The Way Things Are



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People, I am on DIAL-UP at home.
2005-12-27, 10:52 a.m.

Holy Christ Ė OK! People, I am on DIAL-UP at home. DIAL-UP. I can barely check email, and maneuvering around diaryland and posting a new post-Christmas entry is impossible. Plus, I had a houseful of people and no time to myself, unless you count locking myself in the bathroom with a newspaper for 10 minutes time to myself. And even then, I had DW knocking on the door, because my sister wanted to know just how long it takes me to poop. I guess I could have locked myself in there with the computer on my lap, but that would be gross.

But on the other hand, how do you know Iím not typing this in the bathroom right now? Huh?

Hereís how. Here I am now:


My post-Christmas eyerolling grimace. Merry Grimace to all!

It was good Ė it was really good. My sister showed up on Thursday, and the two of us did as much pre-cooking as we thought was necessary, as well as baking our asses off. Then the rest of the family came in on Saturday, and holy shit, can these people (1) make a lot of noise (2) eat and drink constantly (3) dirty a lot of dishes, leave a lot of empty bottles and cans around, and track all sorts of the outdoors in, and (4) stay up late partying and eating and drinking and making noise. But itís all in a good way.

This was the first time I have ever hosted a major holiday myself. Now Iím seeing why my mother works so hard to make us all feel so guilty. There is WAY TOO MUCH of people sitting on their asses not helping, and WAY TOO MUCH of the person in charge (me) working their ass off and trying to stay ahead of the eating/drinking/cleaning curve.

Hereís what I resolve for 2007 (the next time Iím having Christmas at my house):

-Everyone will have a task assigned to them, i.e. empty bottle and can patrol, being in charge of a meal, etc. Except my brother-in-law, who will be home in two years from his second tour of duty in Iraq. Which is where he is now, and where he will be in 2006, and 2007 will be his first Christmas home since 2004. Heís allowed to sit on his ass, eat and drink, and make wisecracks to me while I mix cream of mushroom soup into a variety of ingredients.

-Everyone will get one plastic cup with their name on it, and nobody will wash anybodyís goddamn empty glass for them. Youíre on your own.

-As much as possible will be cooked ahead and reheated on Christmas Day. Not just a little Ė I SAID AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE.

-No freaking sweet potatoes. Why do we bother? Blech.

-Children who put their grubby hands on my clean, fresh, new Rich Cream colored walls will be given a bottle of Windex and a roll of paper towels, and they will be responsible for cleaning up their fucking mess.

-I will have some Xanax on hand.

Iíve never taken Xanax before, but I really think it might come in handy for warding off the short-term anxiety attack that can happen on Christmas night when youíre tired, your house is a disaster, you want to go to bed, your kid is supposed to sleeping on the couch, your husband is already in bed asleep, and you canít go to bed until everyone else does so you can put your child on the couch, and for the love of all that is good and holy, people, turn off the music and go to sleep! I really think a Xanax would have helped me short-circuit that whole heart-pounding episode, and allowed me to see that I could make a little pallet on the floor of my room for Lil Guy, and leave my partying family to their own devices. Which is what I did eventually, but Iíd like to not experience the dizzying range of emotions that got me there.

How do people just go on and on and on on and on? I fell asleep at 10:30 Sunday night, woke up at 12:30, and could still hear them going strong. Little kids included! How do these people do it? I just canít hang anymore. Plus, I might be a little uptight about the cleanliness and orderliness of my house, and 11 people packed into 3000 square feet does not make for much clean or order. I need to lighten up, take a pill, put my kid to bed on the floor, pour a glass of champagne or a martini or a bloody mary or a michilada or whatever those assholes were drinking, put a lampshade on my head, and get back to being the life of the party that I was from the age of 16 to 36. I have two years to work on it.

I have two years to talk some physician into giving me a scrip for a couple of Xanax. Xanax Claus is coming to town!

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