So can I use the excuse “it’s Christmas” as to why I haven’t been blogging? Probably not. I’ve just “waxed introspective” and didn’t feel like writing.
Christmas was awesome. Christmas Eve my dad and I went to get the traditional Christmas Eve feast: pizza. While we were waiting, we sat at the bar, and I got hosed. It wasn’t really on purpose. I only had one beer, but I hadn’t eaten anything… relatives are a LOT more interesting when you’re slightly buzzed.
My little cousins were there. You have to picture them; two really skinny, nerdy looking sweethearts with huge glasses. They’re both sort of awkward at age 8 and age 10, and the entire family is a little weird. We sang Christmas songs off key for a while, which I am establishing here and now as a new tradition. Maybe not the off key part. The girls are wonderful, though, and I love them. Even if they can’t carry a tune. Even if they can’t SORT OF carry a tune. I’m terrified they’re going to be the kids everyone makes fun of in high school.
And… I got a digital camera. Woo hoo!
Christmas Day I went to my dad’s parents house, which always manages to put me on edge. It wasn’t too bad, though, right mom? Next year, there will be a baby in the family on Christmas, which makes me happier than happy. Cousin Joe and his wife are expecting. They made all the machismo Santos men happy by annoucing the “good” news that it’s going to be a boy. (Luca Brasi would be proud.) When I asked, they said they aren’t sure on names, but I think it’s inevitable: Joe #4 is on the way.
Stay tuned for a recap on mom’s brand-new “Phycho-Santa” method of passing out presents.
What is love?
When I was around three, I closed my finger in a dresser drawer. I was crying about it, and my mom came to see what was wrong. When I told her, she picked me up and put my finger in her own mouth.
Yesterday, Byron and Najla and I trekked to Stew Lenoards in Norwalk to get a Christmas tree.
At the lot, I’m standing in the cold and dark, surrounded by a bunch of trees. I was holding up one tree, inspecting it to make sure it didn’t have more than one side of scrawniness, and one of the guys who works there walks up to me, without saying a word, and takes the tree. He’s standing there, holding it, and he’s looking at me, so I looked at him, so he keeps looking at me. I lifted my eyebrows.
He’s still holding the tree and looking at me. If he had a look on his face to convey what he wanted, I wasn’t able to read it. I can only imagine he was trying to be helpful, but I started to get creeped out by the staring contest. I didn’t really know what else to do, so I just grabbed the tree back and held it up. Then (from weird to weirder) he started pulling out trees that were wrapped in twine, and placing them at my feet. I didn’t know what to think.
I decided on the first tree (the one that was the source of the bizarre encounter), and we had it put on Byron’s car. At first the guy was going to stick it in the trunk, but Najla and I vetoed that; we didn’t want to be riding home in the cold with the trunk open. So he tied it to the top. He’s getting ready to secure it with twine, and asks “How far are you going?”
Excuse me? What?
Byron, being sweet and diplomatic said “Well, Trumbull, so, pretty far, I guess.” I was more direct. “Look, it doesn’t matter how far we’re going. You secure that thing like we’re driving to friggin’ Kansas”. Dear God. I’m becoming my mother.
The guy didn’t say anything, but he secured it pretty well!
I turned to Najla and whispered, “Where’d they get these guys? Prison?”
My tree is up, and it’s pretty and I’m happy. It’s tall and skinny, and, like last year, there’s a giraffe on top. I put too many lights on it, just the way I like it. So now it’s Christmas in Amber’s world, but I still have to go shopping.
I attempted to go yesterday; I was at work when Patrick called and asked me to meet him at the mall. He had to get a haircut, and, being that he doesn’t celebrate Christmas, he didn’t realize what a horrible mess the mall would be. I knew it’d be nuts, but I went anyhow, figuring I could get some shopping done with all the rest of the crazy folks who wait last minute. I didn’t find anything, but I got to meet Patrick’s little brother, Dakota, who is the coolest 14 year old I’ve ever met, and I helped Pat decide on stocking stuffers for his office Christmas party. He’s getting everyone the same thing: Krazy Glue. Cheap, and useful. They left and I wandered around the mall not buying anything, because I couldn’t find what I was looking for. I know what I want to get my parents, but they don’t have them at the mall, and I thought they would. Walmart, here I come. (Bleck). Finally, after only buying chocolates, I decided to go home, and realized I had NO CLUE where I parked my car. Not even a little. I was on the phone when I walked in, and I didn’t take note of where I parked. Plus, being the Saturday before Christmas, I drove around the entire parking lot for a long time before I found a spot, so I remembered being everywhere.
I finally found my car (it took me about an hour and a half). I’d like to say “oh, I’ll never do that again!” but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the first time I’ve done it. No matter. I’m pleased to say that (probably due to my tree going up) my Christmas spirit has kind of arrived, and I’m going to just have to make do with kind of.
I don’t think I look BAD, but I don’t have that natural ability to put fabulous outfits together, which you’d think I’d be able to, since I’m quite the makeup connoisseur. I guess, though, I really hate shopping; all my underwear is exactly the same thing in different colors, and my bras, and when I manage to find a pair of pants that fit me really well, I buy all the colors the store has in stock, all at once. (Another useful shopping technique I’ve relied on for years is seeing what Jen just bought and buying the exact same thing. She loves when I do that.) But, aside from Jen’s constant threats to turn me over to the folks at “What Not to Wear”, I didn’t really realize how clothing challenged I am until Wednesday.
I needed an outfit for a party I went to last night with Damian, and the office party tonight. For some reason I can’t remember right now, I had my heart set on a dress. The thing with dresses, though, is that they’re designed to fit a person who’s basically the same size on top and bottom. I am not. More accurately, the “girls” spilled out of the tops of the dresses that fit me everywhere else just fine. (Visions of sugarplums, indeed).
