Christmas at my house is never G rated.

In fact, I am not sure that any family gathering at my house was ever G rated, largely because I have family members who left the womb with crazy ass minds of their own. Their unique outbursts and life observations make me look even duller than you originally thought when you first meet me (hint: I’m not dull, I’m just keeping my monologue about you to myself).

Whenever I wake up in Boston there is always an instant smile on my face. Even if I have a bit of a hangover from drinking too much of my brother-in-law’s wine.  Out the door and headed south to Cape Cod, you get a kiss goodbye from the Customs House Tower.

Rory, arguably the best Hallinan motorist, navigates our sleigh full of toys down to my mother’s house in Mashpee.

Bridge!  

So here we go, Christmas 2010. Last year had its priceless memories, and this year would be no different (even if it was Dharma’s dad wearing the death metal t-shirt this year, and not her). The other noted difference was the absence of my little sister (we missed you, Molly!) but the presence of my firefighter sister Myriah. I feel compelled to note her occupation because it helps in a small way to explain her crass and inexplicably twisted sense of humor.

Self-portrait by Dharma, the sole child (by definition, anyway) in attendance this Christmas. She shelved her Honest Abe impersonations and was instead a model for expeditious gift distribution and gratitude.

Because I come from a family of five kids, we do Secret Santa each year to keep costs (and discontent) down. The running joke is that Molly always draws John’s name, and this year was no different. Here he is unwinding the 15 yards of masking tape that securely held together Molly’s wrapping job (well done, sister).

And now that I have warmed you up with some benign (and boring) yuletide snapshots, we can appropriately transition to the meat of this holiday:

No, I’m not talking about the Trader Joe’s tofurkey that really was a great hit…

I’m talking about the gifts exchanged that demonstrate how people can get things that they really want. Like a Penis Pokey book.

Or a Gandalf-size Bruins Snuggie
 

Sanity-restoring rations of excellent wine

A trucker hat, intended for the Slayer shirt-wearing brother-in-law (sadly, it is blocked by the dog he is holding). His wife promptly dons the hat – which reads “Are you looking at my cock?”

Okay the hat was to break you in a bit further. She also got this towel. I don’t know who gave it to her, or if she even asked for it (I had already uncorked my gift of raisin wine). All I know is that she really liked it.

Wait, the towel’s not done:

You can see Dad looking on with what must be great pride for his first born and her excitement over her Christmas gifts.

She must have asked for this thing. She knew right away about the various ways you could wear this piece of cloth.

For my own part, I did not get any X-rated gifts this year (not from my direct family, anyway). I don’t try to pretend that I am above the fray in terms of decorum- indeed I will share with you a video that I made for my best friend who is stationed in Japan. She sent me a gift to be opened on Christmas morning.

Do you like my t-shirt? I got it as a Christmas gift from my Secret Santa, and it’s even better than the wolf t-shirt I got last year.

If you were reading back in July, you know that I experienced the Hell in Paris that is the Eiffel Tower at the peak of tourist season. My brother-in-law and I were absolutely delirious with hysterics as we continued to laugh at the same t-shirt that passed ahead of us in line over the course of two hours. Still a fond memory, little did I know that my sister and her husband were not done remembering this shirt. After studying the few photos that we tried to take of this eastern European tourist’s plump torso, they spent an impressive amount of time trying to locate this t-shirt on the internet. Failing in this task, they went ahead and recreated the nonsensical t-shirt, ensuring that copies were available for everyone. 

So that explains why I am wearing pearls and a t-shirt once again this year. And hopefully it will also explain this parting photo, ultimately showing what a roaring success this Hallinan Christmas really was:

F.U. we are the cool dudes.  And Frosty bless us, every one.

P.S.

I was incredibly fortunate to have spent Christmas at home again this year, and this was in large thanks due to the ongoing support of the Olmsted Foundation. They understood that experiencing Christmas in Senegal would have really, really sucked for this single chick who loves cold weather. As an added benefit, I’m quite sure that this entry was far more entertaining than my usual: “today I walked outside and was reminded that I was white” type of entry that I have long since grown bored of describing…