a little pat on the back

I did Christmas all right this year.

Perfect? No.

But.

First time in a long time that I had all my presents bought AND wrapped before Christmas Day. I made a meal for a lot of people and it all came out on time and people seemed to enjoy themselves. I saw most of the people I wanted to see at home and a few that I didn't expect to.

Plus.

I enjoyed myself.

Still cried for much of Christmas Eve, but that was OK.

Huh. Who knew it was possible?

Overuse

Remember when a

SPECIAL REPORT

interrruption on TV meant that something BAD was happening? Super bad. Heavy and bad and scary and possibly life threatening - to the lives of the people watching.

Perhaps it's just the time I grew up in. And my rarified terror of dying in a nuclear first strike (thank you Matthew Broderick, Leah Thompson and War Games). These are the things that we got a Special Report for when I was a kid. Libya. Tianamen Square. Russian Tanks. Do not ask why, with this in my head, I decided to move to the pinnacle of first strike targets. Let's just assume that I'd like to go quickly and not delve any further.

Don't get me wrong, I feel for everyone involved in the Tsunami and I do feel we should help but Bush wanking off on how sorry he is for those people is not Special Report material. Plus as soon as he was done talking about the relief for those people the questions are all about his idiotic war and his unbelievable mishandling of Iraq's new government.

I believe that W is going to give us plenty of opportunities for Special Reports. The real ones, the ones where we need to stockpile water and throw funerals and hug our children extra tight.

This is not it. And I do not need to get that cold pit of fear in my heart and stomach every time the Special Report logo comes on. And I do not need to listen to this ass monkey any more than necessary.

Sigh. Yes, I'm so dissatisfied with everything. If I ran the zoo....

Friendly suggestion

A friendly suggestion for the state of Massachusetts.

Post the godforsaken payment amount for the toll. Don't make me guess. Just let me know how much change I'm scrounging for as I speed toward the booth. Let me know when I can haul my arm out from between the seat cushions. Do not make me ask the toll person.

The $3 fare for the Ted Williams tunnel doesn't change with the weather does it? Are you planning to raise the rate quietly every so often? Here's a hint. They make digital signs now. Easy to change.

Look into it.

So close and yet...

Up to now I was mostly paying lip service to my annual holiday funk. Good prior planning, scaling down, and apparently a healthy dose of denial was making me feel like it was all a lot worse than I remembered.

Tonight, though, I got the call. I hooked in to the reality of setting oneself down in the middle of a family, one whose daily life you aren't part of, one who, like any of us who see eachother 7 days a week, ends up hurting each other more and more.

Still didn't hit me for an hour or so. But now, I recognize the feeling. That hopeless sort of dread. It's similar to the feeling of facing an enormous job that one doesn't relish. You can see all the steps ahead, you know that you're capable of whatever is required to do the job and yet there's not a piece of it you can see as a reward.

It's not that any family is different. At least not any that I've known. And I've had the prvilege of joining probably 5 or 6 of different families for Christmas. So far.

My holy grail? A Christmas where everyone has fun and feels rewarded and relaxed, relishes in the accomplishment of a tough year and feels grateful for the people around them.

Yeah, I know, and I've never even seen Miracle on Thirty-Fourth Street.

Fashion Sideways

I am by no means fashion forward. I'm not entirely fashion backward either. I am fashion sideways.

Company holiday party tonight. I wore the fabulous ass pants, the Payless-but-doesn't-look-like-it shoes and my impulse checkout buy Target cami. I looked pretty good. spent the requisite 5 minutes on the hair so it looked like the hairdresser promised. I felt good about the whole ensemble.

About halfway home in the car service I realized that I never cut the tag out of the blouse.

Fashion Sideways, baby.

Dearie me

You really have to wonder about yourself when you start getting dressed up to walk the dog on Saturdays in case you see the cute guy who sells milk at the greenmarket.

On the other hand, he talked to me!

Huh?

Home Depot, America's do it yourself mecca has a location in Manhattan. At that location the store has a doorman.