Christmas Syndrome

Christmas Syndrome

March 24, 2011 Urban Word of the Day
When you are looking forward to something constantly, to the point of obsession, causing the actual event to seem short and dull in comparison.
“Oh, he’s been counting down the days since July, and has came down with a bad case of Christmas Syndrome.”

Christmas Syndrome… Do I have it?  I mean, I catch everything (or at least think I do).  What do I have it about?  Marriage.

To clear the air, no, I have not received a proposal from the tall, hairy one.  (How many apostrophe’s can I use in one sentence?)  Much to my chagrin, I am not forever owned by the man of my dreams.  After 5 years of living together, I am still no further ahead in this relationship.  My awesomeness is not as awesome as I once thought.  I constantly picture myself as the 80 year old woman with 25 cats who dies Elvis style, eating a banana and peanut butter samich’ while stooling.  Why oh why, can I not get this boy to ask me to be his forever?

Larry was my boyfriend for a very short period of time in high school.  I remember him mostly as the one boy that ever broke up with me.  I didn’t remember why he did it, when I was a grade A prime piece of ass.  I was totally rad, ask anyone.  Okay, don’t ask that person…  Anyway, when he broke up with me I moved on to the next boy and just so happened to get knocked up and married soon after.  Yes, I was a tad promiscuous and I have a teenager now.  I was young, dumb and about 15 years ago, full of (insert rhyming provocative word here).

That marriage lasted all of 3 years and I was off to marriage number two which made it about 6 years.  I’ve been married for 9 years of my life and I guess I am really not sure how to live otherwise.  I sit here and try to ponder why I am so worried about marriage and I can’t exactly put my finger on it.  Do I want it for the right reasons?  Does marriage really make a good difference?  I’ve made a list in my head of a few things that come to mind.  It bothers me that I am 30-somethingish and I have three kids with 2 different last names and I am shacked up with a boy.  I hate being the girl watching friends make terrible mistakes and propose to the wrong people while I sit here with who I think is my soul mate, waiting and wishing.  I have craptastic health and it would be nice to have a man in my life with good insurance who can help me out with some of my medical expenses because budget cuts at my office leave me with doodie for health coverage.  I don’t like the thought that this boy could just dump me and I can’t stop it.  Wait, does marriage really make a difference?  Did it matter the 2 previous times?  Did it stop one husband from cheating and the other from refusing to support his family?  No, it didn’t.

The tall, hairy one is most definitely my one and only.  He just had to keep me waiting for a long time.  I guess I had a lot of growing to change from the teenager that once gave him a bag of scabs at school.  (okay, I guess I haven’t grown up at all).  Yes, I did give him a bag of scabs but ONLY for comedic effect.  The tall, hairy one learned a tough lesson that day about people who take things literally for comedy.  I don’t think he will ever ask me what I am doing if he knows I am picking scabs.  If he forgets, I’m pretty positive that he will never again say, “Ooh, bring me some!”.  I’m getting side tracked…

I thank grilled cheesus (that’s for you, Jo) every day that I was blessed with the tall, hairy one.  He completes me.  When the world is caving in around me, I can lay my head on his chest and forget all of the demons that chase me.  I feel love, the most complete one I’ve ever felt.  When I see him, I still get butterflies.  Well, I hope they are butterflies.  I guess it could be my stomach rolling and me being about to vomit.  Maybe I should rethink this.

I can’t pull a fast one over on him because he knows me too well.  He finishes my sentences.  He can still laugh when it’s 10:30 at night and I have a huge ADHD attack and I jump crazily on our bed while he is trying to go to sleep.  He can still smile at me after being pissed off moments earlier because I “fudge sticked” him. (If you don’t know what this is, it’s great on unsuspecting victims.  You just walk up to the back of someone and force your hand in their crack.  Fully clothed of course)  He lets my tears soak into his chest.  He plays with my hair when he is preoccupied and not paying attention.  He can piss me off ROYALLY and I have to avoid him because no matter what he just did, I still can’t look at him without a smile coming to my lips.

I love this boy so much that I can’t think straight.  I know he loves me, there is no question.  At this point, all I can hope for is that he will continue to love me and be the great dad and provider to other men’s love children.  I don’t have his last name, does it matter?  Not if I can wake up at 1:00 am to his snoring, not if I have a furry chest to lay my head on.  He is completely amazing and I will wait a lifetime for the one moment where he finally will say those four little words that I long to hear.

*Disclaimer- You have read this blog with the intentions of being nosy about someone else’s life.  Remember that it’s someone else’s life and DO NOT repeat this to any tall, hairy ones.  They tend to be dangerous creatures when confronted.  I will not be held responsible for any tall, hairy one attacks.*

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Posted on March 30, 2011, in Posts. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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