Crazy Christmas Lady

Okay, after my last post my beloved readers may be wondering, "Why has Tracy become psychotic over a few Christmas cards?" You have to understand my over-developed sense of Christmas spirit. Starting the Saturday after Thanksgiving (because Christmas starts the day after Thanksgiving, NOT at Halloween!), my house gets transformed. First, I must find the PERFECT tree:

Luckily, I have a few good friends who understand that my OCD becomes particularly rampant during Christmas tree shopping, particularly Crystal, who sets aside a whole day every year to join me in my search. Happily, this year I only took an hour to find the perfect tree, rather than the all-day search that I usually undergo.

Then--oh the irony--I must employ other people to put the lights on my perfect tree because I am allergic to pine needles and break out in a rash when my skin comes into contact with those prickly buggers. Thus was the Christmas Tree Decorating Party born eleven years ago. To persuade my friends to take on the task of putting thousands of lights on my tree according to my very stringent lighting standards, I feed them lots of food and fill them up with lots of free booze.

This year we had twenty-two laborers, including Ben, who showed his holiday spirit by bringing his Dick-in-a-Box.

(Anyone brave enough to open the gift saw this:)


Himself and I also work very hard.


Not until my house looks like Christmas vomited all over it am I happy.

Then all there is to do until Christmas is sit back, admire my tree, drink copious amounts of 'nog, make cookies, and wait for the Christmas cards to start rolling in. (Imagine me as Bart Simpson to the mail lady--"Lady, where's my spy camera?! Where's my spy camera? Where's my spy camera?") I need those Christmas cards like a junkie needs a vein. They complete me. So thank you, Micaela, Heather, Megan, Erin, Dad, and Becky...you are at the top of Santa's "nice" list.