I am not a wrapper.
And I donít mean that in a H to the Izzo kinda way. I mean this time of year Iíve got about 400 yards of wrinkled wrapping paper strewn all over the place trying to scotch tape the shit out of it so people wonít know the creases are all messed up.
The creases people! How on earth do you deal with the creases?
Iím not even going to mention the bows. I wonít even go there, but letís just say there is no emoticon on earth that could ever express that kinda frustration.
But the good news is, most of my family and friends know I am a wrapping retard and if the store wonít do it, itís gonna look god awful.
Even better, itís not like my soon-to-be-four-year-old nephew even cares Ė heíll just rip right in like itís July and the envelope with your tax return check just arrived.
So, that said Ė Christmas was wonderful. And trust me, I donít think Iíve ever said that before.
I had no idea itíd be so cool, but thatís because my family and friends are so dispersed around this world I had no idea what Iíd be doing. A recent conversation with my mother on the phone went a little something like this:
[some background info Ė my mother and step father have recently taken an early retirement, sold my childhood home and moved off to Minnesota. Just days after my sisterís wedding last month they drove off with our German relatives in tow to stay in my uncleís sweet-ass Florida beach house for like, a month and a half and never looked back]
Mom: So, weíll be back sometime after the New Year. Why donít you hang out with your sister and her new husband for Christmas? I hear they are going to Aliceís
(Alice is my sisterís new IN LAW.)
Me: Because, ma, if I wanted in-laws Iíd get married.
Mom: Well, theyíre really nice people.
(which they are, really).
Me: No, thatís ok. Iím just gonna hang out here and join the ranks of the Holiday Statistics.
Mom: Statistics? What do you mean?
Me: Oh, you know. I hear theyíre serving a kick ass microwave turkey and cranberry dinner down at the shelter this year.
Mom: Oh! Stop that!
Hehehe. Yeah, I know. Totally overboard. I was just having some fun, of course. I honestly wouldnít have minded if I had stayed the entire day on my ass doing nothing. I donít get much time off this time of year, so the break would be welcome. Plus my friend emailed me this super-cool list of Solo Holiday Fun for me to follow:
2. sexing the fireman
3. listening to Rusty Warren records. Bawdy!
4. Sex in the City/Twin peaks marathon
5. shooting Melonieís faux penis/rifle (sorry inside joke, youíd laugh if you knew Melonie)
6. make a turkey handprint and write qualities you like about yourself on each finger.
7. composing intimidating fan letters to Oprah
Unfortunately, I only got to number one on the list (and I was sooo looking forward to writing those Oprah letters!) before my brother invited me to spend the night Christmas Eve with him and his wife and the nephew!
Yes, I know Ė itís no Twin Peaks marathon, or sexing the fireman Ė but let me tell you all of the cynicism of the world melted away and everything was beautiful Christmas morní when my little nephew ran into the darkened spare bedroom I was sleeping in at 6:00 and bum rushed me to announce, ďAUNT ANN-FRANK! ITíS CHRISTMAS! in a loud stage whisper.
The look on his face and the big gasp that came when he saw his new train set all gleaming by the tree was worth Ö well, everything in the world.
That little booger! Making me all happy and things.
At any rate. Spent the morning with my brotherís family and felt so good on my way home around noon I drove a few miles outta my way to swing by my real popís grave to say hello because I know no oneís been there in ages. And after cleaning the snow off his tombstone I let him know Christmas went swimmingly this year.
I told him all about his grandson frolicking by his new train set that morning. I told him how beautiful my sisterís wedding was and how even though I fuck up a lot, I hope he didnít mind much because Ė well, overall, I am not a bad person.
Plus, I know my pop did some wild things in his life, too, before he all went worked and drank and smoked himself to death.
So, I had heard.
I mean, the man died right before Christmas. Right before I was about to turn three. So, all to most of my info is second hand. But yeah, he had some fun.
I am my father's daughter.
Which brings me to, my birthday Ė in a few days. I'll be having a bash! Itís a big one people. Are you ready?
I am. Now that I am hurtling towards thirty the domestic assimilation has officially begun!
Thatís right - I bought a blanket from the Martha Stuart collection.
Hey! It was on sale! And it matches the rug the sister in law gave me. And, just like The Big Lebowski Ė that rug really ties the room together, so I was obligated.
I spent the rest of Christmas cleaning my floors and trying to get my shit together so my apartment didnít look so much like a college dorm room.
What's worse is I also finally broke down and bought a cute ass woven table cloth to go over the ugly ass table in my kitchen.
No, it's not one of Martha's but I had to iron the creases out of the fucker and we all know ironing table cloths = Martha Stuart assimilated living so I may as well break down and get me some god damn napkin rings or something.
Well, what's done is done.
Happy Holidays, yo.
p.s. my apologies to everyone on my notify list! Lately it never loads when I try to get to it Ė so bear with me Ė I have not forgotten you!