The experiences and exploits of a college grad trying to make it in the "real world:" leaving school and friends in New England, moving south, and living with her boyfriend. Watch as I pretend to be an adult.
Regardless of your religious persuasion (or lack thereof), I hope everyone had a wonderful weekend. Holidays at our house are always a raucus affair and Christmas was no different. Everything started auspiciously enough. I arrived in town Friday night just in time for dinner, and had a lovely time catching up with sororals and parentals. My stepmother was a bit tense due to the lack of Christmas eve dinner preparation, but in general all was well. I'm not how the calm good humour of Friday night turned into the comedy of errors that was Saturday, but I believe mischivious elves were involved. Damn the elves. I wasn't awake more than an hour before the insanity started. I shuffled downstairs in desperate need of some caffine only to find Chris frantically puttering around the kitchen, muttering troubleing invectives involving my stepsister's dereliction of duty. I dutifully chopped, peeled, and washed. I scrubbed. I diced. Five pounds of assorted vegetables later, I fled upstairs to rest my hands. Though I didn't realized it the time, somewhere between the first step and the landing I slid into a parallel "crazy" universe. As I enjoyed a leisurely croissont and cup of tea, I noticed the sounds coming from the kitchen growing louder and angrier. Investigation revealed my father, Chris, and stepsister Sarah fluttering around the kitchen sniping at each other. I gamely offered to help, and lasted about fifteen minutes. The last straw? Having to listen to Dad, Chris and Sarah carp about the correct way to assort creampuffs on the caramel/creampuff desert. I mean, honestly. Once the craziness of preparing dinner was over, one would think we were out of the woods. Ah, but no. Fires and candles were lit, family began to arrive, and my sisters and I retired upstairs to get dressed. Twenty minutes pass and suddenly every fire alarm in the house goes off. Rushing out of the bathroom, Katie, Caroline and I were hit with a wall of smoke. The house was absolutely full. The smoke was so bad, in fact, that we had to scrap our usual arrangement and eat dinner buffet style, sitting on the floor of the only habitable room in the house- the living room. Kids were crying, banging, and running around. Dogs were going crazy and barking up a storm. And then, to top everything off, my stepmother burst into tears and refused to eat anything, declaring dramatically "Christmas is ruined!!" Ah, yes. Can't be Christmas at our house without someone going on a crying jag. Everything came back together and we had a lovely bohemian dinner. The kids were even cute at times- though god knows there's no way I'll ever have any. Ugh. So, how was your Christmas?
After 22 posted at 8:56 PM
