Now let me say, at the outset of this post, that in no way am I looking for sympathy here, honest. But I thought that, given the loyalty and generous nature of the readers of the Welcome Aboard The R U Kidding blog, I could unburden my soul here a little bit and you guys would understand.

It’s 8:00am on Christmas morning, in the year 2017 Common Era, and once again, I’m spending the holiday alone.

All by myself.

(I remember my mother’s fave taunt to me when I was feeling sorry for myself as a kid…she used to sing this to me…”Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, I’m gonna’ go eat worms…”. At one point, she irritated me enough with this bit of bullshit to consider going and getting some worms from our backyard and putting them in my mouth, hanging out so she could see them, just to bust her chops, but I decided it was too disgusting. She was an unpleasant old bag.) 

I’ve spent holidays alone previously, mostly after I left the Midwest, where the bulk of my family and friends still live, to travel to sunny Southern California back in 2000, so this is nothing new. I had a number of years when I was able to return for visits, and some years when I couldn’t/didn’t.

But this year, for some reason I’m having difficulty understanding, it’s bothering me that, shit, here I am again, all by myself.

(Speaking of remembering things marginally distasteful, how about that plaintive cry of a tune by Eric Carmen from back in the caveman times of 1975…)

I had a falling out with my very good friend of many years XXX (not his real name…d’uh) recently; he and I, since we both suffered from the absence of family for having relocated to Florida back in 2015, have for the past several years gotten together and had our small celebrations on Thanksgiving and on Christmas if we were both in town (usually with pizza and football…hey, no one can say I’m not a traditionalist), but not so this year; I have no idea if he’s even here in town at the moment. (And despite how monumentally pissed off I am at him right now, I hope he’s okay.)

I do know that he’s not coming to my place today, nor is anyone else. Not even Santa, the old fart.

So XXX is off the radar, and my family, such as it is (and under no circumstances am I getting into THAT disaster) is also MIA, much to my disgust. I’m working on making some new friends here in the Sunshine State, but friend-making for me has always been slow and cautious, so, woe is me, I have the “I’m All By Myself On Christmas Blues”.

I vacillate between sticking out my lower lip in feigned injury and quoting Ebenezer Scrooge—->

Now please, let’s not everyone get all drippy and treacly here; no one ever dies of “aloneness”; at least I don’t think you can. (By show of hands, how many of you think “treacly” is a really cool word? Okay, put your hands down now.) I mean, there are worse things that could happen, like having Donald Trump be elected President. Oh, that’s right, that actually happened, didn’t it?

Anyway, I sent a bunch of texts/emails out earlier this morning to various persons to whom I cared to express holiday good wishes, and I’ll hear back from them as the day progresses, and that’s fine, but it isn’t much of a substitute. However, I’m thinking that a large infusion of cash into the Cap’n John Krissongs bank account might alleviate the pain and misery. (To quote one of my fave comedians, Judy Tenuta, hey, it could happen.) 

So here’s my idea…any of you who feel so moved by my sad state of Christmas affairs can send a monetary stipend, hopefully in large denomination bills, to:

                The Let’s Make Cap’n John Feel Better This Christmas Fund

                P.O. Box 98765432-1/2

                Lionel, excuse me, New Port Richey FL 00001.365

Or possibly you could all get together and get me one of these as compensation for my agonizing “aloneness”…you can have it delivered to the above address; my buddy Rob at Goin’ Postal here in NPR (what a great name for a p.o. box store) will sign for it. 

I’m sure I could manage to bear up under this crushing depression if you guys did.

Love and eggnog,

Cap’n John

Post script…and please, I don’t mean to denigrate in any way the horrors of loneliness that people suffer from at this time of year, and if any of you are so burdened, tell you what…call me and we’ll make fun of Trump, the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, Congress, that ridiculous Steve Bannon guy, the L.A. Dodgers, that repulsive Tonka Trump or whatever her name is or whatever subject you think will give you some cheer…727-336-5654.

Believe me, been there, done that, and I care, ‘cause it sucks.

Post post script…just an FYI, but that’s a 2017 Ford GT40 above…not to be confused with the Ford Focus. Just wanted to make that clear for when you go shopping. (Insert “winky-face” here.)

You know, I feel better…think I’ll go have some Christmas pizza.

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