Bah Humbug.

Me: I hate Christmas music I think. That's not true. I like some of it.
Cam: Like what?
Me: ...

So yeah, I guess I hate Christmas music. If I could find a store that didn't play Christmas music this time of year I would do all my Christmas shopping there. (Actually there is such a place--Urban Outfitters. It's Vampire Weekend all day everyday over there. But I don't think most members of my family would appreciate a thirty dollar tiny hat headband.)

There's a certain kind of girl who starts blasting Rudolph the Reindeer in the dorm the day after Thanksgiving. These are the kind of girls I think about smacking in the face with my shower caddy when I see them in the hall tweaking out because the Santa Clause 2 is on TV. I don't mean to trash anyone's inner child, but there comes an age where you're just not supposed to get pee-your-pants excited about Christmas. I mean, really? You're that excited about a big family dinner, TV specials and some new sweaters? Long story short, thanks to girls like these, this winter I've heard far more of the Chipmunks' Christmas and Glee Christmas album than I would like. I'm also starting to think that Alvin and the Chipmunks and the cast of Glee are the same musical entity.

Then of course, you've got the "War on Christmas" people. They think that cards that say "happy holidays" rather than Merry Christmas are persecution on the level of the Spanish Inquisition and the Salem Witch Trials combined. Except even worse, because it specifically targets Christians. Maybe I don't get it, but I'm not actually sure how a faith-neutral greeting further desecrates a holiday that's already celebrated with seven foot Spongebob Squarepants inflatables.

And Christmas music. I mean, holy God. It's okay when you're a kid. But then you get a little older and "Baby, It's Cold Outside" starts sounding kind of date-rapey and "Santa Baby" sounds like it's directed at Japanese schoolgirl fetishists and "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer" just makes you want to shoot yourself in the face.

And really, does anyone actually like all the uber-treacly Christmas music that's out there? Or is it just pumped into department stores to drive people so crazy they start thinking that faux-fur trimmed cardigans and fuchsia chenille hat/scarf/glove sets and soap on a rope are good presents? I don't mean to be hyperbolic (well actually I totally do) but this is a perfect example of why the rest of the world hates us. All of our strained international relations can be distilled down to the fact that we as a nation allow Singin' Big Mouth Billy Bass to exist.

I mean, I like Christmas. I really do. It's nice. It's pleasant and everything. But sometimes a reasonable person just wants to tell everyone to chill the fuck out.

...Yeah, I know I'm a cranky jerk. Whatever. I also hate people who use the word "literally" when they obviously mean "figuratively" and people who say "expresso," so what are you going to do.



I found one!

An Open Letter to Taylor Swift

Girl. Really. You are not a fairy princess. You are not a precious little lamb. You are not a special snowflake. Stop it. Sure, the blonde curly hair and the country songs about sparkly pickup trucks and sparkly ponies and sparkly apple pie was all well and good when you were fifteen, but how old are you?

Wikipedia says you're twenty, which is my age. Now, I had princess phase like anyone else but I grew out of it and started having conversations about things other than prom dresses and boys and how awesome my daddy is.

I suspect, Taylor, that you would get eaten alive in the world of most twenty-year-olds. I suspect you've never thrown up last night's tequila at a baby shower. So props for that, because it's not fun. But I also bet you've never gone illicitly night swimming in the university pool at two in the morning, or spent seven hours on a Greyhound talking to a woman you're pretty sure is a crack dealer, or come close to beating my kegstand time, or done quite a few other things that I could list here but won't because it's come to my attention that my mom reads my blog. Point is, Tay Tay, non-princesses have more fun.

I'm not suggesting you make a sex tape, or start flashing your vag at the paparazzi everytime you get out of car. I understand that the sweet little country princess thing is your schtick. You gotta get a gimmick, and I'm sure you thank God every day that you did because otherwise you'd just be an awkward, frizzy haired girl who's a music theater major at a community college. Last night, though, your gimmick took another step away from "naive but cute" and towards "bewildering and smug". Whoever runs the celebrity self-congratulation fest called the VMAs decided that it would be dramatic to let you sing your song "I Forgive You Kanye Because You're Sad and Immature and I'm a Fairy Princess". It was bad. Like, really bad. (Lyrics aside, the girl can't sing. Don't get me wrong, I love to drunkenly yell-sing "You Belong With Me" as much as the next female college student, but I want that shit produced within an inch of its life.) It's officially time to consider a new gimmick, Taylor. Also, give Kanye a break. All he wants is a simple Persian rug with cherub imagery. Is that really too much to ask?