Tree hunting.

I was foolish enough to think that all Christmas trees are basically created equal. But, no, sir. No, they are certainly not.

You've got your Scotch Pines, your White Pines, your Douglas fir, your Fraser fir, ad infinitum.

The Fraser fir, I must say, is quite beautiful, and is what the tree farm lady called "the Cadillac of Christmas trees." Its price tag reflects its status, however, so we did not end up with a Fraser fir. I actually don't know what the hell our tree is. It's the kind with a bald ring around the entire thing near the top, the kind that leans to the side. The kind that will be guranteed to drop each and every one of its thirty million needles on the floor before Christmas even gets here.

In terms of decoration, I think we can all agree that Christmas trees vary greatly. They all have their own personality, I think. Some say, "I'm sophisticated and elegant." Others, "traditional and timeless." Others still, "funky, retro." Our tree? Our tree says, "I only recently escaped from a locked down mental institution." Yeah, that's right. Cause that's how we Heichers roll.

And, ELECIA! I took the precaution of wearing gloves while I decorated the tree, and while, yes, when I took them off I had red blotchy hives streaking my hands, they spread no further, and disappeared a few short hours after I washed them. It was SO worth it. So suck it, girlfriend!!!