Can I dial "9" to get out of my life?

Is it wrong to be bitter at Christmas while you're with your family? Fuckit, I'll sidestep my self-imposed guilt trip and launch into a holiday rant.

My Dad got a "winter location" in Arizona earlier this year, a house not too far outside of Phoenix, for the times he feels that Cheyenne - with it's mostly mild winters - would be too cold. "In Arizona," he declared, "I can golf in February!" This from a man who picked up his clubs a total of seven times in my youth, despite having a membership to the Country Club.

I checked it out in late Spring, and it's very nice blahblahblah. Round about September, he decided that this is where Christmas would be. Now, I've lived in LA for almost 10 years and I've spent most of the Thanksgivings within that time in close proximity to a pool. But of the few things I know in my life, one of them is that Jesus wants me to celebrate his bday in a cold climate. In a place I'm familiar with. Near my childhood friends and at least three bars we've gotten drunk in during college in an effort to erase whatever familial obligations we had to endure that day.

Nope, not this year. This year, my Grandma would get to see the house, hang outside in 75 degree weather, and then force us to keep the HEAT on at night. I compose this from the coolest room in the house with a fan above me and a window open. Did I mention I get to sleep on a futon? And the room has another window toward the top of the wall that doesn't have a SHADE? Don't even get me started on my lack of a car to use as an escape to the nearest Barnes and Noble (where I spent a lot of my daytime last year).

This is starting to make my Mom look good.

God bless the two bottles of Asti in the fridge.

Merry Christmas.