Five Things I'm Looking Forward To When I Go Back To My Parents House For Christmas
Being back at home for the holidays for that last week of December is sleepy. It’s cozy. It’s a time to wear sweatpants from the moment you wake up until the moment you go back to bed. I’ll be off for a grand total of six days this year and I could not be more excited about it.
Being Horizontal More Often Than Not
I do my fair share of relaxing here in Chicago. But lounging in a small apartment like mine and lazing about in my parent’s house are two very different animals. In my apartment, I go from a queen bed that I bought on sale to a couch that I got for a song at a thrift shop.
That is not to say that my apartment is not cozy. It is warm, inviting, and comfortable. But the coziness levels go up about a million points when I’m back home under my mom and dad’s roof. When I go home I sleep in a California King. I get out of bed, take a steam, and walk upstairs and sit on plush couches so deep you lose your senses after a few minutes of sitting down.
Save for treating my folks to a nice dinner one night, I really don’t have a reason to leave their house while I’m away for Christmas. I saw anyone worth seeing from my hometown over Thanksgiving and I’d really prefer to just veg the fuck out. I’ll be laying down ignoring e-mails and forgetting about my miserable work life I’ve temporarily left behind.
Watching Three Or Four Feature Length Films Over The Course Of Christmas Day
Listen, I love A Christmas Story just as much as the next guy, okay? But I’ve seen it. I’ve seen it so many times I could quote most of it verbatim. I’ll watch a few scenes this year when I get up off of the couch to make myself another egg nog, but I’m reserving Christmas Day 2018 to some long boys.
I’m talkin’ The Fellowship of the Rings. The Usual Suspects. Saving Private Ryan. Maybe Die Hard? I don’t really know my movie lineup just yet for Christmas Day, but just know it’s going to be flames. Screw the NBA, the parades, and the Christmas Story marathon. While I’m back home, I’m only watching movies with runtimes over two hours long.
Drinking My Face Off
I won’t be visiting a gym while I’m back home. Everyone knows it’s totally acceptable to be fat and deceptively drunk during the holidays. I’m going to take a few days off from the old gym routine and just really get after it. I’m talking heavy egg nog. None of that almond nog bullshit. And you already know it’s Budweiser season, baby. Cream dogs and nog boys all day long.
Not Cooking Anything For Myself
I wouldn’t be able to make myself something to eat even if I wanted to. The good news is I’m not trying to cook for myself. My mother simply will not allow that to happen. She’ll take it as a personal affront if I so much as ask if I can help out with the decorating of cookies (mostly because I’ll fuck them up).
My mom will probably cook dinner most nights, and since she will be working for a couple of the days that I am home, this means that breakfast and lunch duties fall on my father who will also probably not let me get anything for myself. He’s retired and I already know exactly what is going to happen everyday when I get up around 10:30 a.m. I’ll grab a yogurt, maybe a muffin from the counter and then after an hour or so of watching CNN with him in the living room, he’ll go “You want a sandwich?”
I’ll say “Of course, I do, Dad. Give me a turkey/swiss on rye and one of those glass bottles of Coke you’re keeping stashed away in the back of the fridge.”
Masturbating In My Childhood Bedroom
Nothing sparks nostalgia quite like getting an erection in the bedroom where you grew up. Amongst posters of Michael Jordan, Joe Dumars, Chauncey Billups, Albert Einstein, and various Michigan State basketball teams of yore, I will without a doubt crank off in that giant California King at least once while I am home, if for no other reason than to remember what it was like to jerk off using only material from my mind.