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Two merry hours
By briantologist | December 25, 2003
Pretty much nobody’s awake right now, two hours and twenty minutes into Christmas 2003. They’re not missing a whole lot. Some people came home from bars, hugged old friends, and got warm fuzzies about said old friends. Some people might be influenced by a few beers, a pound of pasta, and a generally poor sleep schedule into referring to themselves as “some people,” when in fact a certain one-letter personal pronoun would do just fine. Not naming any names here.
Today was a good XXX-mas eve. I got to sleep in (in my suspiciously adult-y world, 9:20 is sleeping in) with my dear Darleece, spend a quality hour and a half in our breakfast nook (fast becoming my favorite room in the house) drinking coffee, reading the paper, doing the crossword, and getting chewed on by fast-growing kitten Trucky. Enjoyed an Ultimate Skillet at Village Inn, where I spent most of college with Dr. Voltron, drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes, eating grilled cheese sandwiches, and generally not studying. Dropped by Border’s to not find the book I was gonna get my dad for XXX-mas. Then hit home to spend the afternoon assembling (by which I absolutely do not mean “illegally downloading,” and shame on you for thinking so) the dance mixes for Max Power’s impending nuptials with Chesty LaRue. Then some kick-ass pasta ‘n’ booze at one of the only restaurants in Tulsa open on XXX-mas eve. Then a coupla quality beers with Dr. Voltron and Shaniqua, Jimmy Jam et al.
I didn’t hit the midnight services with my parents this year. Dad’s a recovering Catholic, which makes him a Unitarian by default, which means you’ll never get him to subscribe to any dogma much stronger than “Don’t shoot that kid, please.” As such, he goes mainly for mom’s benefit, much as I have the last several years I’ve been. I don’t mind it so much, as I’m generally plagued with feelings that I’m a terrible son, and that this is the least I can do for my mother, who’s done so goddamn much for me. Plus it’s fun to sing carols and light candles and stuff.
Didn’t do it this year. I wasn’t up to it, and I don’t know, I guess that was that. You might say this marks my official conversion to the first church of drinkintology, but I wouldn’t read that much into it. I wouldn’t read anything at all into it, but given how much ink I’m giving it, apparently I haven’t yet stopped thinking about it.
Paragraphs like that last one are usually an indicator that it’s time for me to shut the fuck up and go to bed. Merry holidays, pimps. God pat us on the head, every one.
Topics: good times., Misc. | Comments Off
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