While I'd love to stay and talk about Billie Joe McAllister some more, I thought I'd finally recap for you what I did in December, which was celebrate Christmas and so on. Which I hate. Christmas, I mean. And now I am sharing my time with a man who similarly hates Christmas, so the holiday is extra-sweet.
In early December, my sprained ankle was still RIDICULOUS, and poor beleaguered Ned came over and raked my damn leaves for me, which took eleven hundred hours, and I'm not THAT good in bed, so I don't know why I deserve someone as nice as Ned.
Have you ever tried getting around on crutches? It's fun, is what it is. And not at all tiring for your upper body. The first Friday in December we have our monthly First Friday events downtown, but they're EXTRA special in December. They have fake snow blowing hither and yon, and carolers, and they light this big tree. Ned and I go to First Friday a lot as it is, but since it was the special Christmas one, people emailed and called and texted me. Or, text me. You know how I enjoy it when people say it like that.
Friend: "Hey, you going to the Christmas First Friday?"
Me: "Well, heh, the thing is, I have a sprained ankle, remember, so I can't walk around."
Friend: "Oh, right."
Ten minutes later.
Another friend: "Hey, June! We're going to First Friday! Wanna meet us 750 blocks from Ned's place?"
Me: "Yeah. See. Everyone keeps forgetting I've SPRAINED MY ANKLE, so there will be no walking around for me. Is the thing."
Five minutes later.
Another friend: "Say, June! We're gonna walk all over yonder at the First Friday! We better see you!"
By the time one of my friends left a message saying he KNEW I had a sprained ankle, so why didn't he pick me up and then we could walk around downtown, I set my entire body on fire and then told EVERYONE I'd be at the restaurant two crutch-walks from Ned's front door, and I'd sit there all night and everyone could join us whenever.
And you know everyone did? I just sat there with my crutches and held court, and that's how I should do First Friday EVERY month. Screw that healthy walking-around thing.
My coworkers asked if I wanted to go downtown one day for lunch, and park and walk 750 miles to the restaurant, and guess who was not at all a diva who made everyone think of nothing but her ankle the whole time she was laid up? I know you're sad I wasn't blogging during this time, because what would I have brought up once or twice, do you think? Anyway, they dropped me at the door of the restaurant, which was in the lobby of a high rise, and I posed in front of this scene like I like Christmas.
No sooner did poor Ned rake my damn leaves when he had to come right back and hang my balls. I have these chicken-wire-and-Christmas-lights balls I hang, and it's not easy, but Ned was out there in the cold for 49 hours. Did I mention I'm not that good in bed?
Yay, pretending I like Christmas. I like how Edsel contorts himself to get his fur and man bits on the couch as much as possible. lu neber considur that posishun. cannot wate to spred dog vadge on other arm.
For months, we all dwelled in a huge room at work while they did construction on our regular space. We were at these long tables, and at first we all tried to be quiet and not bug each other. But by month three, I have to tell you, we all bonded in a way we never would have back when we were in cubicle world. Someone brought his guitar one day because he was performing in his kid's Christmas pageant, and everyone who could play guitar took turns belting out the songs. We were all kind of sad when we went back to our regularly scheduled offices.
December was also mammogram month for me, which meant it was Annual Mammogram Freakout Week. So poor Ned had to tolerate my fear and anxiety and fear and irrational fear and anxiety and obsessiveness and then everything was fine.
Sometimes I wish Ned and Marvin could be friends, so he could call Marvin and say, "What the hell are you supposed to do with her during Mammogram Freakout Week, anyway?"
I had the extra super 3D mammography this year, which of course convinced me they'd find something sinister that'd been hiding away. They did not. Tune in next year for Mammogram Freakout Week. It's fun. Maybe I can also mention my sprained ankle.
We got back to our newly constructed space right on time for the Ugly Sweater Party at work, and here's the Other Copyeditor and me in our matching garb, making our copyediting gang sign we invented. It's a carat, see, which is a proofreading symbol that--oh, forget it. It's a copyediting thang. You wouldn't understand.
Speaking of Ned and his mom, they came to my house for Christmas dinner. Ned and I split the menu, and we made turkey and dressing (his mom made that, and it.was.delicious) and sweet potatoes and mashed potatoes (yes, both were necessary) and asparagus and a salad (whose idea was that, do you think?) and apple crisp that my mother made, because did I mention my mother and stepfather were there, too?
Here's mom, giving one of 9494939492942 treats to my dogs over the course of her visit. She was just like how my grandmother was with me, with the giving of the treats. Normally the dogs can only have organic granola. Wait. That was my childhood.
This must have been Christmas morning, due to my Christmas pajamas, and I do not know what treat my mother is making me give those dogs, but what I DO appreciate is how Edsel has clearly dug a towel out the laundry to munch on while he's banned.
Here's a nice dinner-is-over-but-Ned-wants-MORE-dessert shot. My stepfather is over there with his diet root beer. This is a new thing with him, this addiction to diet root beer. The first thing he did off the plane was stampede to the diet root beer store. He was never without one. He's the Hunter S. Thompson of diet root beer.
And what the...? I HAVE really pretty salt and pepper shakers. Who put the horrid salt container out? Honestly, you guys.
Ned's cute mom got me one of those mirrors that lights up and magnifies you 900 times. Honestly I would like to do NOTHING ELSE but use it all the time. This thing is wonderful, as long as you can get past the part where apparently you have a goatee.
I hate this bloaty picture of me, where I've been pulled from the river to celebrate Christmas, but it's the only one of Ned and me I have from that day. We're all on our way to the movies, where we saw...oh, hell. What did we see? Anyone? Ned? Mom?
Oh, I forgot! I DO have one of us where I'm less bloaty. Last year, Ned and I went to his mom's for Christmas, and she lives at the beach, so afterward we drove back to Greensboro and tried the pub near his house and sure enough it was open. Because apparently a lot of people need to get their drink on on Christmas day. Anyway now we've decided to make it a tradition, going there, so after our parents went to bed, we went there and celebrated, just the two of us.
Well, and the 50 other drunks who were there, too.
On Christmas Eve, we all went over to the hotel where my stepfather and mother were staying, and the bar there was PACKED. Is everyone George Bailey and Mr. Welch?
Talk at you tomorrow. Pass the biscuits, please.