soapboxdiner

Who you calling a Ho?

Here I sit at my computer (obviously), indulging for the (almost) first time since the house redecoration back in March-April, enjoying a nice frosty Henry Weinhard's Amber Light Ale and smoking a cigarette.

Tis a lovely and beautiful thing in Our eyes, I might add. It's cold and wet out there, and I always feel like a refugee from the living room when I stop whatever the heck it is that I'm doing to put the shoes and coat on to regulate my blood nicatene (sp?) levels. I'm not even concerned that my house will be stinky tonight. I am, in this and all things this evening, ambivalent.

Later, after my beer is imbibed and I have another cigarette, I will be off for the next two nights and 1.5 days to the folks'. Nevermind they only live 3 miles away and I could very well drive home to enjoy the comforts of my very own cushy bed, I'm going there and staying put.

I'm lazy that way. Because, you see, I'd just have to go back there tomorrow to clean and bake and prepare and all that other holiday stuff nobody tells you about when you're a kid waiting by the big bay windows for Santa to make his annual appearance.

And I just have to mention how strange this year's holiday's have felt. I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but my mother is kind of a Holiday Tradition Nazi. It's true. Everything has to be just so... just so meaning bought, prepared, and displayed in accordance to her exact (and we're talking micro metrically measured) specifications.

This year though, she's adopted the You do all the work, slave. I'll be over here, enjoying my toddy approach. This means SBD has had to feign excitement while donning her outer wear to trek to the Super Safeway and other such establishments, only to have to play Race The Bank ala the Magic Rubber Check Tango.

Oh yeah, and cooking. I have to do that too. While I clean her house. That is the one stronghold she has yet to relinguish.

Oh, the humanity of it all.

But I am muchly excited that Santa shall be bringing the kid a new boy bird this year. The elves have reported that Boy Bird is quite the character. This pleases Us greatly.

The girls and I was chatting about the bird again today; mostly about how momma SDB has to find a way to sneak the bird out of the folk's and back to the ranch without the kid cluing in. I'm thinking it will have to occur tonight, after the munchin sleeps.

However, in describing this scenario, New Girl (who isn't the new girl anymore, but whatever) paraphrased my descriptions of Girl Bird and Boy Bird as "moody" for the GB and "of questionable sexual orientation" for BB. So I asked her Are you calling my girl a bitch and my boy a fag? I don't think that's very diplomatic or PC, New Girl.

And then I chuckled heartily as she stuttered. Because she doesn't get it like that. But gosh isn't it fun to watch the squirming?

That's what I thought, exactly.

Okay, I'll be off now to deliver two dozen toasty warm and delicious tomales to the folks, in exchange for a juicy steak dinner and promises to brave the grocery, clean the house and bake my ass off tomorrow. Somehow, it just doesn't sound like a fair trade at all.

Merry Christmas and shit, darlings.

6:39 pm - 12.23.03
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