The real 12 Days of Christmas

Forget the golden rings (makes me look sallow)  and all those persistent drummers (like a goddamn Rush concert that never ends. Shudder). And no sign of a partridge, but there's likely a glitter-obsessed cat in the tree. Here's my 12 days of Christmas.

1) The day I buy the first Christmas gift (often in late October), thus becoming convinced this will be the year I actually get stuff done early. This does not last. I tend to peak too soon. Kind of like Taylor Swift, but without the chart-topping break-up songs. Come to think of it,  I should totally be writing country music. Nashville, call me.

2) The day I go shopping for my boyfriend. Actually, the day I go shopping for my brother and end up seeing all this awesome stuff I'd buy my boyfriend. I don't have a boyfriend. The handful of men I've dated have all been quite different, but I think they'd agree on the following points: a) I give fantastic gifts; b) I'm a very good kisser,  c) I really don't think that's fair, not when you haven't heard my side of things.

3) The day I realize my jeans are a smidge tighter, and I blame it on the festive goodies. Granted, this year that happened around the third week of November, but I'm gonna go ahead and file it under "holiday season".

4) The day I finally sit down to wrap all the presents. That day is always December 23rd, and I always watch a Christmas movie while I do it. This year it was "The Polar Express". Last year it was "Die Hard". Don't think that qualifies as a holiday movie? It takes place at Christmas. And, be honest, which phrase are you more likely to use at the mall around December 21st:  "Yippee-ki-yay motherfucker" or "Happy Holidays"? Thought so.

5) The day I spend 8 hours shopping and come home with one stocking stuffer, three things for myself, and a nasty disposition. And possibly a ketchup stain from the panic fries I had at the food court in the hopes that inspiration could be found in trans-fat. You know the only thing that inspired? My ass.

6) The day I spend two hours shopping and get most of it done. Not sure why; it could be kismet, it might be desperation. But it's like the heavens open up and shine a golden light on the gifts I'm meant to buy. Granted, this might be a weird side-effect of 3 gingerbread lattes in a 4 hour period, but they're my very own Chrismas crutch. I'm like a super-caffeinated Tiny Tim with a debit card. Seriously, the Starbucks card I got for my birthday? Like giving crack to Courtney Love.

7) The day I see something I never knew I wanted and have to have. The exact timing of the day can vary somewhat, but will always take place 3-4 days after my mother has announced she's completely finished shopping. She did me a solid this year on one thing, though. We meet again, Professor Layton.

8) The day I watch "Love Actually". This is never my present-wrapping movie, because I want to be able to really enjoy it. Adore it. Notice something new every time. Always makes me laugh and tear up in equal measure. And Bill Nighy? I totally would.

9) The day, a weekend one, when I have so much to do I need to make a list and check it twice. I usually even vow to go to bed early.  This is usually preceded, the previous evening, by a "just one drink" festive bender that might see me wearing a feather boa, flirting (badly) with the d.j., and thinking I can play pool. I am only good at one of these things. And it ain't flirting. Or pool.  But I realized something this year: the laser-like focus on my to-do list kept my hangover at bay. As did the gingerbread lattes.


10) The day I attempt to do some Christmas baking. I don't have kids, and most of my friends are more the Christmas cocktail than Christmas cookie crowd, but I have to engage in creaming butter and sugar together for it to really feel like Christmas. Raspberry almond triangles, peppermint pattie bars, gingerbread men (this year they were ninja bread men, and they were awesome).  You know how, on those cooking shows, all their ingredients are laid out, pre-measured,  and even the cooling rack stands at the ready? Yeah, I hate those bitches. There's a better than average chance I'll end up fishing egg shells out of the batter, get butter on my glasses, and forget to turn off the beater before I lift it out of the bowl. And I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm a pretty good baker, but it's a bit like making sausages; delicious, but I wouldn't advise you to witness the process. Thank God I can foist it off on my colleagues, who will happily eat just about anything remotely cookie-like. Often before 10:30 am. See also #3.

11) Tree day. This is probably more like tree three or four days. Get the tree. Make poor man at lot hold it up so I can get a good look. Interrogate him as to the freshness of the tree. Have it delivered. Wrestle it into stand. Cut plastic netting and cross fingers while tree settles. Let it relax for a day. Check lights before placing on tree. Finally light tree. Notice one set is now not working. Curse. Figure out problem. Have drink. Vow "never again". Call tree lot to ask why they suppose tree isn't drinking (that makes one of us). Then start opening ornament boxes and remember how much I love Christmas trees.

12) Christmas Eve, or the day I arrive at my parents house, bag upon bag of gifts in my hands, to be greeted by a squeaky-obsessed yorkie, an indecisive cat (do I want to be in? out? no, in) and an incontinent husky. Every year, I plan to arrive early. I don't know what happens: I leave my house before noon, often before 11:00, and yet still can't make it through the door of my childhood home until nearly 5. It's an hour and a half drive. But there are stops to make, coffees to get, snacks to stock up on. I've come to think of my meandering journey as a new Christmas tradition. So from me, In 'n Out Cat and a bladder-compromised husky, hope your Christmas is a good one. Yippee-ki-yay, motherfuckers.