We sure have some creepy ornaments

And some breathtakingly-adorable-child-picture ornaments. And, curiously but still admittedly Christmasy, a shapely-woman-wearing-a-tasseled-hanging-hook-and-beveling-in-an-unmissably-red-dress ornament. And, for reasons known only to the tooth fairy, a wooden bunny ornament. A wooden Christmas bunny ornament.

But, of course, the only reason I'm making this post—aside from finally exposing the Christmas terrors of my haunted, haunted childhood wrought by our creepy pantsless flat-handed pantyhose-head child-eating demon elf ornaments—is to report that I have just now, almost in time for an Easter visit from a wooden Christmas bunny, completely denuded our Christmas tree.

Dude. I totally just said denuded.

Decorating the Christmas tree:

The annual convergence of the totally cool garland of Norwegian flags and the totally creepy pantyhose-head elf with a disturbingly short caftan, yellow throat-choking oven mitts and no discernible pants. Because nothing personifies the joy and wonder of Christmas like a freeballin' elf with pantyhose obscuring his murderous clown face and unfettered access to the kitchen knives while we sleep.

Greetings from the bottom of The Terrifyingly Tall Spiral Staircase Of Gruesome But Festively Lit And Probably Involving Glitter Because It *IS* A Theater But It Will Still Be Splatty Death

The staircase—and everyone’s splatty, glittery death—starts on the skull-cracking concrete bowels of the theater and climbs almost two million (which we’ll round to just two for the purposes of this post) stories to the relatively safe safety of the stage-right darkness, where things can probably fall on us from the flylines but at least it’s not US falling on the skull-cracking concrete two million-give-or-take stories below us.

On the plus side, if we DO plummet to our splatty, glittery deaths tonight, we’ll crack our skulls to the peppy jazz stylings of Elf the Musical as it unfolds around us AS I’M RIGHT NOW TYPING THIS POST. So there’s that.

Flashback Wednesday: Sheer, Abject Terror Edition

"Rappel down the side of a 31-story building," I said. "It'll be fun," I said. "Plus it'll give me an interesting story to tell everyone," I said.

"Just lean back off the roof and hold onto these alarmingly tiny ropes that we guarantee won't snap and send you plummeting to your death," they said. "Look around and enjoy the view that very few people get to see," they said. "Keep yourself horizontal to the building," they said.

"STOP SHAKING YOUR DAMN LEGS. YOU LOOK LIKE A LOW-RENT ELVIS IMPERSONATOR," they said. "GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER OR WE WON'T LET YOU RAPPEL," they said.

"I've taken the training and paid the money and I'm not giving up now," I said. "I won't look down at the pavement where I could easily splat and die in abject terror," I said. "I won't look down at the pavement where I could easily splat and die in abject terror," I said. "I won't look down at the pavement where I could easily splat and die in abject terror," I said.

"Here I go, shakes and terror and all," I said.

"Holy shit I hate this I hate this I hate this eyes on the ropes squeeze your hands hard don't look down don't look down to hell with looking around at the view I hate this I hate this I hate this is it over yet," I said.

"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee," I said.

Yes, I literally made the noise "Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee" all the way down the building.

"I'M BACK ON SOLID GROUND AND IT'S FINALLY OVER," I said. "I AM NEVER NEVER NEVER DOING THIS AGAIN," I said. "I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO FUCKING SCARED IN MY ENTIRE LIFE," I said.

"I NEED ALCOHOL," I said.

Yes, I really said "I NEED ALCOHOL" because I was still shaking in my legs and tummy and though I've barely had any alcohol in my life and I had no idea what an entire drink would do to me, I WANTED SOME DAMN ALCOHOL.

"I'll have a Tom Collins," I said to the waiter. Because someone recommended it and it sounded interesting.

I drank my Tom Collins, still shaking in my legs and tummy. And it was GOOD.

The end.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!