I decided to schlep up to the attic and get out the Christmas decorations. Which by the way was a stupid idea, because it is really more of a "I'll hand the boxes down to you" kind of a task. Instead, I had to kind of flump each box against the attic steps above me as I minced down, and I could just picture an entire box falling on me, and me falling backwards to my death, and Marvin coming home to find me covered in tinsel yet half-eaten by dogs.
Because I'm festive that way.
The problem with Marvin and me is that we think we're funny, so if one of us ever comes home and finds the other dead, there will be 10 minutes of the other one going, "Okay, that was hilarious, now get up" before the alive one figures out the dead one wasn't joking.
One time Marvin cut his hand really badly slicing a bagel, and his roommate didn't believe him for the longest time, until he practically bled out.
Anyway. So I started my Christmas cards, and in all the cards I sent to the people in my old neighborhood in LA, I had to mention Manny's death. Manny was this great guy who worked at our neighborhood grocery store. He was always so friendly and helpful, and we all knew him, and he had the bone cancer. So all my LA cards are like, "I heard Manny finally succumbed to his bone cancer. He was the best guy, it's so sad. MERRY CHRISTMAS!"
Because I'm festive that way.
I got 33 of 203043085 cards done yesterday, and am annoyed with myself because I bought five boxes or whatever they're called of Christmas stamps. What are they called? Oh crap.
BOOKS! I bought five BOOKS of stamps. And they're pretty this year–they are pine branches, which is better than last year's stupid tin soldiers, which were inexplicably blue and purple and totally clashed with my red envelopes.
Then when I found last year's Christmas cards:
–which by the way were in the LAST POSSIBLE CHRISTMAS BOX in the attic, and the plan was I was gonna schlep boxes only till I found the Christmas cards, but no, I had to do the death mince with every single Christmas box–guess who had nine thousand purple tin soldier stamps from last year?
Crap. Crap on the tin soldiers. Because I'm…festive.
Also, Edsel kept eating my pens. So the whole thing was relaxing.
Oh, and before I drop the subject of my Christmas cards–and did you know anyone could drone on about a topic for this long?–I was annoyed to discover I had bought these:
they are teeny tiny Lilliputian minute small little cards. WHY? These will get lost in the mail, plus I run out of room because you'll be shocked to hear sometimes I say a lot in my cards, and also they are kind of flimsy. I HATE these cards. Why did I pick them out last year at the 50% off sale? WHYYYYY?
So every time I write out one of these, I have to apologize for the dumb small card. Then stampede to the topic of Manny's bone cancer.
Festive! Did I mention? Don't you wish you were getting a card from me? Don't you wish your blogger was hot like me?
That made no sense. Can't wait to finish those cards today, as clearly I have become insane.
Speaking of not really sane, poor Francis had to leave his pink angry chair when we got Edsel, because Edsel's crate is back there next to Angry Chair, and Fran would never deign to be angry next to the crate of the beast. So now he usually fumes on the dining room table, and again, have dinner with us soon!
But now I have placed all the Christmas boxes of death on the dining room table, so he has to hiss and spit down here:
Poor Francis has to be mad under the dining room table, where we can only hear him growl and not see it. He does not appreciate half of his affect being removed.
On an actually festive note, my nice friend Dottie sent me flowers yesterday, because she felt bad for me that I cannot hold down a job. Aren't they pretty? She sent them to "Djune," because I have told you before when we were college housemates, I once got a piece of mail to "Djune Gardens" and this tickled Dot to no end. She kept the piece of mail and taped it to her door. She sent me a Christmas ornament that reads "Djune." Give Dottie a typo and she can giggle about it for the next 30 years.
Anyway, as soon as she sent off the order, she got a call from the florist here in Greensboro. "Ma'am, did you mean to call your friend, here, Djune?"
So she had to tell him yes and to leave our old jokes alone.
Anyway, that is all. I will return to my Christmasing of the house and sending out Merry Bone Cancer greetings. I feel safe and warm in here
I'll bet when you woke up this morning you thought, "Gee, I sure hope I get to see all of Tallulah's genital region today."
So I brought it to you. Because I'm festive that way.