There are rules in my house for the holidays. (Actually, they’re not so much in my house as in my head.  I do take them with me wherever I go.) Here’s what you have to do if you want to celebrate the holidays with me:

• We do not talk of weight or diets during Christmas week. There are no “I shouldn’ts” or discussion of Weight Watchers points during this week. You have your whole life to diet. This type of food only happens once a year.
• We do not yell at the cats for destroying the tree. It’s their house, too, and they’re not allowed to go outside. You’ve just brought a giant, six-foot cat toy into the house. If they want to chew on the pine needles and barf up green hairballs later, by golly, you will LET them!
• We do not play holiday music in my presence unless it is Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. The exceptions to this are limited, and come down to:

1.  “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” by Band Aid.
   
2.   “Peace on Earth/Little Drummer Boy” by David Bowie and Bing Crosby. (Note: ONLY this version is allowed. And no more than twice a season.)
   
3.  “Wonderful Christmas Time” by Paul McCartney (no more than once a season).
   
4.  “You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch” by Thurl Ravenscroft (most fun name EVER!)—however, if you compare me to the green, cranky one, I will stab you in the eye with a fork three sizes too small. Like a cocktail fork. Whatever. It'll hurt, that's all.

Note: I have been known to break up with radio stations forever for starting their holiday music crap right after Thanksgiving (it was nice knowing you, 106.5 WBMW).

• If you want me to bring food to a holiday gathering, you have two choices:

1. spinach dip in a bread bowl
   
2. cookies (probably snickerdoodles)

There is no wavering from this list. If you call me a week before your scheduled event and ask me to bring a fancy pesto-puffed-pastry tree with dipping sauce that you’re just sure I’m talented and creative enough to make, you will get a bread bowl filled with spinach dip.
Or nothing. You might get nothing. A pesto tree? Are you kidding?

• Step out to the left, please. When the car stops, please step out to the left. (Wait. I think that's the rule for the old Mr. Toad's Wild Ride at Disney World. Disregard, please.)
• You are welcome to wish me a Merry Christmas, a Happy Holiday, a Fabulous Festivus, a Happy Chewbacca, or whatever you wish to say to acknowledge the season. This is the one time of year when I will not be offended by your religious views. Knock yourself out.
• Do not ask me to watch holiday specials with you. I do not like them. You cannot change my reaction to them. I will not enjoy them. I will heckle them. You will get angry and call me a Grinch. I will impale your eyeballs with my above-mentioned cocktail fork. It will end badly.

Follow these rules, and we'll get along fine. I hope you have a wonderful holiday this Christmas. Happy Chewbacca, everyone!
__________
This week from The Storyside:
My Favorite Funny People: "Light Reading" by Stacey Longo (hey, that's me!)
Festive Book Review: "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Krampus" by Rob Smales

It’s that time of year again, when I flog and skewer stupid, sappy Christmas specials. Today’s victim? The insipid and generally terrible Miracle on 34th Street.

The movie opens with Kris Kringle (Edmund Gwenn) getting upset that the Macy’s Santa is slightly intoxicated, proving that Kris Kringle is an intolerable prig. Alcoholism is a disease, Santa. Perhaps the only thing this guy had to look forward to in his miserable life was the brief, shining moment during his day when he could play Santa Claus. And now you just got him fired. Right before Christmas. Ho, ho, ho. Jerk.

Now that Macy’s has no Santa, Kris steps in to fill the role (how convenient). Listen, if this guy is the real Santa, doesn’t he have better things to do? Like prepare for the one day of the year when he has to deliver toys to every single good kid in the world? I’d think he wouldn’t really have time to fill in at Macy’s, but what do I know? Kris promptly messes up on his first day by sending parents shopping at every store in town except Macy’s. I was brought up to respect the company that puts food on my table every year, but clearly Kris was raised by woodland elves and has no concept of loyalty. (I’d bet if Santa’s stupid elves quit to take a better job at, say, the Lego factory, he wouldn’t feel quite so magnanimous about recommending other companies.)

Macy’s event director, Doris Walker (Maureen O’Hara), has told her daughter, Susan (Natalie Wood), that Santa Claus isn’t real. Susan takes this as permission to yank on Kris Kringle’s beard, which should have put her on the naughty list right there. She tells Kris she doesn’t believe in Santa, adding fuel to the naughty fire. Then she asks him for a house for Christmas. A house! Heck, when I was a kid, I didn’t even ask Santa for a Cabbage Patch Kid because I thought it was too expensive of a gift to request. (Santa brought me one anyway, because he's magical. but not rich, kid.)  This spoiled, disrespectful beard-puller has a lot of nerve!

As it turns out, when you go around telling people you’re the real Santa Claus, someone is bound to think you’re reality-impaired. The Macy’s shrink (and since when does Macy’s employ psychiatrists?) has Kris committed.  Doris’s boyfriend Fred (John Payne) convinces Kris to take his case to court, because America is the land of frivolous court cases, after all. Fred gets the US Postal Service to dump 40,000 tons of junk mail in the courtroom, and because now all of the court officials have to spend their holidays cleaning up the mess, they forget about convicting Kris.

On Christmas morning, we have a moment of glee when Susan wakes up to find she didn’t get a new house for Christmas, but our joy at her misery is short-lived. Doris, Fred, and Susan take a drive in the country, and break into an empty home that Susan assumes is hers. (Even if it is, that’s a lot of responsibility to lay on a kid. Between maintaining the property, paying the taxes, pest control, and all the other fun things that come with home ownership, there’s no way this snotty little brat can keep up with the house on her own. Good thing her mom has roped Fred into proposing.) Honestly, Santa: it’s okay to tell a child “NO” when their Christmas gift requests are completely unreasonable. A HOUSE! In the spirit of Christmas, let me just say: what in Christ’s name are you thinking, giving a CHILD a HOUSE?

Overly sentimental, unrealistic, and too indulgent of children: I give Miracle on 34th Street two candy canes down.

I'll be signing books at the Book Club Bookstore, 100 Main Street, Broadbrook, CT on Sunday, December 13, from 10 AM–1 PM! Stop on by!

From The Storyside this week:
A new ebook single release from Rob Smales: "Carol of the Bells"
Fabulous free fiction: "The Sleep Thingy" by David Daniel

My aunt, Auntie Joanne (her official name), is not on Facebook. (Actually, none of my aunts are, now that I think about it; nor are my parents. Considering some of the stuff that gets posted on my wall, this is probably a blessing.) Anyway, my aunt has asked me a few times to post some of the silly memes I've shared on Facebook here, on my blog, so she can see them instead of pestering her daughter to scroll through my timeline and share the funny pictures. Since I'm tired, did not have a stellar week, and am fresh out of ideas, I figured I was game. Here you go! You're welcome.

If you want more substantial fare by me this week, check out my guest post about Women in Horror on Connie Hambley's website here: http://bit.ly/staceylongo
___________________
Did you visit The Storyside this week? Why NOT? Here's what you missed:

Wise writing advice: "Why Should I Edit?" by Rob Smales 
Reflections on Welles Turner: "Library Memories" by Stacey Longo (hey, that's me!)