Christmas Dick Measuring Contest

****The holidays according to JJ****

Having three older brothers has always been like sitting ringside at a WWE match. To be fair they kept things fresh: noogies, wedgies, head locks, and the occasional all out brawl. I think what my dear mommy hated the most was all the profanity "asstwat" "fuckface" "shit for brains". This was not a case of turrets, rather they were just common run of the mill neanderthals. And why is it that the strong sent of week-old-gym socks always came from their bedrooms? Mom tried to counteract it with fresh flowers from the shop which led me to crack open windows even in mid winter to avoid nose bleeds from aroma overdose.

Jeremy, Jason, and Josh...yes those are their names. Now I know by the time my mom starting shooting out babies her kindergarten days were long behind her, yet I feel it was someone's obligation to point out that there are twenty-five other letters in the alphabet besides "J". For some odd reason I felt my dad Jeffrey wouldn't be of any help there. So anyways all this testosterone in one household meant three things were certain: toilet seat always left up, very expensive grocery bill in the teen years, and lots of "friendly" competition.

Of course I didn't feel the need to compete because the fact that I was female meant I had already won. But in the beginning it was fun being a spectator. Who did better in school? Who was the super star athlete? Who had the best girlfriend? (best didn't necessarily mean prettiest, more like most sexually open aka whore). Who could spit the farthest distance? Who could fart the loudest and smelliest?

One would hope the boys would have eventually grown out of this dick measuring contest but as I sit here in my parents' home Christmas dinner 2011 the saga still continues. Who has the best wife? (this is measured by how many babies she can pop out and how quickly she responds to the "get me a beer" command) Who is the most financially well off? Whose kids are the cutest/most well behaved/accomplished? My brothers even share pictures of their Christmas trees to compare size. Is it wrong of me to wish they would settle this Highlander style with sword decapitation? Yeah I guess that would ruin mom's beautiful cream carpet, but a girl can still dream.

Jeremy punches me in the arm, "So JJ when are you going to catch up with the rest of us?" Jason and Josh both laugh at my perceived misfortune.

"Hopefully never. Viagra and male pattern baldness don't appeal to me all that much." Now whose laughing?!

One of the kids chimes in, "Daddy what's Viagra?"

My mom walks in to with a tray of homemade truffles, "It's adult vitamins sweetie. Now Juliana Jennifer please watch what you say around the kids please." Yes my mom is the one person on the planet that insists on using my given name.

Here's yet another reason I don't like kids. There's this rule that you have to censor yourself around them. Why? If I ever had kids, which will happen the day the US President and any middle east ruler make passionate love on public television, we can't pretend it doesn't happen behind closed doors...well if I took the plunge I'd keep it real with my kids. The sex talk would happen before they hit elementary school. All the other parents would hate me for teaching my kid the proper names to their privates (what the fuck is a hooha anyways? Is this Dr Seuss for sex ed?) But guarantee my kid won't be the one coming home with a VD. Yup, I said it. After school specials got one thing right, knowledge is power. And unless you plan on raising your kid like the boy in the bubble they are going to pick up profanity, sex, and violence. If they're lucky enough they can get exposed to all three during a really good episode of South Park which is a cartoon by the way. A cartoon that teaches way more about life than that fag Blues Clues. No offense to fags.

There's a big part of me that pities the unfortunate souls that get sucked into the underworld of parenthood. Maybe when you were dating your future spouse you had some wild R-rated sex life, if you were really lucky x-rated, with some light S&M or role playing but at least some loud animal noises were involved. Then you have a wrinkly fat mini Buddha enter your life and everything changes. Suddenly you can only do it if you're lucky enough to get the grandparents to watch the brats for a night and if you aren't it has to be super quiet and quick in a means to be courteous to the cock blocking monsters. But who are we kidding? Most of the time the parents are too tired to even think about sex. I love being tired after an all night romp, but this fatigue is caused by the thing that has now taken over your life...the kids.

As I look at the Christmas tree with the thousand and one gifts spread underneath it reminds me how even the holidays are spoiled because of them. The whole bullshit Santa charade, breaking your bank account to get them every damn thing they want even though they don't deserve it, the excessive decorations, the freshly baked cookies, the stupid school concerts. And the parents will tell you it's all worth it just to see the smile on their childrens' faces. Give me a fuckin break. The kids are NEVER happy. Guaranteed they'll be bitching about the one thing Santa forgot to get them. Or how about that their cousin/brother/friends got something better. That's right the dick measuring contest has been graciously passed onto the next generation. Don't think it stops at getting teh gift, hiding the gift until the big event, and beautifully wrapping the gift, but they'll wnat you to immediatly assemble the gift too. The most fucked up part is that just a few weeks later they will have broken or completely forgotten about that one thing they just couldn't live without. And somehow I'm required to get the little shits gifts too. I used birth control responsibly to avoid situations like this, so why am I being punished?

This is why I made sure to get them the shittiest gifts I could find. And to be fair I get all of them the same thing so I don't get accused of playing favorites. Which I don't get how I could have a favorite of something I can't stand; do you prefer vomiting or diarrhea? I have also taken the liberty of wrapping my gifts in a different kind of paper, toilet paper. That way they can re-use, reduce, and recycle later on when they're shitting out all the festive food they gorged on. I told you I was big on practicality. This year all of the kids got cheese graters. Bed, Bath, and Beyond had them on sale. You know what, it is all worth it when I see the looks on their faces.