Sunday afternoon, Wednesday night at 9:39 p.m., and I should be packing but here we sit, Reader. Because all good intentions on Sunday blew by the wayside. But regardless of what happened then, and what I should be doing now, it’s a few o’holy nights before Christmas so it’s time to get our feels on.
How do I have twelve months to prepare for Christmas and it always seems to spring up on me? Although, since I’m preparing for a holiday trip, and knew I needed to speed up the festivity preparations I will say that cards have been mailed, all gifts have been ordered and are out for delivery to my out-of-state family, cookies were made and shared, what little amount of gifts I have here are all wrapped and ready.
Oh, you’re not letting me blow by the holiday trip comment? I can’t slip one by you, Reader, can I. Yes, we leave for a trip in the morn. So once again, instead of packing, I’m here for you. I mean, right here at my kitchen table and not necessarily there for you. ATTN Robbers & Thieves: STAY AWAY. OF COURSE I have a house sitter and cat-pee-cleaner-upper, and he’s prepared to kill you if needed.* He will be here the entire time we are gone, so don’t try any funny business.
So I’ll be having a brown Christmas this year, right there on the beach.
I keep meaning to get back to posting about all the nostalgia, so why not now. Let’s do it, Reader. I’m not prepared to make it as entertaining of a story as it was originally in my head, but we’re drinking little wine and let’s see what happens here. Usually what I write is as much of a surprise to me as it is to you.
But before we get into the nostalgia, let’s talk about one little thing. After I got out of the nail salon this evening I popped into Dollar Tree to try and find a cat-head size Santa hat, because I had one and then I lost it and I had hoped to
fuck off be productive just a little more tonight and take some Cats in Santa Hats 2017 Pictures since I’ll be gone on our traditional night of shenanigans.
I couldn’t find one, but did browse around for a minute and found one of those bun makers for the top of your head. Well, not necessarily YOUR head, but a head with hair long enough to put up in a bun.
I thought maybe I’d glam up my look, ala this:
So yeah, don’t fret, Reader, thinking I’m going to run away and become a beauty blogger and give up shelling out a buncha nonsense to you.
High fashion just maybe isn’t for me, unless we mean “high” fashion and then maybe I’d look pretty and we’d enjoy a pizza, chips and some donuts together.
And YES, I know I look awful and tired and have messy smeared make up. Because I don’t like to hide behind my image of total perfection for you. I keep it realz. For YOU, Reader, so if nothing else you can feel better about yourself.
Alright, so once again we didn’t get to the nostalgia. I don’t think we ever will at this rate, Reader. Assume it would be something good.
*I’m not totally sure if he’s ready to kill you, but just assume he is. Because he might. Don’t risk it, Bad Guys. We’re jumpy around here.