It seems to be that time of year again, when I spend money I don't have on an inordinate number of cards to send out (which will most likely just live in my nightstand's top drawer, along with all the others), and bitch about all those ugly life-size Frosty dolls on people's lawns.
The boyfriend has implied on more than one occasion that I'm a scrooge, but I'd still like to know WHEN Christmas became code for "be as tacky as you possibly can."
Still, though, I love seeing Santa. Not in my home at midnight, because then he'd be uninvited and most likely robbing me, but out on the street ringing bells or listening to wishes. The Bay Area, it seems, is a wonderful place for such sightings.
Take last weekend for example, on our way back from watching A Very Merry Murder Mystery (which I highly recommend, because what says "holiday cheer" better than murder?), we took a short jaunt through the Marina, only to be entrenched in Santas. All kinds of Santas, even the slutty variety, and all of them raging drunk. Santas carrying each other home, Santas fighting in the street, Santas peeing in the alleys. We saw them all.
I tell you, I'm not much of a Christmas spirit kinda gal, but watching a third Santa try to break up a fight between two other Santas really brought a tear to my eye. I'm a better person for being reminded of what this time of year is all about: boozing.