Did I mention I’m incredibly bored this long weekend?
It’s that time of the year again where the thought counts more than the gift itself… or something like it, so I become the unwilling recipient of scented candles, mugs, and picture frames. See, it’s not that difficult to get me a gift. If the store sells alcohol and cigarettes, then you can find a perfectly good gift that you can give me for Christmas.
Yet no matter how much I emphasize the “you-can-make-me-happy-with-vice” motto, nobody gets me a ream of cigarettes or a bottle of whiskey for the holidays. All I ever really wanted for Christmas was something for me to smoke and something for me to drink, but some people insist on playing through my “mysteriousness” and “intellect.”
Last Christmas, I got copies of “The Purpose-Driven Life,” “Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul,” two copies of “The Alchemist,” and a paperback version of “How to Win Friends and Influence People.” After talking to my givers who seemed to not have a problem with what I was going to do, I promptly re-gifted the gifts. Potlatched, so to speak, revolving round the Kula ring.