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12.15.2003 - 8:33 p.m.


Man, this month is turning out to be busy. The annoyingly-scheduled Macworld Expo is looming, which means I'm mired in all kinds of tradeshow prep activities at work. All this effort, and the payoff is four days of hustling nerds and aching feet? Bah. Hate you, Macworld. Hate.

I think I'm finally done with all of my holiday shopping. JB and I went on a massive wrapathon last night and got everything boxed and bespangled, taking vigilant effort not to tape in massive wads of dog hair in the process. I always have a last minute guilt attack where I decide all my presents are crappy and how could I be so unimaginative and I should take it all back, all! - but have resolved to chill the fuck out already and by the way, Amazon? Love you. LOVE.

And O, the cards. I always think cards are such a fun idea and wheeeee for cards, until I write out the first address. Then I remember that because I spent my life in front of a computer I have essentially atrophied the muscles required to hold a damn pen because OW. Three cards in and I've got a cramped up claw, my handwriting rides the short bus, and I'm cursing myself for not having printed labels like every other sane person on earth.

I really like Christmastime, generally. I like putting out decorations and I like shopping and I like, you know, cookies. This year for some reason it just feels like the days got put on fast forward, and I'm racing frantically along but I just can't quite keep up. I mean, how exactly is it the 15th already? HOW I SAY?


We went to JB's office holiday shindig on Friday. The attire, JB explained to me exactly two days before the event, was supposed to be "70's, 80's, or Hollywood Glamour." I thought vaguely of wearing a ripped sweatshirt or maybe some knee warmers (can you even find those anymore?) before giving up. "I've got a black dress," I grumped, "and we're gonna call it Hollywood fucking Glamour."

It actually turned out to be a lot of fun, mostly because of the three words on the invitation that were more important than the dress code suggestions: Free Unlimited Booze. His company was even thoughtful enough to provide taxis for everyone, so the theme of the evening was clear: get ripped.

While I think I have enough sense not to get stinking drunk around JB's coworkers, I did enjoy enough gin and tonic that I found myself dancing to "YMCA". I even did the stupid-ass Y M C A arms thing, which I normally think is immensely retarded and only marginally more cool than the Macarena.

We left the party with a very goofy photo of the two of us, me clinging like a limpet to JB, exposing a bad henna tattoo I had acquired earlier in the evening. JB listing starboard just a bit, me with a starry gaze I can only attribute to Captain Bombay. Good times, you know?


So - um, wow. That's Thank you.



The Squirrel Ornament That Is Only Vaguely Naughty If You Are A Perv (JB I Am Looking At You):

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27 comments so far.

I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004

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