Chapter 7: I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas

Jason
Chapter 7: I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas
            OK, time out. Oh, and by the way, if you think that the above title contains a racist remark, go fuck youself; you know what I'm trying to say. I had a hard time trying to come up with a decent title for this chapter, and I'm not about to be stopped by some sensitive-ass bitch who takes every word that comes his/her way offensively.
            Anyway, enough about debating the title of this chapter; it's Christmas today (or at least it was about one day ago), and I thought about sharing a story with you guys (and girls). Actually, scratch that; I'm gonna share TWO stories with you people. First of all, I wanna talk about this dream I had last night. My dreams normally follow a certain pattern, which in this case, was romantic affection (isn't that a bit redundant?). I mean, how else are you gonna explain the vast majority of my dreams over the past few years being related to video games and girls (mostly my crushes)?
            Anyway, I didn't really remember much of this dream, but I'll try to recall what I can. I remember that in my dream, I was being congratulated for my half-birthday. At the time, my class and I were standing near the soccer field of a school that I used to have soccer matches in during my elementary years (yes, you heard that shit right; once upon a time, this lazy piece of shit wasn't a completely lazy piece of shit , which is more than I can say for myself under normal circumstances).
            Almost everyone in the class lined up to shake my hand, including my crush (well, at least we can confirm that this was certainly a dream). After shaking the hands of a few classmates, my crush came up to me and extended her hand. I distinctly remember that she was wearing a (blue?) jacket over a t-shirt. Point is, she wasn't wearing a uniform despite the fact that we were in school grounds (certainly not OUR school's grounds, but still...). What other people wore, I dont know, and frankly, I don't fucking care. Anyway, once I saw my crush extend her hand for me to shake, I decided to take a chance and put my arms around her waist, bringing her body right in front of mine. I don't actually remember whether I kissed her or not, which is kinda weird considering that this would probably be an essential detail from the dream that'd I'd automatically recall. And then I woke up.
            This dream was most likely derived from a real-life experience involving (surprise, surprise) my birthday. The difference was that during my real-life birthday, the class wasn't near a soccer field in another school, but in a class in my own school. The hand-shaking procedure went roughly the same way it did in the dream, with the exception of me not having the balls to do anything more than shake my crush's hand when it was her turn to congratulate me on my birthday. Whether or not this detail is supposed to illustrate a certain flaw in my personality, I just don't fucking know (and probably don't even fucking care about).
            Anyway, enough about me and my miserable dream. Let's talk about something a tad less morose. It's Christmas (yes, I believe you've informed us of that fact already)! The time of giving, the time of being one hell of a generous motherfucker and realizing that the world isn't a completely fucked up place after all. My Christmas is going pretty damn well as of thus far; my mom threatened the cable guy into giving us free access to all the TV's channels, I am now officially liberated from all the maladies that would otherwise be caused by continued exposure to academic-related issues, and I'm leaving for Bali in three days' time. Once I arrive at the illustrious island, the glorious gift of internet access shall be bestowed upon me, or at least it shall be for the duration of my stay at Bali, which will be about seven to eight days. After that, it's back to the cold, insensitive, Wi-Fi-less confines of my original home; life is funny that way. But on the bright side, once I return from my odyssey (and by “odyssey”, you mean “a vacation that involves constant ogling at gorgeous, occasionally scantily clad women and the blindingly bright screen of your phone and laptop”? To be fair, knowing you, I expected no less), I should be able to...go...back...to school. Shit.
            Speaking of Christmas (and less depressing subjects), let's get back to the second story I promised to tell you people about several paragraphs ago (damn, you ARE the master of getting your ass sidetracked, huh?). A few days ago, I've stumbled across this old Disney Christmas CD. (After firing up my phone and sacrificing a small portion of my mobile data, I've figured out that the title of the CD, which is “Mickey's Once Upon a Christmas”. Thank me later) Without going into great detail, the CD was full of these pleasant, heartwarming Disney-ized (yeah, that's pretty much the only word I have in my vocabulary to describe the stories within the CD. Kinda fitting, isn't it?) tales about the true meaning of Christmas and such. Different parts of the disc consisted of different stories, such as Huey, Dewey and Louie being stuck in an infinite time loop that causes them to experience Christmas over and over again, Goofy's son Max losing faith in Santa's existence, and a heart-melting finale which I'm about to discuss in the following paragraph.
            The final story in the disc is a parody of a Christmas story called “The Gift of the Magi”, in which Mickey and Minnie play a financially troubled couple that has to sacrifice their most valuable belongings in order to purchase gifts. With the assistance of my dear friend Wikipedia, I've discovered the original story, which is a tad more heartwarming than the Disney-ized version (no offense, Disney). The original story takes place in a household (England?) under similar circumstances, which I'm about to share in the next paragraph.
            Once upon a Christmas (yes, I'm sticking with that), there was a couple. This couple was made up of two people: one was a woman with beautiful hair, and the other was a man who owned this fancy-ass golden pocket watch that had been passed down to him from his father and his father before him (that would be his grandpa, you dim-witted nincompoop). The couple had encountered a problem for the upcoming Christmas Eve, and it was that they lacked the money to purchase presents for each other.
            And so, unaware of their similar motives, the man and the woman devised a type of “get-rich-quick” scheme so that they could to get enough money to buy gifts for their beloved. To this end, the man sold his cherished pocket watch in order to get enough money to buy a set of expensive hair-related equipment for his girl, whereas the woman cut off her hair and sold it to some barber-lady-chick (fuck if I know what the hell a woman would be doing with a mop of hair, but that's what the story said, so just roll with it) to buy a fob chain for the guy's pocket watch.
            The woman returned home first to prepare dinner, praying that her man would still perceive her as pretty even without her magnificent hairdo. Once dinner has been made, the dude enters the dining room, surprised at the woman's new appearance. The woman then explains that she sold her hair in order to buy a fob chain for the man's pocket watch, to which the man replies by telling the woman that he sold his pocket watch in order to buy a set of hair-related items for the woman. Despite being left with useless presents that neither person can use, the couple realized how strong their love was, sacrificing their most valuable belongings (I'm gonna assume that hair counts as a “belonging”) just to get presents for each other. To this day, that story still warms my heart no matter how many times I read it (that's the third time you've made a sentence that included the words “heart” and “warm”. You're losing your touch, boy).

            For all it's worth, Merry (four-days-late) Christmas, dear reader. Or READERS, I guess, depending on how many people are reading a certain copy of this book at a time (I assume that parents aren't reading this book to their kids for bedtime stories. If they are, expect your kid to be diagnosed with a terminal case of potty mouth. Don't say I didn't warn ya), It's gonna be New Year in about thirty-three hours and twenty-two minutes, but let's not forget why we're here. Back to the story.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Chapter 11: Black Magic

Chapter 3: Role Model

Chapter 10: Hey, Soul SIster