Every year in my downtown, they light this huge evergreen. It’s in the same park where careful readers will note is the park I go every New Year’s Day, to do the guided meditation.
I debated going this year, because I may not have brought it up but I’ve had a cold, but I went because I am tough and no nonsense.
getting down there, as the night was mild and everyone and their chicken decided going to the tree lighting was a good idea. But I found (free!) parking after driving around and turning to butter, and walked 105 miles down to the park, thinking, “I wonder who I’ll run into that I know?”
Anyway, they lit the tree.
That’s as close as I could get with the thronging crowds. And I saw people from work, and of course Kit because she works down there. (Not only do they light the tree, they close off the streets and keep the shops and galleries open and some stores have free wine, which may be why I saw Ned, who hates Christmas. And who lives walking distance away, if one wants to walk for 45 minutes. Which one never does. Unless one is Ned.)
Kit’s store was full of adorable things as it always is. She runs the shop, see, and has vintage things, then she rents out sections of the store and people sell either vintage and handmade stuff.
She offered me some fine gum but I declined.
I admired the crowds, and looked in at shops, including my midcentury modern shop where the cute man works. It was full of his cute-man friends, all drinking IPAs and speaking in British accents. They ignored me because I am their age.
Also, I looked in at the cat cafe, where you can drink coffee and play with cats, and when I go there I always feel guilty about spending $10 to do what I could do for free at home. Gettin’ some strange.
Anyway, I always enjoy the Christmas thing downtown and despite my huge cold I’m glad I went. About 9:30 I hit an “Oh my god I’m so stuffed up” wall and went home.
On Saturday I cleaned and did some shopping, and in the afternoon I got up with an old friend. An old, old friend.
S and I have known each other since we were tiny. First of all, her brother and my Uncle Leo were friends in high school, and I remember him coming over to our house, having band practice in the basement. It’s like I grew up being Stella McCartney without the success and riches.
Then S and I went to elementary school together, and were at Michigan State at the same time, and anyway she was in Greensboro this weekend because her oldest kid is in some soccer thing for his college. The hotel she stayed at would have been walking distance to my old house. Not a ridiculous Ned walking distance. A real one. But it was a 10-minute drive and that’s not too shabby.
Anyway, we ate desserts and drank coffee and had ourselves a time. It was so good to see her. I had to go, though, cause I had to get ready for Lottie Blanco’s partayyy.
Lottie Blanco and her wife, Lottie Blanco, live in another town and I don’t know how she stands that commute. I’ve been to her Christmas parties before, but I giggle when I get there. “Oh, is this the house?” I ask myself, then fondle self cheekily on the way in, giggling.
I adore this photo of us, because inevitably she is astonished at something I did. I know I told her, as I was reapplying it, that I invented this lipstick. “You know those Instagram ads, that read, ‘Design your own lip color’?” I asked her.
“No,” she said, turning the channel to another football game on her 70-foot TV.
“Well, there IS such an ad and I made this color, AND I opted for the rose scent!” I said. I have no idea why LB likes me.
The Lottie Blancos have two Corgi puppies—Wrigley and Addison, which I guess has something to do with sports?—but my heart belongs to Riley.
Oh my god, Riley is so beleaguered. I adore him. He is still on the fence about those damn puppies, too.
After I’d eaten all the food and made out with every dog 12 times, at about 9:30 I hit an “Oh my god, I’m so stuffed up” wall and had to drive home for 17 hours and then I fell into a dead sleep.
Yesterday, I finished all my damn Christmas cards. Do you know what I need? Some sort of stamp that puts my return address on the envelope. Why do I never think to purchase such a thing until my cards are done, and then next year as I’m writing my endless address I’ll think of it again? Why?
I mentioned on Facebook yesterday that filling out Christmas cards is a great time to get online and Zillow your friends’ and loves ones’ houses to see what they’re worth, and that is what Christmas is all about.
I also mentioned this: Many of my friends, from years past, have since gotten married and had children and here’s my problem. I don’t KNOW the people they married or their children, and what I really want to be doing is sending a card to my old friend, and making a Barry Gibb reference, but I feel stymied because I’m sending the card to the whole family, and feel certain there are young adult asshole children out there who say, “Your weird friend sent a card again, mom.”
Look here, you little imagination-less millennial twit. I am not your mother’s weird friend. I am her friend from when she was fun and drank at 10:30 in the morning and wore nipple clamps. It’s not me who’s weird. I just haven’t changed. I stayed true to myself. Okay, sure, I go to bed at 9:30 on weekends now. BUT EVERY TIME I CHEW MY EARS CLICK RN. I HAVE A COLD, YOU IMAGINATION-HAS-LEFT-THE-STATION MILLENNIAL TWIT.
Anyway, my point is, can we make it acceptable to send cards to JUST your friend, and not the whole family? Unless you’re the kind of person who makes a Christmas post card that’s already signed and addressed, and you don’t write anything personal anyway, in which case why do you send Christmas cards?
“I still exist! It’s December! Love, Person you once knew.”
Oooo, and by the way, I was in here, writing something personal on EACH CARD and then Zillowing everyone’s house, when I heard helicopters. Not parents, real helicopters. In LA you heard them all the time, but here, not so much.
I ran outside in my Jessica Savitch bunny slippers. Oh, not Jessica Savitch. Those are wet. The one Jessica who used to sing and now she makes slutty heels. I like all her shoes, including her bunny slippers. What’s her name?
Anyway, FOUR military helicopters. I felt tempted to run dramatically through my backyard like I was a nurse on MASH, but I did not. I did fondle self cheekily over the thought, though.
Also, at some point a few years back, I bought a GROSS of depressing austere deer Christmas cards on sale, and who knows what kind of blue period I was in, but I felt the need to apologize for them in each card.
Also, I have return labels from not giving any money to St. Jude’s, and I am a wonderful person, and I found myself matching the color of winter berry stamp to the color house on the particular I-gave-nothing-to-St-Jude’s label I used, and I probably need professional help.
Or a cheeky adress-label stamp. Will you remind me to get one?
Last night I watched Call the Midwife until about 9:30, when I said Oh my god I’m so stuffed up, then fell into a dead sleep.
All right, I have to go. This was an entire post about nothing and I hope you enjoyed it. Remember you don’t need a name or email to comment, fuckers.