And then there was the Christmas Tree...

It's been a few days since I've updated. I realize this and offer no apologies. There are several very good reasons for my lack of updating-ness:

1. I've been too busy reading the entire archives of The Daily Dump. Consequently, I've been too busy feeling inferior to his blogging skillz. This guy is freakin' hi-larious.

2. My once-beloved baby boy Lucky is lucky no more, and is, in fact, giving me enormous amounts of stress. The incessant cruel leaking of the rain water has succeeded in destroying my love for the once magnificent Volkswagen Golf, leaving nothing but a cold, hard block of ice in the interiors of my chest cavity and a big dirty hunk of metal filled with mold-harboring moistened cushions and carpet in my parking space. Lucky, you know you will always have a special place somewhere in the dark recesses of my soul, but until I can manage to get you healed up and fully de-humidified, de-mildew-fied, and de-stank-ified, you will heretofore be known as The Mold-mobile. Or Automoldbile. I haven't decided yet.

3. Scott and I apparently bought the official Most Infuriating Christmas Tree Ever this year. I say this because we brought it home the other night and have since spent longer than I am willing to admit trying to make it work. Myself, I am not opposed to just tossing it over the balcony and rolling it over onto the side of the road despite it being more than 2 weeks before Christmas.

See, first we brought it home. We were quite giddy and excited because we had bought a giant, beautiful tree at a nearby lot...for $20! Twenty freaking dollars, people! There was another tree lot down the road that had a dinky little 4' piece of crap for $45. So we were quite - how do you say? - stoked.

Then, we promptly realized that we had bought an 8' 4" tree to put into our living room. A room which has an 8' ceiling. So we snapped a couple inches off the top. Then we put it into the tree stand, secured the screws, and filled it with water.

Then we realized that we did not get the bottom freshly cut and it would probably turn brown before Christmas Day. So we (and by "we" I mean "Scott") had to unscrew the screws (which, by the way, is a bitch to do), get the damned tree out of the stand, spill tons of water onto our carpet in the process, and drag the bottom end of the tree out onto the balcony to make a fresh cut.

The we realized that we did not have a saw. So we had to go to Home Depot to buy a saw. Incidentally, we made a quick detour at Denny's. I had the Super Slam Extreme Grand Slam. And a hot cocoa. It was delicious. Then we went to Home Depot.

Then we realized that the saw we (meaning "Scott") had purchased had about the same effectiveness on the blasted tree as a used nail file. So we (definitely meaning "Scott") spent the next 30 minutes attacking the Unfortunate Christmas Tree of Doom with a combination of the damned worthless saw, a steak knife, a flat-head screwdriver, a hammer, and heaps of curse words. And we put the tree back in the tree stand and re-tightened the screws.

Then 4 hours later we realized that the blasted thing was slowly leaning. So we un-screwed the screws, straightened the tree out and re-screwed the screws.

Then yesterday we noticed that the f*ing tree was leaning again, this time in a different direction. So we f*ing un-screwed the screws, straightened the f*ing tree out and f*ing re-screwed the f*ing screws.

Then we both came home this evening, looked at the tree and...you know. So we...you know.

And then after my rage had cooled to room temperature, we finally got the lights and ornaments - purchased at Target, thankyouverymuch - and decorated the blasted tree.

Then we realized that we hadn't bought enough lights.

Then Ysabel gave up and decided that she didn't care if she woke up tomorrow morning to find that the tree had completely toppled over and that it would remain in that position for the next three weeks.

Most Infuriating Christmas Tree Ever, 2006.
Also: Look at Bela sitting on the couch. Notice how his eyes glow with the rage of a thousand wild monkeys at this tree's stubborn refusal to cooperate. He learned that from me.