Happy Holidays: Throwin' 'Bows and Crackin' Nuts

Even though the malls have been swathed in candy canes and jingle bells since the day after Halloween, everyone knows that the "holiday season" doesn't officially start until Thanksgiving...and really technically the day after Thanksgiving.

Do not ever attempt to mix Halloween and Christmas. Unless you happen to be Tim Burton. Which you're not. Unless you are...Tim, if you read my blog, be a pal and pass me Johnny Depp's contact info.

I opted to forgo the annual family Thanksgiving gathering in Alabama. You know, too far, too expensive, not enough time, yada yada yada. There is typically a pretty good spread. Some of my favorites are cheese grits and sweet potato casserole. My mother always brings the ambrosia...which is essentially just mandarin oranges and coconut. I don't really know why it's called ambrosia, since this stuff pretty much sucks, and supposedly ambrosia is Greek for food of the gods or something. Whoever claimed the name "ambrosia" for this crap was blowing it more than a little out of proportion.

Evidently there were t-shirts at Thanksgiving this year. One can only hope that's a new annual tradition. After dinner, I'm sure everyone grabbed their shotguns and went out back to kill stuff and play on the tractor. Seriously.

Last year

I enjoyed a DiGiorno pizza on Thanksgiving. Actually I didn't really enjoy it that much, because I burned the crap out of it. Good thing I had a bag of Butterfinger bells to save the meal.

I wasn't going to hit the stores on Black Friday. In fact, I was considering a day of serious soul-searching. But after stumbling upon a Target ad for a door-buster (read: 4 a.m.) deal on a $12 air mattress cha-CHING, I decided I pretty much had no choice. Soul-searching will have to wait.

I made the two-mile drive from my apartment and found the Target parking lot...packed. At 4:17 in the morning. After a few minutes of mental preparation while playing, Survivor's "Eye of the Tiger," I made my way to the entrance, ready to throw some 'bows if necessary. I floated stealthily between bleary-eyed shoppers carrying TVs and made a beeline toward the camping supply area to locate my loot. Wah-waaahhhh. What a piece of shit. I couldn't believe I dragged my ass out into the 25-degree morning - coffeeless - for this. Well, I figured since I was already up, I might as well get into the fucking holiday spirit and check out the decorations, damn it.

A few minutes later, I emerged with a $20 plastic Canadian fir tree, and all four limbs.

Coffeeeee...

Let me just say that I can be a bit of a Scrooge at times. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but I was really in the holiday spirit when I got home. If I had any eggnog, I would have been chugging it. If I owned a Santa sweater to wear over my candy cane turtleneck, I would have put it on. If I had Mariah Carey's Christmas album...all right, you got me, I own pretty much every album Mariah Carey ever released, but that's all in the past. It was a dark time in my life.

Anyway, I decked the halls.

Every time I added an ornament, I had to adjust the tree so it wouldn't fall to that side. 

I figured while I was at it, I would bust out my one and only collection. My mother started collections for all three girls when we were pretty young. 

Julia - Snowbabies

Anna - Madame Alexander dolls

And these are my Nutcrackers.

Some of these little suckers have been around for 20 years.

Yeah, they're pretty cute. But I am highly skeptical of any actual nut-cracking abilities.

I've lost my city feet.

I just got back from four days in New York. Bliss. (OK, two days in New York, two days in Jersey.) Photo essay samples in 3, 2, 1...

I went to MoMA and saw some fantastic art (albeit a lot of hoo-hoos and ha-has), downed my weight in pizza, bagels, and soy cappuccinos, walked approximately 29 miles in heels (atouristsayswhat?), and complained non-stop about the "cold" weather...which, incidentally, was the reason I wanted to visit in the first place. One huge disappointment? No hipster sightings whatsoever. What a load of crap.

Sigh...

 

*The last one is just photographic evidence that I am, in fact, taller than Shaunna.

Hermit Perks

After living alone for about six years, I've spent the last 16 months NOT living alone. But who's counting?  The ability to live alone is the biggest consolation for being single. It might not seem like much, but consider the following perks:

• You can have candy breakfasts, pancake dinners, and beer brunches, and no one will criticize. Personally, this is a huge factor, as my diet is simply embarassing. I love that I can come home and unabashedly dip my french fries in my Frosty. You can eat whatever you want, whenever you want. There is no such thing as sharing when you live alone. If you buy a package of Sausalitos, you are guaranteed to have that deliciousness to look forward to after work. If you order pizza, you choose the toppings. Every time. And you get all the leftovers. 
• If I want to sit around in nothing but a belt and socks (eating fries and a Frosty), who's going to stop me? You can dress however you want. Now, I know when you're married, this is generally the same. But when you're single and live alone, you can take it to the extreme. I lavish the fact that I can be slovenly every weekend. I have no problem wearing the same baggy t-shirt, pajama pants, and knee socks from Friday evening through Sunday evening...without showering. Hey, everyone knows it's bad to wash your hair every day! 
• Seinfeld re-runs. No one else appreciates them on a daily basis. When I have sole control of the remote, this is what is showing after work. Yes, I have seen them all - several times. What's your point, exactly?
• Showering with the door open is something I will never, ever take for granted. I despise, despise closing the door when I shower. I hate that the bathroom gets all steamy and slimy. And even worse? Getting dressed in that steamy, slimy, sweaty bathroom. Gross. When you shower with the door open (which you can freely do when you live alone), the whole place is your fabulous dressing room. You're not confined to a slippery, hot 5x5 sweat-box. And on that note...
• You can try on as many outfits as you want before work or a date...or going to the grocery store. And you can leave the runners-up flung all over the room for as long as you like. Because...
• Yo' mama don't live here. You don't have to make your bed, unload the dishwasher, fold the laundry...until you're darn-well ready to. For me, that's usually on Sunday. But it doesn't have to be. A major high point of living alone is that you never, ever have to clean up after anyone else but yourself.
• Need milk? Go get it. Want to hit the mall? Who's stopping you? Feel like throwing a dinner party? Start planning. You can do anything you want when you live alone - without working around anyone else's schedule. You can be governed by whim.

So, while I hesitate to leave my current living situation because it is cost-effective and temporary, I feel like I need to take advantage of my singledom. Right now I'm really missing out on the best part.