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< / > Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue December 03, 2005 *~* 9:47 p.m. Mmm, cold December nights. Gm came home with a big bushy Christmas tree the other yesterday and we set it up and covered it in lights and glass balls and tinsel and pretty. Today we went to a pottery painting place and made a darling little gingerbread house ornament with our initials on it. In retrospect, I should have dated it, but I'm sure we'll remember it in sentimental ways for years to come and not be confused about when it's from. Heaven forbid we break up, or we'll have this obnoxious but precious reminder of being together. One of us will have to throw it at the other's head. Oh, stylish exits. . . It's weird to think that I'll be home so soon. I'm excited, I suppose, but Christmas/New Year's/winter holidays aren't the best at my house. We're just not that into them anymore. I think it has to do with Alex and I growing up and not being rich and being divorced. While a complete family, we're not really a family unit, per se, and that makes it weird to play at being pious and religious and all about the giving of gifts and winter cheer. Plus, it's cold. I like Christmas, don't get me wrong, I think I'm just not NEARLY so excited as Gm is, for example. I'm probably just a bitter evil person. New Year's would likely be more fun if I were drunk and had many acquaintances, but I'm happier not drunk and with a few close friends. It just doesn't make for really rockin' parties. . *sigh* I wish our tree had a star on top. It sort of bothers me with it so blank and just branchy on the top. The rest is beautiful and I'm amazed we pulled it off. It was actually a really cool and perfectly movie montage tree decorating scene. Everyone came over, even the long lost Ben, and we had a fire and hot cookies and music and we decorated and played board games and were so dorky and cute and fabulous. It was lovely and content and made for a good evening. Most things are good these days. I do need to try and go Christmas shopping at some point. After homeworking, and real working, for that matter. |