Every year, it happens *shakes head sadly* (I love books :D)

Every year for Christmas, they ask, "What would you like?" And I say, "Books. Just books." Only a few books would hold me over, really. Just 2 nice books, with the fresh bookstore smell and the satisfaction of holding crisp, new, unturned pages between my fingers. Or perhaps a nice used book, with the cover slightly frayed and the pages already worn in, with the smell of old paper and hardback covers and the sense of a good read on the dusty trail ahead radiating from it. Just a book or two, that's all I need.

But no. Every year, they get me anything BUT a book. Cooking stuff, clothes, scarves, candles, anything to avoid a book. Sure, the stuff is nice, but they know as well as I do that it will probably get lost in the raging storm that is my room (I have a typical writers room, the only thing still semi-organized is the litter on my comp desk and the bookshelf. Trash on the right hand side, dirty dishes on the left, dirty clothes underneath, sci fi on the top, horror on the bottom, everything else sorted into a mystery category on my 4 other humoungous bookshelves and anything that doesn't fit is next to, or on, the bed.)

Finally this year, as an early Christmas present, I got two books that I REALLY wanted. They were handed over to me, I literally jumped and screamed and moshed with myself for approximately 10 minutes, lost about 3 pounds, had a cigarette, then propped a squat and read them both in four hours. Completely finished both of them. All done.

Now, I don't know what to do with myself. I still got the livre-buzz going on, so I can't read another book for another 4 hours or so. I can't watch tv, because it's a waste of electricity, and I can't cook because I know I'll get distracted thinking about the stories. And I enjoy it. I love the book buzz.

I love books. Why don't all these chummy happy-go-lucky, I'll-call-once-a-year-to-bug-you-about-your-hair-and-get-you-an-overpriced-gift-that-we-both-know-will-end-up-rotting-in-the-corner gift givers figure out that the Tsuki is happy when you spend a whole dollar to get a cheap book at the local Paradox or something? I'm sure they don't like me all that that much, and I know I don't like them all that much, so if they insist on giving a gift for the sake of fairness, why not spent the smallest amount of money possible and we'll both be happy? Why do we continue to dance this superficial dance of love and tango the tango of the empty wallet and bookshelf?

Does this every happen to you? They say "You want what?" and you say "I want the cheap-rinky-dink-lovable-mystery-item" and then they get you, I don't know, tanzanite encrested mummies or something? Should I go AWOL around Christmas so maybe they'll forget about me like they do the rest of the year? I hate having my bookshelf covered in boxes of girly perfumed snot-consistancy snot and cheesy bajillion dollar sweaters that will eventually be given to Grandma in the next week....

And that was my holiday rant. *bow*

Soccer Mom said:

My family is boring. We all like books and everyone gives Amazon, B&N and Borders gift cards. We give other stuff too, but we all like to read. Sometimes I buy books that I know my parents will like because we trade books so much that I know what they like. My husband is harder. He reads BFF (big, fat fantasy). I don't understand the genre so I have him tell me specific book and authors or just give him the gift card.

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Damn, I wish I had your family, I really, really, really do. MOst of my family has never even picked up a magazine, much less a book. "Who's Stephen King?"

PattiTheWicked said:

The problem with asking for books is that unless you tell people WHICH books, they get scared. My husband, dog love him, is a wonderful man who cannot for the life of him navigate his way through Barnes and Noble. You have to say things like, "I want the big book of Edgar Allen Poe stories, it's black and has a red ribbon on it, and they've got it at B&N for $19.99 right back there by the Classics section." I tell my sister in law, "Janet Evanovich, Stephanie Plum books Seven, Eight and Nine, paperback only." Otherwise, most folks go into a bookstore, detour to the right to have a Starbucks, buy a book of Sudoku puzzles and run screaming in fear back out the door.

If you want books, write 'em an itemized list, complete with ISBN numbers, price, and which aisle in the store they live in.

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The onyl problem? My family knows what none of this means. They only time they were in a book store was to get a magazine that they couldn't find at Kroger.