My mom told me the other day how glad she was I don’t censor my blog even though I know my parents read it. To that I say: Let me tell you about the gingerbread house contest I entered, muthafuckas!
I’m going to level with you. When I was home, I made a gingerbread house. (Don’t judge me. I had no access to a car, so I was trapped at my parents’ house for almost three solid weeks. It was like “Alive”. You do what you have to to survive.)
My sister and I had been talking about making one for the past dozen years or so. This was going to be our year. We got supplies! I printed out pictures of churches! We batted ideas around! My sister made exactly three holly berries for a mini wreath and bailed!
I channeled my gingerbread rage and refocused it squarely where it belonged: little old ladies. I found out about a Hometown gingerbread house contest, entered the hell out of it and immediately started trash talking at the little old ladies and assorted gays I imagined my competition to be.
It turned into the most badass gingerbread house on the block, straight outta Compton wit its fly lil’ cobblestones, fuckin’ sparkily sugar snow on the roof and one kickass Holy Family.
Awwwww yeaaaah.
No gumdrops here. I went batshit with fondant, making every roof tile, chimney stone and row of siding. I cannot tell you how damn fly my Baby Jesus’ manger was.
After a few weeks of going around the house yelling “Suck it, old ladies!” at random times/objects, I was finished mere hours before I had to leave for the airport.
Not only did I enter a gingerbread house contest, and not only did I take it way too seriously, it came to my attention I may have cheated: I reinforced my walls with cardboard, lest the house collapse like DJ Tanner on a treadmill. (That’s my new favorite metaphor.)
Turns out I WON THE FUCKER! I know. I was more shocked than anyone. Despite the trash talking, I really thought there was some little old lady/gay who would know what they were actually doing and take my rightful prize from me.
Oh, and what was the prize? That would be a $200 savings bond. You may laugh now, but in 5 to 10 years, I’ll be sitting pretty.
Sadly, I did not win fan favorite (an additional $100 savings bond.) That went to some snot-nose homeschooler whose friends and family stuffed the ballot box. Like I need another reason to hate homeschooled kids? Go back to your spelling bees, nerd.
So in conclusion, I’d like to say: “Suck it, homeschoolers.”
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