Since I have decided to partake in fatherhood, however, the Christmas season has begun to be enjoyable again. Instead of just stressing out about the obligatory crap that I don't want to do I am now beginning to enjoy showing Av all of the Christmas preparations and I am feeding off of her excitement. I think the other day I may have felt actual joy. I am not doing nearly as much grumbling as I normally would about buying gifts because I know what I am buying is going to make her happy (and will also be fun for me to play with- there is a certain feeling that you are buying gifts for yourself as a child). And the best part? When you have kids you can slowly weed out all of those people you don't want to see around the holidays. Easy excuses make for fewer obligations.
Unfortunately, having children does not excuse me from hanging Christmas lights, so all of my neighbors still get to hear me yell things like "fucking cocksuckers" or "piece of shit douchebag" as I string lights on the porch. It only took me about three and a half hours this year to finish up the job, which is about an hour less than last year. Something that the childless, yuppie piece of shit that lives across the street seemed to think was funny. So funny, in fact, that he continued to comment on it while he loaded up his Mazda for a snowboarding trip along with his sweater vest, turtleneck, loafer-wearing bro dude best friend.
"Still at it, huh?"
Yeah. I'm still fucking at it. You know why? Because hanging Christmas lights is a pain in the ass. I'm standing on a freaking patio chair with strings of icicle lights draped over my shoulders. I have dropped a staple gun on my foot FOUR TIMES and NONE OF THE LIGHT STRINGS ARE THE RIGHT LENGTH! Once I got all the lights up I had to take two strings back down because the plugs on the strands of lights didn't match up. Oh, and I have a three year old nipping at my ankles and trying to sabotage me the entire time.
"Those lights look like they are winning."
Oh, do they? Do they look like they are winning, Gavin? Well you know who isn't going to be wining? You, Gavin. You. You know why? Because while you are on your snowboard trip I am going to break in to your condo and put my balls on your pillow. That's what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna steal your dog. I'm gonna fix your girlfriend up with one of my friends. You are going to come home to no dog, no girlfriend and a pillow that smells like balls. WHO IS WINNING NOW, GAVIN? By the way, Gavin? Awful name.
If it wasn't apparent already, I don't care for Gavin. I haven't ever formally met him or his girlfriend. I have only said hello as he gets in to his car that is always unnecessarily parked in front of my house, but I'll tell you why I don't like him. He is young, in shape, does not have any children, appears to have plenty of money and is constantly walking around with a smile on his face. This man faces no adversity. He wears sandals. He plays golf during the week. He walks his dog in a bubble jacket. He goes on snowboarding trips. Judging by his recycling, he drinks Corona Light. His life is too good. Too easy. It is unfair and I don't like him. We have nothing in common. I bet he listens to Coldplay. His name is also Gavin. Let's not overlook that, either.
I also don't care for my Jewish next door neighbors to the right. I do not dislike them because they are Jewish, but when looking at the entire package, their religious snobbyness is responsible for many of their awful personality traits. I have always said that I don't care what religion someone is as long as they leave me alone about it. For the most part, the neighbors have left me alone about it, but you should have seen the death stare I got while I was hanging up the Christmas lights.
There are four main reasons that I don't care for these people.
First, they came on way too strong when they moved in. Knocking on our door and asking if we wanted to come over. Whoa whoa whoa. This isn't a fraternity. We aren't 17. Slow down. I'm not here to make friends. I have friends. You bought a house next to where I live. Enjoy. We aren't having a block party.
Second, the first thing they did upon moving in was cut down all off the trees in their back yard, most of which hung over our yard and provided shade, privacy and a home for many of the birds and small creatures I enjoy. Now the squirrels just wander around and eat trash. It is like a third world country after a national disaster back there. Dicks.
Third, and this is where the religion part comes in, about once every few months they have some sort of temple gathering at their home where throngs of old Jewish women aimlessly and cluelessly drive their high priced vehicles up and down the street looking for the house, turning around in the drive way, taking up all the spots on the street and generally causing a suburban traffic and parking nightmare. They stay for two hours or so and then the 'we are all leaving at the same time' puzzle begins. I swear sometimes they just stop in the middle of the road out of pure stress.
The fourth and final reason that I do not care for these people is that the wife listens to Jimmy Buffett. You know who else I bet likes Jimmy Buffett? Gavin. You guys should be friends with Gavin. And then you can all move. Or maybe I'll move. Hey, Gavin, can I borrow some money?
Moral of the story? Don't move near me. I am a psychopath.
Anyway, I got the lights up. I have not broken in to Gavin's apartment. The Christmas tree has been put together, it is in the window facing the Jewish neighbor's house. Yes, I do kind of hope it bothers them. Happy holidays. Now, all that is left is lying to Avelyn about Santa, elves and the like which makes for a magnificent excuse to threaten her when she is acting like a shit head. Which, like most children, and most human beings in general is all the time. We have an 'Elf on the Shelf' who reports back to Santa on whether or not she was good each day. This is funny because deep down I think she knows it's bullshit, she always asks why he doesn't talk or move or blink, but when it comes down to it she is going to go with it because if she is wrong she would be totally fucked. Kind of like being Catholic. Makes no sense when you really think about it, but people still follow the rules just in case.
All in all it should be a nice holiday season. Unless people keep knocking on my door at dinner time asking me about my energy bill. That happened last night. It did not go well for the husky young woman wearing khakis and a 'Next Energy' polo shirt. First of all, don't knock on my door ever unless you have a delivery or you are selling Girl Scout cookies. Second, don't knock on my door at 6:49 p.m. Third, don't argue with me when I tell you I am not interested. This will land you a door slam in the face and a strongly worded email to your company's CEO. Why do I have this vision of me eventually living in one of those compounds like the guys on 'American Pickers' always roll up on? You know, one with three buildings filled with junk I've hoarded and a fence with a bunch of 'Keep Away' signs? I hope no one ever allows me to purchase a firearm.
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Monica and I have been doing some arguing over the naming of our upcoming child lately. She is in to the usual Sam, Peter, Jimmy, Timmy, etc... that everyone always names their kids. I am looking for something a little more distinguished. I have already been shot down on Roosevelt, Filmore, Elmore and Leroy. Even when I tried to go more traditional with Lewis or Leo I was hit with a resounding 'no'. This is frustrating. About the only hope I still have is Calvin. I don't know why, but I really feel like his name should be somewhat presidential. Roosevelt seems best, but apparently that ship has totally sailed, so I am going to have to compromise. We could always go with Gavin, I suppose.
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