Well, Christmas is officially over. Your house is a mess of wrapping paper, pine needles, tinsel, tinsel your cat threw up and empty bottles of Jack Daniels and peppermint schnapps, and you're left with nothing to do but try to find your sanity in this unholy mess.
Luckily, with all this Christmas scorched earth comes a whole shitload of presents, aka why the Baby Jesus was born in the first place.
But what do those presents really mean? Did your mother really just get you a new blender because it was on sale at Sears, or is this some deeply subtle suggestion that you should go on a liquid diet because she notices those extra ten pounds you gained since she last saw you. Should you send her a lengthy email decrying this act and all the times she's undermined your self-esteem or just chill and make yourself some margaritas? It's a tough call!
No need to fret! We here at the Jezebel Institute for Retail Gifts have assembled the finest team of holiday gift experts to analyze and report back their findings on your presents and just what messages your relatives and friends are trying to relate to you.
"Yeah, I totally forgot I had to get you a present. I bought this at a gas station on the way to your house after my mom yelled at me for being selfish. I was going to get you sunglasses. I think this is better. This has a Nicole Scherzinger song."
"I know you haven't set foot in a kitchen since 2004, when you wandered in to ask if this was where they kept the extra olives for the martini you were drinking out of a red Solo cup. But maybe this year is the year for you. Seriously, the last meal I saw you prepare for yourself was a slice of Wonder Bread you wrapped around leftover bacon you brought home from an office brunch. Sometimes I pray for you because of this."
"I am giving you this because I know it's what you are going to give me. Just like every other relative in my family, co-worker and casual acquaintance. My gift card for theirs. I don't know why the fuck I don't just buy myself a bunch of fucking gift cards and skip all these shitty holiday parties where I go to exchange them with people like you, but I guess this keeps me 'social' instead of sitting at home alone over the holidays, thinking of ways I could teach my cat how to talk."
"Holy shit. Your fucking house is falling apart. Dude. Duct tape is not how you keep your screen door on. You shouldn't have to ask guests to 'jiggle the handle, then kick it a little, then jiggle the handle and then bash it with the dictionary we keep behind the tank' when they have to use your toilet. Also. Two wood crates tied together with yarn and draped with a Philadelphia Eagles blanket is not a 'couch.' Just sayin'."
"I am the best person you know. I am a saint who walks among mortal men. Forget all the other motherfuckers in your life. Only I truly know and love you. Like deep, deep down in your soul know you and love you. I know you don't want to fucking cook or fix your shitty house or listen to terrible will.i.am music or go shop at Pier One. It's OK. You can just sit here and drink this bottle I picked out just for you and slowly let the memory of these holidays slip away, as you think about what an awesome fucking person I am."
Images via Williams and Sonoma, Now That's What I Call Music, Home Depot and Shutterstock