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You Might Roll Your Eyes At This...
Dec. 20th, 2005 12:07 amYou know, you'd think that, by now, I'd be able to take a bath without at any point getting myself heat-drunk. But you'd be wrong. I blame my feet. They read water of a much higher temperature than my body generally prefers as just "comfortable". So I chill out with my warm feet and end up all dizzy and heat-drunk. Stupid feet.
Entry title's a line from the song, if you wondered. Speaking of which, this has a really awesome video; it's all cheerful faux-musical.
God, I'm hungry. All I've had to eat today is a potato and a corn muffin. I'm also bizarrely tired, considering I only woke up...13 hours & 10 minutes ago.
Alyssa called me today and I have no idea why. Why don't I know? Because I didn't answer. Because, as I specifically and repeatedly told you, h0r, I'm not answering the phone until Wednesday.
Why is this so hard for people to grasp? You, Richard...I despair, I really do.
I have done not one whit of Christmas shopping. I suck. I don't even know if Dena and I are doing gifts this year. I have to do that before I go home.
I'm suffering from a little bit of ennui today. Well, for most of today. It abated for the duration of A Not-So-Modest Proposal and then again for Skirting Dignity. But I didn't enjoy that rentboy!AU nearly as much as I should have (jenn! clex! should have made my day!).
I want my new books. And my new DVDs. Although I want the DVDs much less. I have DVDs I haven't watched; I just can't seem to work up any enthusiasm for them. Point Pleasant, though...Or The Inside. I would desperately enjoy new eps of The Inside, because the episode before last (the one with all the not-suicides?) was the best episode ever and gave me desperate OT4 yearnings (the bathtub scene! with them all huddled around Rebecca! and her all naked and bloody! and then the diner! and everyone bonding over band-nerdery!).
But oh, I'm going to get Into the Storm, which I've wanted for years and have, in fact, searched every bookstore (that I know of) in the Metro for. Stupid independent presses. I better be getting it, at least. Or I will cry.
Okay, I won't cry, because Dad's all weird and eager to please on Christmas. Once, I got up too early on Christmas morning and then I fell asleep on the couch after we did presents 'til it was time to go to Mom's and he asked her to check up on me and make sure that I wasn't all disappointed with my Christmas (I got maybe four hours of sleep! and then I wrestled with software until he got up five hours later! tired!).
I heart my dad. Most of the time.
We have too many Christmases. Christmas Eve at Grandma's with Dad's family, and then Christmas morning with me and Dad and Rich, and then Christmas with Mom and Butch, and then Christmas with Lori, Emily, and Ben. Stupid blended families.
I love Christmas, though. Specifically, the first two Christmases.
Christmas Eve with my mean and snarky and wonderful extended family, with card games and board games and too much food. And then everybody sits down, and Jesse and I hand out the gifts, and there're thank yous shouted across the room, and everybody has to see what Jeff's come up with as gifts this year (his job entails a lot of international travel, and we get things like silk robes from Taiwan, or chess sets handcarved in Africa, or the standby Hard Rock Cafe shirts from practically everywhere). And everybody plays with Michael's new toys, and I cuddle my new books.
And then Christmas morning. Dad goes crazy for Christmas. I mean, we get a few presents under the tree, but the best part comes before that. The stockings.
Which is actually where we tend to get the bigger gifts. I got a TV in my stocking when I was little. Like, really little. Pre-divorce. And that's where I've gotten both mp3 players (freshman and senior years). And Rich and I both get games (he's also gotten at least one console that way). And then piles of candy and candles and manicure kits (again, for both of us) and weird things he's picked up from conferences and gift cards for movie rentals and cash and pens and (for me) perfume and jewelry.
And Richard and I get to spend a few hours with the stockings before Dad gets up. And he gets up and goes through his stocking and we get all mushy and open the stuff under the tree and then there's more mushiness.
And then we go to Mom's and she gets all mushy and then we come home and I spend the afternoon in the bathtub with my books and the bath stuff Grandma just gave me. And then comes Christmas #4, which is frankly kind of half-assed, 'cause we're all a little burned out by now (Ben & Emily are on at least their third Christmas by now).
And then we get a day or two of lounging before the cleaning, and then the holidays are over (we're not much for the New Year).
Anyway. I'm not really as materialistic as all of that made me sound. Although I do really enjoy the gifts. I like the love part, too! As is evidenced quite nicely, I think, by the way that I constantly and willingly tell the people close to me how much they mean to me. Even though they respond with mocking more often than not (except for my Dena! who I'd love for that, if I didn't already love her for being so damn sweet). Still. I love you, Laura! I love you more than even pineapple pie, Alyssa!
