Lore of the Ring – A StrangeJob Christmas Past, Present & Future

Christmas Past: It was one of those family Christmas holidays, the kind that makes you no longer care about family Christmas holidays. Traditionally, my role was to set up the artificial tree and string the lights. My mother would then organise a tree-decorating party complete with family, friends, bells, tinsel, angel hair and Christmas cheer. At the end of the holidays, my mother would remove the decorations, and I would store the tree for the next year.

It was a particularly frantic Christmas holiday: my parents were not getting along, the alcohol consumption meter was on overload, and bickering, pestering, and petty rivalries were in full swing. Each family crisis was supplanted by the next in a nightmare of unseasonable behavior. What is it about Christmas that brings out the worst in some people? 

There was no tree-decorating party that year; my mother decorated the tree by herself. I could have helped, but I was too busy living in my own little world and it hadn’t occurred to me that I was the only family available that year to help with the decorations. I was glad when the holidays were finally over, and I could fulfill my responsibilities by packing the tree away for the next year. 

It was a fitting end, I suppose, to the Christmas of little cheer when I lost my prized Tiger’s Eye ring. As a crystal, a Tiger’s Eye promotes harmony and balance while releasing anxiety and fear. So much for that theory, I thought, as I searched the house from top to bottom for my missing ring. I was glad the holidays were over. 

Things settled down by the next Christmas. There was a spirit of reconciliation in the air, and I was looking forward to that year’s celebrations. The previous year’s despair gave way to a glimmer of hope. With guarded optimism, I set about unpacking the family Christmas tree when I heard a “clunk” as something dropped to the floor – it was the Tiger’s Eye ring that I had lost the year before. The ring must have been caught on a branch when I was packing the tree. Perhaps it was a good sign of things to come. That Christmas was a good one, and as Christmas holidays go, it was certainly better than the few that preceded it.

Unfortunately, Christmas is but once a year. Alas, my parents eventually separated, siblings divorced, friendships weaned, and I managed to lose the Tiger’s Eye ring yet again.

Christmas Present and Future: I stopped decorating for the holidays many years ago. Other than a wedding band, I also stopped wearing rings, but for some reason, this year, I decided to go on a hunt for my missing Tiger’s Eye. I didn’t find it, but I did find four other misplaced rings: a birthstone, a graduation ring, a pinky-ring with a black stone of unknown origin, and a cubic zirconia diamond that belonged to my father. But no Tiger’s Eye. Perhaps my Tiger’s Eye is lost forever, or perhaps it is still waiting to be found. 

Whether it is nostalgia, a sense of loss, or just the aging process, but for some reason I find myself reflecting on my role of Christmas past, along with the memory of family and friends no longer with us. Not all memories are positive, but then again, there were some happy family times along the way. Maybe next year I will dig out the box of Christmas decorations that have been stored for many years. You never know what I might find, perhaps my Tiger’s Eye ring or possibly the lost spirit of a pleasant Christmas past.

Dr. StrangeJob

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13 F#@king Days of Christmas – Part II

Welcome to the continuing saga of The 13 F#@king Days of Christmas. You might want to checkout Part I before continuing. If not, just assume that Part II was preceded by a fairly crappy week. We last left our protagonist on his way to purchase a hunting rifle to be used on the swans, geese, birds, hens, doves, and partridge. He was not having a great week.

Day 8: Now, this is more like it. They say a mother’s breast can sooth a savage beast, and you just sent me eight milking maids. BTW – You just saved the flying flock of frenzied feathered festive gifts of Christmas day’s past. The hell with the damn birds, I am now fixated on those milking buxom beauties. Those cups are definitely more than half full.

Day 9: Did I die and go to heaven? How else to explain the nine dancing ladies that met me at my apartment door. OMG – You actually sent me nine strippers for Christmas. I am starting to think you are no longer mad at me.

Day 10: I knew it was too good to last. When I arrived home today I was met by ten leaping lords lurching round my apartment, and the buggers were leaping and jumping all over the strippers and maids. A couple of them even jumped me when I bent down to take off my shoes. I think I need to go to the hospital. On the plus side, I believe I found the missing three rings from Day 7 and one of the hamsters. Now I know how Richard Gere felt.

