So today's Christmas, yo. Here's the rundown:
We have Christmas breakfast in my family's house, first thing in the morning, come as you are. And so it's pretty badass because you don't have to get all dressed up, and curl your hair, and put on make up, and put on fancy clothes, and garnish yourself like you live in The Capitol of The Hunger Games and be all "OMG it's CHRISTMAS!! MAY THE ODDS BE EVER IN YOUR FAVOR!". You just have to show up at my Grandma's house, ready to eat, presents in tow. Enthusiasm is voluntary.
And then we all sit down to eat, and there's a million of us because we're like The Ewings, and then my Grandma says a prayer for us, thanking God for letting us all survive each other's shit long enough to make it from one Christmas breakfast to another. It's pretty cool, actually. She cries every time. I mean, it's not cool that she cries. But it's cool that, for the most part, all of us are there each year, maybe minus one or two who are on trial for shooting JR. ... ... ... I'M KIDDING, PEOPLE. There are no trials in Dallas.
Opening gifts this year was a little different though, because my Grandma gave each of her grandkids pieces of her own jewelry that she'd had restored, and each one had a separate story for each of us, and then me and my cousins looked at each other with tears in our eyes like "omg. why?! WHY DOES SHE WANT TO MURDER OUR HEARTS?! WHAT THE HELL DID WE EVER DO TO THAT FREAKING LADY?". And nobody else could really say anything, yo, because it was a special moment, but y'all know me (I'm the one that didn't recognize the person standing at the front door ready to celebrate Christmas with us, so I just turned to the room and said "hey, there's a black man at the door"), so I was all, Dammit Gramma. Way to make a bunch of bitches cry. To which she silently leaned over to look at me and winked. Gotta love that lady, I realize now where some of my snarkiness comes from.
My cousin's 4-year-old son got a badass remote control monster truck as part of his gifts, but he wasn't playing with it right, so I had to confiscate it. I tried to lead by example, of course. Because monster trucks shouldn't be driven in straight lines back and forth on the cement. That shit needs to go off-road. And my phone was ringing and buzzing the whole time, but again, I led by example, (because I'm responsible, yo) and didn't answer it, because you're not supposed to text and drive. And then I crashed the truck into the flower bed and took out a few solar lamps so I had to give it back. I'm looking forward to his birthday.
Then it was time for poker. And I lost my ass. I have no humorous comments about that, because I came home 10 bucks poorer. And my Grandma had them. Damn that old lady.