Episode 36: THERE IS FISHWATER IN MY *$#%^*@ BEER!

Tuesday was Christmas Tree day on Roslyn Street, a long anticipated (by some) moment as it marked the first time our baby would experience the festivities from this side of the womb.

By all accounts, Av has already made one Christmas special, making her first appearance last year in Monica's descended stomach, creating backbreakingly sober moments for Mom and a lot of forced awkward family conversations for Dad. Now that she is here, we are hoping that she embraces the holiday with childhood joy and vigor and such. Like, the kind of vigor that wins you $20,000 and a bad voice over from Tom Bergeron.

For essentially my entire life, Christmas Tree Day has been little more than a mess of aggravation, angry drinking and family dysfunction. As a child the annual trip would typically end in some sort of fight. Sometimes about the tree, sometimes about the trip to get the tree. Eventually, someone came to some sense and just bought an artificial one and called it a day. As an adult, the experience has not been much different, although the aggravation and fighting has been caused by other factors.

Before moving to Roslyn St., Monica and I lived in one of those 'period-centric' apartments in Downtown Salem. You know, the ones that people covet because of their 'history' or 'charm.' If I were a single guy on my own with a decent job it would have been a 'sweet pad' or a 'phat crib' or whatever the kids are calling them these days, but if you wanted to do anything beyond the Four S's (shower, shave, shit, sleep) you were in trouble.

The problem come Christmas Tree Day, along with the low ceilings, was that the floor was all slanted and warped. I actually think it may have been the original floor. I am not really sure because the whole place was covered in carpet (including the kitchen and bathroom), but the small glimpses of wood that I did see were not in good shape. The slanted floors made it difficult to put up the tree, naturally, because you had to try and cut the stump to fit the warps in the floor. Yeah. Last year's tree was tied to a hook in the ceiling just to keep from falling over.

Luckily, the floors here are perfectly level and the space we cleaned out is plenty big enough for a good sized tree, so we were off on a good foot there. I still had concerns about getting the tree to the second floor and still had bad memories of when I was ripped off at the Christmas Tree place last winter, but I promised myself that I was not going to lose my shit this year.

Tuesday night we packed up the kid and took the Ford Escape to a new tree place next to the mini golf course in Salem. The tree was a little pricey, but it was clearly marked and the men who worked there were nice, so I didn't mind. I am not hard to please. Actually, the entire experience went pretty well until I tried to get the lights up. That is really where it took a turn for the worst.

With the baby isolated in the kitchen at dinner time I attempted to string a set of lights around the tree, which was pulled in to the middle of the floor. I tested the lights before I put them on and they all worked. Great. Simple. I started to get aggravated about half way around the tree when the lights started to tangle up, and from there it was a downhill slope. Before long I had wedged myself in to a corner, tangled in lights, holding on to a fish bowl that I had almost knocked over. I don't even know how this happened. It just did. To make matters worse, while wedging myself in the corner, I spilled a good amount of fish water out of the bowl, and directly on top of my beer. I couldn't hold it back any more.

So, I yelled and swore a little and blew off some steam. Got un-wedged and finished the job. A bit calmer, I plugged in the lights. Only half of them lit up. COME ON!

My guess is that in the tangled mess I got myself in to I either A. Stepped on a bulb and broke it, or B. spilled fish water on one and it seeped in to the bulb. Whatever. The point is that th elights didn't work. I quickly ran to the Family Dollar, only to come back with a box of colored lights instead of while. Merry F-ing Christmas.

Actually, the light saga was pretty mild compared to past years, and I was able (with the help of some bourbon) to relax and regain my composure. As for the baby, she liked the tree and laughed at the lights, which she was then tangled in, but all-in-all she didn't really seem to acknowledge that anything was different.

Later in the week we decorated it, largely without her as she really just tries to eat everything and gets in the way, and we wrapped her presents and placed them under the tree. It would be a lovely Christmas if she knew what the hell Christmas was. Hopefully this will be the start of a new holiday trend, where things go smoothly and the kid has a good time. Although, it is only Dec. 11. I wouldn't put that bourbon away quite yet.