Escape from Vegas

I have a passionate dislike for holidays. I'm one of those people that bad holiday movies are based on -- and no, not the warm fuzzy ones where everything goes bad but then everyone loves each other in the end. My mom's visiting New York while she care of her dying parents. My dad's in New York planning to roast a freshly hunted deer on a spit in the woods behind his house with his drunk red-neck hunting buddies and his wife (this is a step up from last year, when they took their beer and guns up on the roof and shot clay pidgeons from there). My boyfriend wants me to spend the day with his family. His family has so many traditions that his grandpa has 50 year-old glass milk containers from Winder Dairy that he fills with wal-mart chocolate milk so that the family can pour their chocolate milk from the traditional glass jugs. This seems a bit...uh...well, I guess I'll politely say this level of tradition perplexes me. I've considered joining the ranks of people in tents on cement sidewalks waiting for that elusive and life-fulfilling black friday deal. This is an experience I've never had. And I've always wondered what sort of person does that -- perhaps Black Friday culture was built by and founded on people who have no place to go for holidays? I'll probably end up at the homeless shelter. No, not cold and hungry with my backpack, but serving. The dudes down at the rescue mission mare some of my favorite people. The big dude who's always smoking makes me laugh -- I never quite expect the things that he says. The little dude who's in charge of volunteers is a chuckle and a half. (i'm not sure what that phrase means, but it sounded good right then). Happy holidays!