How can it be 65 degrees outside when only 72 hours ago it was, as my husband says, "Son-Of-A-Bitch" cold? In a cruel irony, the rain is keeping us from enjoying these December tropical temps. Although the gloomy lighting is showing off my Christmas tree perfectly. Luckily, after two weeks indoors, it's still far from being a fire hazard.
I went shopping with my brother and sister-in-law last night for his annual toy drive. I'm brought into the process for my expertise on little girl gifts: princess costumes, purple ponies with braidable manes, fake food, shiny purses. Apparently, all little girls want to grow up to be either Stepford Wives or Bareback Riding Strippers.
At 11:30 last night, we decided to bake oatmeal raisin cookies but we forgot to halve the recipe, so now we have 60 cookies (oops, 54... we ate three a piece before bed) which must be consumed. Saying that oatmeal cookies are good for you is like saying french fries count as a vegetable serving.
I'm exhausted after a weekend of entertaining and being entertained. Friday I met a friend in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania for a little Christmas shopping and then came home and drank Manhattans until after midnight with a different set of friends. Saturday we cooked dinner for family and then on Sunday dinner was cooked for us by yet another group of fine fine folks. I think I'm going to have to enter a Christmas rehab program.
Now today, I must finish my shopping so I can ship my dad's presents out to Arizona before he leaves for his Christmas cruise. Usually, each year, I manage to buy him that one perfect gift that will blow him away or make him tear up. This year... nothing. I'm stumped. I suppose I'm blanking because I can't live up to last year's gift when my husband converted all of our old home movies to DVD complete with an all-star soundtrack. (One of the videos has been viewed almost 4,000 times on YouTube.)
It's no wonder I drink during the holidays.
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