(no subject)
I think my family gets amnesia after every Christmas. Well, Christmas Eve and Day are well remembered... and the shopping for Christmas... but the search for a Christmas tree is always fuzzy.
My mom had a bit of a memory of last year and suggested we use our little one foot fake tree. I pitched a smale (small scale) fit and said that she was lacking in holiday spirit for even contemplating getting a fake tree. Her amnesia returned and we went to the grocery store to get a tree. We didn't feel like springing for cutting down a tree of our own.
Then the fun part. We had to cut the end off of the tree so the damn thing could drink. So we grabbed a dull saw that couldn't cut butter on the hottest day in August and started cutting it in our pitch black driveway, the only light being from passing cars and the motion sensor porch light that I had to dance in front of to make come on. We swore. We cursed the tree. We sawed at that stupid base, not able to see what we were doing and got sap all over our coats and hands. We must have been out there for forty five minutes.
"All this effort and for WHAT??" After my mom shouted this, the piece of wood flew off and landed way out the hell in the yard. I blinked in surprise. It was over. Yay! We rejoiced and I went to retrieve the surprisingly small chip of wood and dumped it in the "garden" so my brother wouldn't run over the wood come spring and get bawled out for wrecking the mower.
We took the tree upstairs and we suddenly remembered. Got to get the tree on the tree stand. We didn't have a hammer. We took turns using a baseball bat while the other held the stand in place. I almost got my hand bashed three times. If I hadn't jerked my hands away and yelped just in time, I could have at least four broken fingers. We finally got it in and rejoiced and started to move the tree into the corner. The stand fell out. Here we go again.
After beating at the stand with the baseball bat and cursing the tree even more, we finally got the tree up and were getting the tree in just the right position so we could screw in the tree-straightener part of the tree stand. That was when we found out that the tree starts out straight and somewhere in the middle of the trunk branches off sharply to the right. No matter what, the tree was at a half-assed angle. We decided to face the most half-assed part to the wall and it didn't look nearly so bad. It still looks bad. I call it the Charlie Brown tree because it's so awkward.
Then my brother materialized from a friend's house (pretty handy considering all the hard work was done *grumble*) and he and I decorated the tree and my mom put the lights on it. It looks a tad better with the decorations on it, but... it's still awkward as ass.
I've written this down as a reminder to myself: This year is the LAST year with a real tree. From here on in the one-foot tall fake tree will be JUST fine. I'm going to go take a picture of The Charlie Brown Tree to further commemorate the family decision.
My mom had a bit of a memory of last year and suggested we use our little one foot fake tree. I pitched a smale (small scale) fit and said that she was lacking in holiday spirit for even contemplating getting a fake tree. Her amnesia returned and we went to the grocery store to get a tree. We didn't feel like springing for cutting down a tree of our own.
Then the fun part. We had to cut the end off of the tree so the damn thing could drink. So we grabbed a dull saw that couldn't cut butter on the hottest day in August and started cutting it in our pitch black driveway, the only light being from passing cars and the motion sensor porch light that I had to dance in front of to make come on. We swore. We cursed the tree. We sawed at that stupid base, not able to see what we were doing and got sap all over our coats and hands. We must have been out there for forty five minutes.
"All this effort and for WHAT??" After my mom shouted this, the piece of wood flew off and landed way out the hell in the yard. I blinked in surprise. It was over. Yay! We rejoiced and I went to retrieve the surprisingly small chip of wood and dumped it in the "garden" so my brother wouldn't run over the wood come spring and get bawled out for wrecking the mower.
We took the tree upstairs and we suddenly remembered. Got to get the tree on the tree stand. We didn't have a hammer. We took turns using a baseball bat while the other held the stand in place. I almost got my hand bashed three times. If I hadn't jerked my hands away and yelped just in time, I could have at least four broken fingers. We finally got it in and rejoiced and started to move the tree into the corner. The stand fell out. Here we go again.
After beating at the stand with the baseball bat and cursing the tree even more, we finally got the tree up and were getting the tree in just the right position so we could screw in the tree-straightener part of the tree stand. That was when we found out that the tree starts out straight and somewhere in the middle of the trunk branches off sharply to the right. No matter what, the tree was at a half-assed angle. We decided to face the most half-assed part to the wall and it didn't look nearly so bad. It still looks bad. I call it the Charlie Brown tree because it's so awkward.
Then my brother materialized from a friend's house (pretty handy considering all the hard work was done *grumble*) and he and I decorated the tree and my mom put the lights on it. It looks a tad better with the decorations on it, but... it's still awkward as ass.
I've written this down as a reminder to myself: This year is the LAST year with a real tree. From here on in the one-foot tall fake tree will be JUST fine. I'm going to go take a picture of The Charlie Brown Tree to further commemorate the family decision.