Christ it's Christmas!

In my haze of preoccupation with numerous persuits, I have once again been knocked over stunned to suddenly discover how rapidly the disastrous thing known as Christmas is approaching.
It's not that I dislike Christmas......itself anyway, it's that I hate how people become every year when the bloody thing rolls around like a faithful steam engine (Not a Connex steam engine- Only Melburnians will get that).
Their crazed expressions as they jolt into you in the crazy cyclone that has suddenly engulfed all shopping places of all shapes and forms.
Yesterday while following the Mother like a little lamb into the slaughter into Chaddstone, I was like a small animal reeling in fright against the wall as the torrent of normal every day people mutated into bargain-thirsty shoppers stampeded towards me.
"I'm scared" I whispered, quivering with fear to the Mother I hoped would step forward to shield me. But instead, she grabbed me to pull me into that deep end of human limbs, clutching shopping bags like hunters of the wild cradling their kill for their young ones back in the nest.
I found a small ledge to plaster myself against in David Jones once we had fought our way through the ferocious snarling beasts that are the Christmas shoppers.
Panting I was shocked to see the Mother casually surveying the glass wears, calmly holding wine glasses up to the light, pondering their competency to hold the precious liquid.
Peering around to check the coast was clear, I gingerly stepped out of my safe haven to assist the Mother in the glass search. Eventually finding something to amuse and distract me from my turbulent ordeal- I held up a large glass in the cup of my hand.
"Ooohh what about these Mum?"
She peered over critically from a delicately small and intricately decorated glass that had taken her attention. She sighed patiently, "Ohh that's a goblet" before turning back to her more deserving piece.
"Exactly! Look at all the grog you can get in there!" I exclaimed holding it up to unsuccessfully prove my point.
We wandered on through the walls of glass wear, the Mother watching my tread with an eagle's eye, my clumsy reputation for destroying all things pretty and delicate eating at her nerves.
I suddenly gasped and jumped from the path I had been warned to follow, as the Mother nearly collapsed with overwhelming anxiety.
"Maaarrmmmmm! Look at this!" I held up a heavy silver table ornament that holds candles like the rich people have in movies (I have no idea what you call them).
"Ohh let's be cultured!"
The Mother raised an eyebrow before continuing on her glass quest "Ohh I do worry about you Lana."
It wasn't long before we had to brave the crazed crowds again to get to Borders book store. I had the idea that this might pose as a safe haven with the ignorant thought that the average hungry hunter couldn't read. As I threw myself from the unreasoning rip of shoppers and across the threshold of Borders I suddenly discovered that while the savages couldn't read they still obviously liked to look at the pretty pictures and a line nearly longer than Shane Warne's phone bill snaked its' way from the counter and zig zagged through the shelves.
The Mother had abandoned me here so I had to fend for myself as I decided upon my friends and family not being worth this ordeal for the sake of their store bought presents so I instead went looking for a dvd series to get me through the next few boring weeks of unemployment.
I soon found Seinfeld's season 1 and 2 and used the gift voucher I had just recieved from my school as a prize for getting the 'Academic Excellence Award" (*bows* Thankyou! Thankyou!). Ahh... and there's that old Tall Poppy Syndrome pushing up through the weeds.
The queue was made short by the illusion that preoccupation always loyally supplies, which came in the form of a Where's-Wally styled picture book called "Where's Bin Laden?". Made me giggle till one of the check-out-chicks called "Next!".

Later that day the Mother suddenly full of the Christmas spirit for the first time that year ordered for the dusty, foul-smelling Christmas decorations to be brought down from their hiding place. As the light hit the little Santas and bulbous tree ornaments for the first time in a year they screamed for mercy, but the Mother was ruthless.
The nativity set was arranged properly upon the mantle piece with the donkey and cow as usual looking like they were about to maul and feast upon Baby Jesus. The three wise men looking as seedy as the men down at my local on Friday night and the adolescent Mary still bewildered about where baby's came from.
The 2D plastic Santa was then placed on the window sill looking like he'd really hit the ciggie pack in the past year in his reclusive state with his formerly white beard as yellow as piss along with his normally bright white eyes fading into a yellow that would put Big Bird to shame.
The pathetically tiny tree was dragged from it's box and it's limbs were than given time to be twisted in different directions to try and manipulate some sort of realistic look from it.
My suggestion of doing the traditionally Aussie custom of just getting a little eucalyptus to decorate was instantly soiled upon with the proclamation that eucalyptus stunk- literally.
Tail between legs I returned to putting more decorations on the sad plastic little tree than was humane.
Eventually we stood back to look at our our work.
Bulbous ornaments hung from door knobs and shelf edges, large lights nearly bigger than the tree itself were draped over the sad little green object, a home made star with silver foil on only one side hung from the wooden chandler, thin silver tinsel drunkenly made its' way from the cabinet, across the windows, over the Christmas cards that spelt my name wrong to come to a exhausted coiled end on top of the tv.
A red piece of head gear with Santas wobbling upon springs with lights in their arses that previous years had always seemed to make its' way to my dog's head (to her disgust) now straddled a small lamp upon the mantel piece.
It was like a tacky factory had exploded in my lounge room. I didn't know whether to laugh hysterically or reel in horror, I chose the former and decided to go for the tacky theme boots n' all. I rushed to my room and returned triumphantly holding a small object above my head.
The Mother, The Brother and his girlfriend stared quizzically until I made the movement that I hoped would be the only Australian attempt I'd make to the tack fest to be left undisturbed.
From the nativity set I removed Baby Jesus and put a small figurine of Ned Kelly in his place.

