December 25, 2003

December 25, 2003 - 12:07 p.m.

I would love to give you all a rundown of the hilarity that's been my Christmas so far, but frankly, I'm freezing my ass off in Daddy's unheated office - so we're gonna have to make this a quickie. Nudge nudge, wink wink.

Arrived at the Abode de Poppa yesterday, finding my parents both slippery drunk on red wine and ready to open presents. Um, hello, mine aren't wrapped?! Quick segue for me to wrap gifts - while the 'rents switched from wine to Scotch. It's funny how they get along for holidays and through booze - but not otherwise. I stopped trying to figure this out long ago; now I just enjoy the temporary allegiance. They're allied, of course, against moi, the shiftless daughter who can't even show up for Christmas on time. Well. Moving on.

Scored some lovely gifts - including a slamming velvet-and-begemmed tissue holder for what Daddy calls "The Whorehouse" - my bathroom that's painted bordello red. It rocks - the tissue holder, that is, if something so girly and fucking hysterical can be said to rock. If I were really cool - and still in college - I would fill it full of a continuing strip of cheap condoms and put it on the table at parties as a subtle hint.

Also scored some serious food; several kinds of expensive vinegars, plus what Mom clearly thought was the hugest waste of money - some stone-ground polenta from a tiny farm in Vermont that I'd specifically requested. The stuff just smells like the essence of corn, and I can't wait to get home, toast it up and make some Romanian mamaliga (sorry, fingers are TOO COLD to link) with dried mushrooms.

The gifts I gave went over well, including a pic from last summer of Mom's puppy Mamie that, in her Glenfiddich haze, has been referred to many times as "the baby picture". Sometime I'll write a long essay-like piece of scariness about how much we anthropomorphize our pets in this family, but again, my fingers are really, really cold - and I'd like to have nipples instead of the current shards of glass.

Hope that you all are enjoying yourself, sober or not. As I write, inch-sized balls of hail are slamming against the windows, so it seems I'll be here for another day. Not so bad; after all, there are three balls of doggie goodness and Miss Katze to keep us company. I'm off now to put together a ragtag batch of roasted pork enchiladas as an emergency lunch. Big kisses. Be safe.

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