For anyone that doesn't know me, I love to collect post-modern Christmas decorations. Basically the ugly, ugly plastic decorations that are most likely full of lead and pain that causes seizures and erectile dysfunction (although that second one hasn't really plagued me). Pairing these ugly items with the basic ugly items that litter my apartment throughout the rest of the year is probably one of my favorite activities. If you can believe it, the Infant of Prague stays and the creepy head looms all the live-long day.
Sharing my collection with six people on the internet is fun for sure, but much like my currently watching this back metal documentary, interspersing Dustin's interests with mine makes for a fun life together. Bottle brush trees and tiny robots go together swimmingly, anyway.
No holiday is complete with embarrassing your family whilst showcasing your super sweet plastic Christmas shovel .My parents really enjoyed when I forced them to wear someone else's clothes and pose for a picture in Gettysburg. ESPECIALLY my father. He wouldn't even wear rental bowling shoes when we were going bowling one time for my birthday. Admittedly, this is more about my perverse pleasure it distressing my father than it is about my Christmas shovel. Moving on...
This year I bought a champagne (it's pronounced cham-pag-in) glittery tree and covered it with totally twee bows. Personally, I blame Etsy for this. If it wasn't for that site, aqua wouldn't be such a big part of my life. Neither would birds or little doodads that make me squeal.
Don't miss the creepin' Santa head in the background.
Why do so many Santas look like Rummys?
I've covered it in Norman Rockwell ornaments, teapot lights and sugarcube garland with the most adorablest button and corduroy tree skirt that ever lived.
That is, until the cats destroy it.
Christmastime is here. So that means its time for me to make a concerted effort to be a little nicer and be a little bit more human. Bill Murray will tell you all about it.