Love Thy Neighbour

Last night my cuz Fleece and I had just returned from the beach when we got a text message from my mum.
"We're at the Sandy Hotel"
There was a chance she'd be drunk by the time we got there and just the possibility of seeing mum drunk was too good to miss.
We sped down Beach Road in the newly serviced Hilux with even more grunt than it had before.
Through the double doors of the Sandy pub and we were met with Mum (drunk), her boyfriend, his mate- Kevin07 and our neighbour Jill (drunk).
Jill was waddling around in a dress that barely covered her large breasts so at every sudden movement she made we would tightly shut our eyes. Added to that she would also lift her dress to reveal herself to any unlucky bystander and have them screaming from the room with blood dripping from their eyes.
But that's how she acts sober so I wasn't too worried about her well-being until she suddenly leaned forwards and croaked "Laaarrrnnaaa, have you ever tried modeling?"
All eyes were suddenly on me. "Only for dog food companies"
Then Jill got the idea that skinny dipping in the bay just over the road would be a real riot. Mum was up for it too. I was told that I would be up for it. I hadn't been listening to their conversation "What am I up for?", I asked, but the question of being Up For It had moved onto Fleece.
"Nahhh, she's too straight laced" cackled Mum.
Fleece took a sigh of relief, she was off the hook just for being too anal.
The decision was reached to move the party back to Jill's house.
She wanted to come in the ute with us.
Fleece was driving due to me hitting the bottle a bit.
We climbed in the front while Jill fell in the back.
She was satisfied as long as we had the Seeker's song blaring loudly on the AM radio.
Once it ended she grew bored.
As we turned onto North Road, Jill undid her seat belt and began manoeuvring herself in the turtle-fashion into the front between us.
"Move ya arse over Lana!"
I was hanging out the open window and was still wedged between the door and Jill's butt while she tried to get into position.
Next minute the Hilux began to growl unnaturally because in her struggle Jill had kicked the gear stick into neutral.
The journey home wasn't the most comfortable of my life but wasn't boring either.

When All Money is Gone, Family Guy Says So Much

Today is the Brother's 21st Birthday.
I actually bought him a bloody awesome gift yesterday that I handed to him around midnight last night and not a second before.
We have very few things in common, the Brother and I, but an almost religious love for Family Guy has quite recently become one of the few things (beside from a family member's funeral in the future) that will see us sitting side-by-side for hours, lapping up the jokes like beer on Christmas Day.
So yesterday while wandering rather deliriously through Target, due to eating and drinking nothing for many hours (due to a rather nasty chest infection I've picked up recently through my travels, not some feeble little following in the footsteps of a drastic-giving-into-society's-pressures diet) I found what I had been looking for- Family Guy Season Four.
My heart leapt, before sinking upon the sight of the price. $42. Money has pretty much never been an issue for me. I don't have much of it, but for a long time I've had a decent amount of savings due to working like a dog and having no social life between the ages of 13 and 16, that has never seen me having second thoughts about some new purchase or rather.
Now, for the first time I'm staring down the barrel of being rather broke.
And now I owe my mum 5 grand for the fabulous new ute I just bought.
I had the money already, if you included the couple of grand in my trust fund that mum started the day I was born, but good old mum forbidded this "Money for schooling" to be squandered on a ute.
So she lovingly gave me 5 grand that her tight arse father had shockingly coughed up as way of apologising, I guess, for any number (we were free to take our pick as no words of acknowledgment accompanied it) of rude heartless things he's done in the course of her lifetime.
I'm of course to pay it back (though I did make it clear before I accepted it that would be in some time).
Well anyway, I stood looking at the beautiful dvd that held hours upon hours of laughter, so worth the piss-stained pants and pondered for a moment. Before buying the bloody thing along with 3 cds for myself. What? I haven't updated my music collection in months!
Then on the way home I had to put $46 worth of fuel in my Hilux.
I love not worrying about money......mmm shit, those so sound like famous last words.
But I got the Brother a freakin' awesome gift that made him happy and I can't remember the last time he was so nice to me.