To the people who watched Love Actually without me last weekend — you know who you are — watch your back.
It’s just that it’s that time of year where I get stoked for winter and the first step to this is watching Love Actually. The second step is getting excited about making glühwein. Sometimes I even get around to the third step, which is actually making glühwein.
Since I was left behind by the Love Actually hype train, I guess I’ll just have to get into the Yuletide spirit all by my lonesome. It’s gonna be great. The greatest. Ever.
And besides, technically I’ve been getting into the spirit since October by sending my relatives potential gift ideas with passive aggressive messages along the lines of “hey, look at this neat clothing item/accessory/four-litre bottle of Jameson! If only there was an approaching occasion excusing you to buy me this neat thing!” This nagging will continue well into springtime while I milk it for Valentine’s Day, Easter, March Madness, etc.
But from here on out, my Yuletide manifesto is as follows:
1) For thine honour and gaiety, thou shalt get some Michael Bublé going. Thou needeth not a reason. Though if someone asks, it’s because I’m a white girl and it’s scientifically proven that 38 per cent of our hormonal drive is to hear “All I Want For Christmas.” The other 62 per cent is a combination of “paying too much for juice” and “look, cats!”
2) It beith sinful to feign distaste for that sweet concoction, eggnog. I still have too much pride to drink pumpkin spice or, I dunno, moscato, but dignity be damned — the ’nog is delicious. Eggnog, not half-functional democracy, should be the western world’s leading forced-export. It’s probably more stable than the latter too — I had a friend once chug a litre of eggnog that had been left out of the fridge for… a while… and she didn’t get salmonella and die. I think.
3) Thou shalt not bring up your weather-related opinions to Albertans. You wanna mention how your hands are a little bit chillier than normal? Too bad. That would prompt the nearest Albertan to launch into tirades about how, in Alberta, it’s so cold that Russia would’ve put gulags there, but was driven out by the frostbitten fists of a thousand stampeding Albertans. Albertans are to the cold what vegans are to veganism. I.e., I’ve already heard their spiel on the only topic they ever talk about and I’d rather be hit repeatedly in the kneecaps by a car door than hear any more.
4) As it hath been observed, it bringeth to thine name boundless dishonour should thine Christmas lights be wobbly trash, you gross loser. Lights are the unifying source of all Yuletide spirit, duh. But that’s all ruined if they’re left dangling around your roof like a white hipster’s dreadlocks. Lights are meant to be taut and you know that.
So for now, I’ll have to be content with that stuff — twinkle lights, colder-ish weather, not dying of salmonella-infested eggnog. And being totally not salty that someone watched Love Actually without me. Merry Motherf&^%ing Yuletide, everyone!