I was shopping with Jen and Najla, and thank God for girlfriends to keep you sane. We developed a technique: get to the dress department of a particular store, split up and grab as many dresses as we could in my size that looked feasible, lumber to the dressing room under pounds of fancy material, dump them, and then I would try them all on. Usually, mid-way through, one or both of them would be scouting the racks for even more clothing to throw over the top of my dressing room door (as in, “can I have a white blouse to try this on with… how about green?”) It was pure insanity. You’d think we’d have found something relatively quickly, but nothing fit, and the frustration or it all, coupled with the combination of horrible lighting and dressing room mirrors giving me a full-on, unflattering view of my ass made me just about burst into tears. Which, of course, meant we had to go for Hagen Daz therapy (it’s called “girl logic”…you feel fat, you buy ice cream. Don’t try to understand it).
Our last store was H&M, which I wasn’t too enthusiastic about, because it’s generally “hit or miss” (hence the name?). Jen and I are half asleep at this point (we had been there about 3 and a half hours), but Najla, apparently, has enough energy to power a small mid-western town for a solid week, at least. She gathered and brought to me EVERY SINGLE black skirt in the store, along with a bunch of other stuff. So I’m trying it all on, and somewhere in the middle is a red blazer (I think Jen found it). I fell in love, and I’m walking around with it on (and nothing under it; I had lost all modesty at that point) and one of the guys who work there kind of rescued us… he went off to find a shirt to go under it for me, and it was perfect. So, I was happy, Jen and Najla were relieved to be finished, and Damian told me I was pretty.
I’m not shopping again until 2006.
This year, I’m dragging my feet about a tree, because it seems like such a big job, but I really love a tree in the living room, even if grandma thinks it’s overwhelming. If you’d like to help me, I’d appreciate it. Tree decorating party at my house! Maybe this Saturday? On the 11th. Around 2? Please…
I promise to have cookies. If you’d like to help, call me, email me, IM me, leave a comment, text me, send me a postcard…oh, you can even tell me in person! I’d appreciate it.
Generally, I’m really mellow person, like super, freakishly mellow, so, I surprised myself when I slugged Tom Friday night.
We were having what was going the way of one of our typical spats. They’re just about formula by now: they end in yelling, and then we get over it in a day or two, no big deal, and life moves on. He, however went to stalk out of my house and said something over his shoulder so nasty, I wasn’t sure if I had even heard him correctly. I jumped up, flew after him and got in his face, catching up with him in my driveway. I have a pulse of 160 at this point, and I’m literally seeing red. I asked him to repeat it, and he did; looking back it was dark and I (thankfully) didn’t see the expression on his face, but I’m sure it was evil. So I hit him. Not in the face, but I would have if he wasn’t wearing glasses. I don’t actually remember where I hit him (I think the shoulder), but it was as hard as I could, which, thanks to Rob teaching me how to throw a proper punch, was harder than it would have been. I didn’t even wait for him to react (except I yelled a two word phrase at him… you don’t have to think that hard to figure out what), I just spun around and went in. I haven’t heard from him since then, but whatever.
It’s weird, normally I have more passive/aggressive ways of dealing with people like dumping malt liquor in the backseats of their well-maintained car, or keying their mini-vans, or stealing their favorite tee shirts and leaving them in the woods, or purposely using up all the hot water so they don’t have a hot shower. However, you heard it here first, I am not afraid to punch you out.
I have now heard every single corny joke there is to make to someone who is turning 50.
Dad’s party was last night, and my parents house had more people in it than I’ve ever seen in my life. It was squished, but a lot of fun. Snide in-law comments were minimal, dad liked all his presents (lots of corny joke presents, including a bottle of Geritol), and when most of the people left, we played poker with the “Casino style” poker chips Gus and I got for him (much better than dumping out all Dad’s spare change).
I wish there was some potato salad, though. Or some macaroni salad, or some coleslaw slaw. That would have made the party. Just kidding, mom.
When people were leaving, I opened the refridgerator and discovered three large party size containers of cold salads… they had totally forgotten to put them out. So, if anyone has a serious craving for coleslaw, Mom and Dad have a ton of it in their fridge. I’m sure you’re more than welcome.
“If I hear any more talk of people not celebrating Christmas, I will punch them in the face…right in the face. You got that?” – Jen
I guess I’m celebrating Christmas (or getting punched in the nose). I wasn’t going to NOT celebrate… it just feels like a bit MUCH right now. I’m not all depressed or anything, I just wasn’t ready for the season of good cheer just yet. I’ll get there. Open Mic tonight, very awesome. Check out the pictures!
The cat was obviously a pet; it was white and clean (with cute black dots). Sitting to the side of the exit ramp, on the grassy part, it was fine, totally safe! When it saw my car coming, it must have thought it was in the way because it ran to what must have looked like safety… right under my tires.
I swore a lot. Poor Gus was in the car with me, and got an earful, which I felt bad about after (but whatever! Mom lets him watch movies I was never allowed to see! Movies with sex, and killing! He’s so her favorite, and i don’t care what she tells me! But I digress.)
I gripped the wheel and hit the brakes. I was trying not to brake too hard and loose control, but still stop in time. When I tightened my fists around the steering wheel, I gouged out a piece of skin from my knuckle, which hurt like… oh, I dunno. A lot. So now I’ve just killed someone’s kitty and I’m bleeding all over the place, with, I imagine, cat goo all over my car. (I didn’t really want to look.) Gus patted me on the shoulder and told me I was ok, but I felt like a big putz.
If you happen to live in the Trumbull area and are missing a white cat with black spots, you’re not gonna find it.
P.S. Maybe you really are supposed to say “Rabbit” three times instead of two?