Entry title's a line from the song, if you wondered. Speaking of which, this has a really awesome video; it's all cheerful faux-musical.
God, I'm hungry. All I've had to eat today is a potato and a corn muffin. I'm also bizarrely tired, considering I only woke up...13 hours & 10 minutes ago.
Alyssa called me today and I have no idea why. Why don't I know? Because I didn't answer. Because, as I specifically and repeatedly told you, h0r, I'm not answering the phone until Wednesday.
Why is this so hard for people to grasp? You, Richard...I despair, I really do.
I have done not one whit of Christmas shopping. I suck. I don't even know if Dena and I are doing gifts this year. I have to do that before I go home.
I'm suffering from a little bit of ennui today. Well, for most of today. It abated for the duration of A Not-So-Modest Proposal and then again for Skirting Dignity. But I didn't enjoy that rentboy!AU nearly as much as I should have (jenn! clex! should have made my day!).
I want my new books. And my new DVDs. Although I want the DVDs much less. I have DVDs I haven't watched; I just can't seem to work up any enthusiasm for them. Point Pleasant, though...Or The Inside. I would desperately enjoy new eps of The Inside, because the episode before last (the one with all the not-suicides?) was the best episode ever and gave me desperate OT4 yearnings (the bathtub scene! with them all huddled around Rebecca! and her all naked and bloody! and then the diner! and everyone bonding over band-nerdery!).
But oh, I'm going to get Into the Storm, which I've wanted for years and have, in fact, searched every bookstore (that I know of) in the Metro for. Stupid independent presses. I better be getting it, at least. Or I will cry.
Okay, I won't cry, because Dad's all weird and eager to please on Christmas. Once, I got up too early on Christmas morning and then I fell asleep on the couch after we did presents 'til it was time to go to Mom's and he asked her to check up on me and make sure that I wasn't all disappointed with my Christmas (I got maybe four hours of sleep! and then I wrestled with software until he got up five hours later! tired!).
I heart my dad. Most of the time.
We have too many Christmases. Christmas Eve at Grandma's with Dad's family, and then Christmas morning with me and Dad and Rich, and then Christmas with Mom and Butch, and then Christmas with Lori, Emily, and Ben. Stupid blended families.
I love Christmas, though. Specifically, the first two Christmases.
Christmas Eve with my mean and snarky and wonderful extended family, with card games and board games and too much food. And then everybody sits down, and Jesse and I hand out the gifts, and there're thank yous shouted across the room, and everybody has to see what Jeff's come up with as gifts this year (his job entails a lot of international travel, and we get things like silk robes from Taiwan, or chess sets handcarved in Africa, or the standby Hard Rock Cafe shirts from practically everywhere). And everybody plays with Michael's new toys, and I cuddle my new books.
And then Christmas morning. Dad goes crazy for Christmas. I mean, we get a few presents under the tree, but the best part comes before that. The stockings.
Which is actually where we tend to get the bigger gifts. I got a TV in my stocking when I was little. Like, really little. Pre-divorce. And that's where I've gotten both mp3 players (freshman and senior years). And Rich and I both get games (he's also gotten at least one console that way). And then piles of candy and candles and manicure kits (again, for both of us) and weird things he's picked up from conferences and gift cards for movie rentals and cash and pens and (for me) perfume and jewelry.
And Richard and I get to spend a few hours with the stockings before Dad gets up. And he gets up and goes through his stocking and we get all mushy and open the stuff under the tree and then there's more mushiness.
And then we go to Mom's and she gets all mushy and then we come home and I spend the afternoon in the bathtub with my books and the bath stuff Grandma just gave me. And then comes Christmas #4, which is frankly kind of half-assed, 'cause we're all a little burned out by now (Ben & Emily are on at least their third Christmas by now).
And then we get a day or two of lounging before the cleaning, and then the holidays are over (we're not much for the New Year).
Anyway. I'm not really as materialistic as all of that made me sound. Although I do really enjoy the gifts. I like the love part, too! As is evidenced quite nicely, I think, by the way that I constantly and willingly tell the people close to me how much they mean to me. Even though they respond with mocking more often than not (except for my Dena! who I'd love for that, if I didn't already love her for being so damn sweet). Still. I love you, Laura! I love you more than even pineapple pie, Alyssa!
