

Plus, since I was sick, my thoughts were as dark as my continuously spouting bile.  I starting evaluating my life as a total failure.  I couldn’t speak, but I called the girl I’m dating and asked her to reassure me.  She convinced me that I’m not a total piece of shit, but that I’m just doing a lot of shitting and not to trust my thoughts during this time.

I actually made it downstairs for twenty minutes of gifts.  I couldn’t crack a smile I was so miserable.  And nothing is worse than not being able to feel good when you’re opening presents that people have lovingly purchased for you.

The only picture I have that day is from the second gift I opened.  I thought I looked okay, and with my fever-brain, I should have known better.  For some reason I took the gift that Al had given me, one of those headbands to keep warm when you run, and wore it.  Dana took two pictures before informing me I wasn’t smiling.

I forced a smile, and she commenting,  “Ooh, go back to not smiling.  That doesn’t look right.”

However, even though I technically missed Christmas, it wasn’t a total loss.  I had several great days with my family, a few good parties, and great food.

What I initially thought was food poisoning turned out to be a nasty flu, and two days later I feel mildly better.  Sure I almost passed out at work today, but I made it through.

Thank you for all the well-wishes during my illness.

Just kidding!  It’s about me.

It’s always about me.