December 20, 2001

I can't seem to wrench myself out of my cloister. I don't actually want to--I like it here in the place with no trees or people--but I keep thinking that a holiday compulsion toward merriment will give me a kick in the pants. But this year, not even the lure of the bottle or sugary treats has enticed me into socializing.

That will all change when I go to visit my folks. The liquor part; not humbug part. I've found Humble is best taken drunk, and since I'm the happiest drunk in the world, I'll at least have the appearance of Christmas cheer. I always begrudgingly go along "just for an hour," then get drunk and want to stay well after my parents have left. (In some ways, I really love going to Humble. There's nothing happening, nothing that has anything to do with my real actual life, so aside from an underlying anxiety about being away from home and a low-level battle with my own snobbery, there are no distractions. My only worries are whether I'll get stuck fixing my dad's computer, whether my dogs will freak out my parents' dogs, and who will be the designated driver when my mom & I come home from Bonnie's at 4 in the morning. It's liberating.)

I don't know if it's because I skipped the tree (ah, my shiny, shiny tree...) this year or because I'm broke or because one of my periodic misanthropic moods happened upon me a little late or a little early, but I'm the opposite of festive.

I did have a moment of glee when I bought the musical German advent calendar with a goofy cartoon Santa saying MIT SCHOKOLADE! on the wrapper. And another little burst of joy when I spent 5 minutes festooning my front porch in plastic garland with tacky gold flecks in a deliberately pathetic holiday display. I couldn't even muster the effort to use thumbtacks or go get a chair, so I just stood on a recycling bin, giggling maniacally, and stuffed the green plastic fringe into the loose trim and rusting staples on the Christmas lights I never took down 4 years ago (they still work--a pleasant surprise!). And I was pretty delighted at Rebecca's present (maybe wearing my sash and tiara over my dirty pajamas would improve my temper?).

I intend to spend New Year's in front of my television eating popcorn and watching whatever crappy movies are on that night. I skipped most of the scarce holiday invites I got this season.

I made it to Rachel's party on sheer will alone, thinking that forced revelry might trick me into genuine festivity. I tried to be jolly, but the presence of a boy (it was supposed to be just girls--or at least that's what I thought) and the initial lackluster response to my charming white elephant gift (which was of course snapped up by a more cunning guest) put me in a sour snit, somewhat tempered by my drunkenness and accompanying desire to climb out of my bah-humbuggy.

I still don't have the holiday spirit, but I do have a new purse. And I learned that eating Alka-Seltzer immediately before consuming a large bowl of leftover Li'l Smokies will prevent the inevitable (not so inevitable now!) heartburn.

I also learned that deviled eggs, brownies, cocktail weenies, and "Aunt Dottie's Holiday Salad" (don't ask), washed down with the dregs of several bottles of cheap wine, will make you vomit very enthusiastically--and very vividly (does parti-colored vomit count as merry?).

Happily, I don't get car sick, so I saved the throwing up for the comfort of my own bathroom. Not that there's much comfort in holding back your hair from the toilet at 11 o'clock on a Thursday in an empty house at the age of 31. But it's better than sticking your head out the passenger window of a moving car at 10.45 on a Thursday at the age of 31. Besides, I don't think Rebecca would have forgiven me for puking up her fancy new SUV.

Anyway, unless eating Sonic's December special (2 corndogs/$1) every 4 days qualifies as the Christmas spirit, I'm the Grinch.

12.09.01