I spent 48 continuous hours at my parents� house, which hasn�t been done since those long-ago college days. I did scarce little but sleep, watch �24 Hours of �A Christmas Story�� and feel queasy. The entire thing would�ve probably fallen apart, though, had my mother not had to work Christmas Eve and yesterday. She was a bit put off about spending the holiday only with us, since we refused to allow her to listen to godawful festive choral productions, or really anything with a holiday theme that wasn�t on The Food Network.
In the end, I�ve had lots of sleep, a bit of bland food, and way too much TV. We didn�t have eggnog or really anything else that Dad and I planned to cook for the holiday. They had dinner at a neighbor�s house Christmas Day, while I had leftover mac n� cheese and a long nap. I feel cheated of my holiday. Why, I couldn�t even drink anything when Jeremy came over Wednesday to exchange gifts and play euchre with me and the parents.
I think I�m better today, perhaps because last night at the neighbors�, I ate enough garlic to drive off any germ or witch in a 100-mile radius. I can see I'll be popular today.
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Looking out the bedroom window, it seems the snow is starting to melt. I hated that I wasn�t home for the big snowfall Christmas Eve. It�s so lovely out here. But I knew if I stayed, the plows wouldn�t get to our road until late Christmas Day, at best, and that the little silver wonder wouldn�t handle 6 inches of snow (and more sizeable drifts) at all. Much as it depresses me when the snow is all plowed and politely piled, I hate it most when it starts to slowly melt away, the moisture hanging in a thick fog.
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Highlights from last night:
I got the cat dancing book from M. Kat for Christmas. It�s hilarious.
Hearing this said of one of my pals from high school after he and his wife left: �He�s turned into such a good guy. It makes me wish I hadn�t been so mean to him in high school.�
My landlord (a conservative astronomy teacher who still lives on the farm on which he was born) modeled his new full-length down parka for us. It was black with a fur-trimmed hood. On the left side of the chest area, in big white cursive writing, it read �Sean John.� Most of us found it odd, but the two visitors from L.A. mentioned that it was from the new Sean Combs designer line. We�re now on the lookout for a huge white velvet hat to help him complete his urban pimp look.
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M. Kat�s still asking about New Year�s Eve. I�ve decided it�s fair to simply say that I really don�t want to go to a party at which I�ll be the lone single person. I mean, it�s not even like there will be unmarried couples there--they�re all fairly newlyweds. No way. My recent dreams have been difficult enough. I think I�d be better off spending the evening at home with the damned cat.