Adventures In… ch.39
December 22, 2010 § 1 Comment
That Sort of Christmas.
I am wrapping presents. I hate wrapping presents. ” ‘Hate’ is a strong word.” That’s why I am using it here. And I keep thinking about my sister who lives far away – she is good at wrapping presents. Really good. I take a sip of eggnog and keep thinking about how much I love her and how much I hate wrapping these presents. I love her that much.
I could have just sent the gifts unwrapped. They are being shipped which means they will automatically arrive in a box. But I love her that much. And sometimes, a lot of the time, love calls for doing things you don’t like. Or doing things you hate.
And I sit here, underneath our floor-to-ceiling “Charlie Brown tree” in the awkward “mood lighting” (aka I-need-to-purchase-more-lamps lighting) and try to comprehend that it really is Christmastime. And I really am out in California. Not the exciting sort of California, but the very far north, small town, its 50 degrees in December but nothing is open past 10pm California. Some lady sings “it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas” and I am assuming that this song wasn’t written in my part of California. All of my friends have left town for the holiday. It’s that sort of California.
Yesterday I came home after work and ate half of a pizza, drank a third of a can of beer, and watched 10 minutes of a Christmas movie before I fell asleep sitting up. It’s that sort of Christmas.
I can’t help but think I have gone through a lot of men lately. I mean, I have liked a lot of guys. And by “a lot” I mean about 3…but in this part of California, in this Christian culture, that is a lot. Somehow in this Christian culture guys don’t ask girls on dates. They “test the waters” (as explained to me by my trusted friend James), and really “testing the waters” is them hanging out with a girl until they realize they are too chicken to commit, or too afraid to admit that they might not like the girl enough to commit, and then they get awkward. And instead of bailing, they keep on treading. It is not at all as fun as swimming. And I don’t even like swimming. In fact, I don’t even really like water. Maybe that is mostly my problem.
And how the boy thing relates to Christmas I am not sure. Except for that I am sitting here all by myself, drinking eggnog, and listening to the most awful rendition of “The Christmas Song” by a group tragically called Straight No Chaser. Yeah, it’s that sort of Christmas.
I stopped going to bed at 9:30pm (on the dot). I also stopped making my bed. If these two habits continue on after the holiday I will feel like I have accomplished something this season. I wanted to learn how to make eggnog from scratch, but leaving my bed unmade is good enough…this year anyway, because it is that sort of Christmas.
Tonight my dad told me to “go for it.” And by this he was talking about a guy. I am now officially the only single girl in the family. That should mean more Christmas presents for me the old lonely spinster. But instead I get a “go for it” and another glass of eggnog.
And it’s not that it always comes back to boys. Or even eggnog for that matter. But life is so easy right now I can entertain ideas (and eggnog). It’s just that sort of Christmas.