tangled. the unanimated version.

before reading, please know that no, i have not been in a coma for the last month. and yes, i know exactly how many days have passed since christmas . . .

moving on.

disney: with your 4-to-84 demographic monopoly, you can suck it this time.

[and not because i’m pulling out the mama-knows-walt card. yet. i’m saving that one for the array of children i do not have. and when i say mama, i truly mean mama. not myself. i would never refer to myself as mama. ever. unless i had kids. otherwise, it’s just weird. although i hear people do it all the time and i think they sound stupid. especially when boyfriends call their girlfriends mama. i mean, come on.]

tangled, over here at the perch, is in no way related to cartoon animated chicks who have 300 yards of hair extensions and are grossing a gross number of dolla-dolla-bills, of which i definitely don’t understand. but maybe i would if i saw the flick. but i haven’t. so i don’t.

rather, there are 300 yards of twinkle lights involved in this real-life-no-movie-magic-no-paid-actors-or-cartoons (which is awkward because how do you pay cartoons? they are crayons and computers) scenario.

the issue: down with the twinkle lights? . . . . . . . . . or leave them up.

i vote: LEAVE.

note: we are not dealing with sad charlie brown christmas trees here, those which are one lone needle away from total collapse. we are not dealing with wreaths. nor bushes. nor anything other than sheetrock, truthfully. which, in short-bus terms, means there a’int shit that’s gonna go up in smoke if we so decide this nice hint of post-post-post holiday glow needs to remain plugged into the wall on a 7-by-24 basis. for an indefinite period of time. until we get sick of it.

[call me in march. or beginning of april.]

it creates a nice hue throughout the living room and sets an ambiance worthy of candles and a wood-burning fire. if i had a fire place. and if i were lumberjack enough to drag in some seasoned oak, axe it up, and turn that pile of splinters into a source of energy that i’d very much like to turn my white scottish arse towards.

until it gets too hot.

then i’d turn around. about face.

[might even do a full salute here. could happen.]

second note: i am not actually full red-blooded scottish. but with the last name McKenzie, someone along my blood line was bound to be. i should research that. and then take a trip to scotland to celebrate my heritage that i embarrassingly do not know enough about.

so if you still have a little unlikely leftover twinkle and are undecided about the fate of the so-called holiday decor and want my opinion (which you probably don’t, but here it comes anyway):

don’t make me have to de-bah-humbug yo’ ass . . . even though it is the first day of february.

them twinkle lights you had wrapped around your banister, nailed to the 90-degree angle of the wall and ceiling, and/or staple-gunned to your balcony looked mighty perdy when you shut off all the lamps and watched the snow fall.

more snow is comin’.

keep ‘em.