Day 11: Do you have any idea how much mess eleven puking pipers can make in a small apartment? Not only that, between the pipers and the leaping lords neither the strippers nor the milf-maids have any time left for me. And Christmas is supposed to be about me me me.

Day 12: All drummers should be shot. Not only do I have twelve drummers pounding their skins, they are also banging anything that moves. The pipers have been plugged, the lords can’t lay, the ladies will not be able to walk straight for weeks, and the poor maids are milked out. Not only that, I’ve been evicted, arrested for obscenity, and tested positive for all of the major STDs. And there is still bird shit everywhere.

Day 13: On the thirteenth day of Christmas my turned love sent to me: twelve twitter hacks, eleven over drafts, ten vet bills, nine Facebook photobombs, eight calling creditors, seven harassment charges, six restraining orders, five calling lawyers, four emptied bank accounts, three detectives following, two used wedding rings, and one SIGNED DIVORCE DECREE.

Have yourself a very non-marry Christmas without me, and please don’t send any birthday gifts this year.

Dr. StrangeJob

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Note: This blog was inspired by “The 12 Days of Christmas” from The Cunning Linguist by Richard Lederer. Using movie parlance, it’s probably safer to say that this version is more of a re-visioning rather than a straight-up remake. Actually, this blog has very little in common with his version, other than the twelve gifts, but my lawyer keeps pestering me about copyright infringements, so I am just covering my butt on this one. BTW – it’s a funny book.

The 13 F#@king Days of Christmas – Part I

First Day of Christmas: Thanks for the pear tree, although I’m not sure what I am supposed to do with a pear tree in the winter. Not only that, when I opened the parcel, a partridge flew out and crapped all over my favorite David Cassidy album.

Day 2: What’s with the turtle doves? You know I have a small apartment, and the turtle doves are not acting at all happy together with that friggin’ partridge you sent yesterday.

Day 3: Enough with the damn birds already! What the f#@k am I supposed to do with three French hens? If I could catch the little buggers I would cook them, but they are running and jumping all over the goddamn apartment making a mess everywhere. BTW – I have no idea what the hens, doves, and that damn partridge are eating, but the apartment is a mess. Not only that, I can’t find my pet hamsters anywhere.

Day 4: My head feels like it is going to explode from the racket coming from those four f#@$% calling birds. You know I suffer from migraines and that I have recently been diagnosed with ornithophobia, yet you keep sending me birds. BIRDS! BIRDS! And more damned BIRDS!

Day 5: Five gold dick rings and a sarcastic note on what I should do with them is just plain rude.

Day 6: OK, I get it. You’re pissed off over something, but sending six geese dropping eggs all over the apartment is enough already. The SPCA showed up today with a search warrant, the neighbors are complaining to the landlord about the noise, and I need to get the place fumigated. I still can’t find my hamsters, the cats have gone berserk, and I can’t get three of the five dick rings out of where you told me to shove them.

Day 7: Oh my god! I hate swans and you sent me seven of the damn things. Do you have any idea what happens when you have seven swans living in your bathroom? Three are swimming in the bathtub, two are tits up in the sink, one is bobbing in the toilet bowl, and the seventh is unaccounted for. I have had enough. I am heading out to buy a hunting rifle so I can take care of the swans, geese, birds, hens, and doves. I have special plans for that damned partridge once I find the little f##%.

So ends Part 1 of The 13 F#@king Days of Christmas. Stay tuned for Part II to discover what really happens when you put 10 leaping lords in the same room with eight milking maids.

Note: This blog was inspired by “The 12 Days of Christmas” from The Cunning Linguist by Richard Lederer. Using movie parlance, it’s probably safer to say that this version is more of a re-visioning rather than a straight-up remake. Actually, this blog has very little in common with his version, other than the twelve gifts, but my lawyer keeps pestering me about copyright infringements, so I am just covering my butt on this one. BTW – it’s a funny book.

Dr. StrangeJob

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