Oh Christmas Tree

We finally put up our Christmas tree this weekend.

I know what you’re thinking…eight days before Christmas? There’s almost no point!

Listen, life is busy and I’m having one of those imperfect mommy/wife/human being months. Cut me some slack. I haven’t broken my own record of Christmas tree tardiness, which is the twenty-third of December.

Don’t judge. That was the year The Husband Dude and I were moving from one apartment to the other just a week before Christmas. There was no point in putting up a tree in the old place and when we got to the new place, I had to unpack as quickly as possible because my mother was coming to visit for the holiday. When she arrived to an apartment in serious disarray and no Christmas decorations in sight, she graciously helped organize a few things, cooked and helped put the tree up.

Thank God for moms!

All things considered, I think I’m doing okay this year.

As with most projects in our house, the day wasn’t without its moments. For example, I was brow beaten into listening to Christmas music.

The Husband Dude: Are you going to put on some Christmas music?

Me: I’m going to put on some music. Not Christmas music.

THD: Why not?

The truth is, I can tolerate Christmas music for only very short periods of time.

Like the length of an elevator ride.

But I didn’t want to sound like a total bitch.

Me: I just don’t care for Christmas music that much. I’d rather listen to something else.

THD: Aw come on. You can’t be that big of a Grinch! I mean, I’m a big Grinch and I love Christmas music.

It’s one of those moments as a married person that you have to make a split-second decision and decide if it’s worth fighting about.

Spoiler alert: It’s not.

I compromised. I put on the “Rockin’ Holiday” station on Pandora so that at least in between the sappy Christmas standards, I could listen to Bruce Springsteen sing about Santa Claus coming to town and Elvis sing about…well, I have no idea. I tuned it out of my brain so fast that I know Elvis sang one of the songs but I have no idea which one.

Good to know my power of totally blocking out the entire universe hasn’t diminished in my old age. That’s my super power.

Anyhoo…I was busy assembling our artificial tree while THD brought boxes in and out from the garage. I had to go out there to tell him something when I realized he had his radio on out there. Guess what he was listening to?

Spoiler alert: It wasn’t Christmas music.

Really? He made me feel like a Grinch for not wanting to listen to Christmas music and he was out there listening to Guns N Roses????

I’ve just sat through three different versions of White Christmas and there’s no alcohol in the house and it’s Sunday so I can’t buy any. That constitutes a crisis in my world. Like DEFCON 3.

Just as a point of reference, DEFCON 1 would be having to listen to an old lady at the doctor’s office complain about her bunions and DEFCON 5 would be stuck at home during a blizzard with a houseful of kids who are fighting over the last pop tart when the power goes out.

I went back in the house and continued working on the tree when THD came in and looked a little irritated.

THD: The neighbors two houses over must be having a Christmas party.

Me: Ok.

THD: There are cars parked everywhere and I guess they’ve got a drunk uncle or something because he just hit our mailbox.

Me: What the hell!

THD: I sat there and watched him. He was trying to park in front of the house and he hit the mailbox with his mirror and just kept going. Then he gets out of his truck just closes the box and walks away.

I immediately went into my day job mode. I grabbed my cell phone and stormed out the door and out of the garage.

It was three o’clock in the afternoon and I’m pretty sure I looked a little deranged wearing flannel pajamas, no bra, white furry bootie slippers and not a stitch of makeup. I hadn’t even run a comb through my hair.

THD: What are you doing?

Me: I’m documenting this mofo. I’m getting a photo of his license plate, his truck in relation to the mailbox, how far he is from the curb. All of it.

THD: *blinks* Ummm…I don’t think the mailbox is damaged. It’s just loose. But it’s always loose.

Me: I don’t care. If we so much as find a damn scratch on it, I’ll have everything I need to look this guy up. I’ll know who this truck is registered to, where he lives, who his insurance carrier is and when his last prostate exam was.

THD: *blinks* Well, as long as we know when his last prostate exam was, can we get a better mailbox?

Spoiler Alert: No.

A little while later, THD came back in.

THD: You gotta come see this.

We both went out in the garage and watched as the guy in the pickup was backing up, using the curb as his guide.

THD: Do you think he’s gonna hit the mailbox again?

Me: I don’t know but we should probably be recording this.

THD: I think he’s drunk.

We watched as he backed all the way up, toward the house where the party was taking place, but then he stopped, right in front of the house that sits between our house and the party house. He was totally blocking their driveway. Then he just got out and walked back to the party.

THD: Did he just walk away?

Me: Yes.

THD: He’s blocking their driveway. What are they supposed to do? What if the kid has to go to work (meaning the teen next door, who works part time on weekends)?

Me: I don’t know.

But as I got the words out, we watched the guy get back into his truck and someone else got into a tan car that was parked behind him and they both drove off….until a few minutes later when they both drove past our house again, going the other way…and then again coming back the original direction.

THD had clearly had enough. “Drunk bastard!” he yelled.

I’m not going to lie. I find it very sexy when a man beats his chest a little and acts protective of his habitat. Take for example the time we lived in an apartment and a couple of kids knocked on the door trying to sell magazines. THD was very nice about it but he turned them down. I guess they didn’t like that answer.

After he shut the door, being the paranoid dude that he is, he watched through the peephole to make sure they left. That’s when he watched one of them grab one of our front porch ornaments and he went ballistic.

He threw open the door and the chase was on.

And by chase, I mean he actually got in his car and drove after them as they tried to escape across the apartment complex.

Now we’re not talking about something pricey or sentimental that was on our front porch. We’re talking about a twenty-four inch piece of plastic that was bent into a spiral and painted cool colors so that when it blew in the wind, it spun around and looked cool. We’re talking about an eight dollar knick-knack purchased from a street vendor on our trip to San Francisco.

But it was OUR eight dollar piece of plastic. THD was not having it with the thieving little bastards.

As it turns out, he scared the kids so badly, they dropped the ornament right outside my mother’s apartment (she lived on the other side of the complex from us at the time). Pretty funny that they happened to leave it there.

With all that being said, as much as I can appreciate a man who is willing to mark his territory, so to speak, I had to laugh a little when THD yelled, “You drunk bastard!”

It sounded less like King Kong and more like the dad in A Christmas Story yelling, “Nadda fingah!”

(Video courtesy of tylErHasRice on YouTube)

You can’t win them all.

I don’t have an ending for this story so I’ll leave you with a photo of the finished product instead.