Real Christmas Trees Are Fun For No One.

Since I'm always a ray of fucking sunshine around Christmas, Kristin decided it would be an awesome family activity to go cut our own tree. In theory, that sounds great. In reality, however, it kind of sucks. First of all, we were about a week too late, so most of the good trees were gone. It was also cold. Like 5 below. And here we are, wandering around a tree farm finding something wrong with every damn tree we see. All the while, the kids are getting more and more annoyed (and annoying!). Addi kept tripping over stumps, because it's apparently not in her nature to look where she's going. It took over an hour to pick out that damn tree, then I got the joy of putting it on top of my Explorer and scratching the shit out of the roof. It also cost more than most fake trees.

OK, so it probably wasn't all that bad, but I was crabby as all hell. I did get a chuckle out of the buck-toothed llama in the petting zoo.
And the world's unhappiest Santa (though I would have been unhappy, too, if I had to sit in a freezing-ass cold barn with a bunch of stinky animals).
Evidently, Addi has now overcome her fear of horses, because we were able to go on the hay ride and she even touched them afterwards.
Once we got the tree home, I carried it through the house while it dropped needles everywhere. We then discovered that our tree stand was not big enough, so we had to haul the damn tree back outside, dropping needles all the way. We went to the store and bought a new stand, and the rest of my family began to decorate it while I attempted to watch football. Because I hate decorating things.

The kids had a good time, and I got sent to my room for being a crabby fucker.

In the end, I guess I'm glad we did it. It smells awesome, it looks nice, and it's festive as fuck. Maybe I just need to bring some rum with next time.