So this is Christmas.
I'm trying to get into the holiday spirit here, but I had the AC on cooking Thanksgiving dinner and it is now 72 degrees in mid-December while I try to get all of these fucking cookies baked.
Sidebar: Yes, I cook Thanksgiving dinner and bake cookies and use the word cunt and swallow. Yes, I'm like the all time perfect woman. But I'm also married, and wake up early on Saturdays, and I will not do your laundry. So you know, everything's a compromise.
Anyway, I was saying: I'm pretty sure as I'm standing in this hot kitchen knee deep in vegan muffins while all the polar bears in the world burst into flames, that a flying insect of a summertime sort just flew up my nose. If I wanted to holiday in these conditions, I would still be living on a marsh. I moved north so that I could have snow days, and be guaranteed at least four months out of the year when I'm not walking around all shiny and pink. Like some happy can of Spam in a Hawaiian parade. Whether you call it climate change, the apocalypse, or armageddon, the struggle is real. And nobody is having a cozy cup of cocoa to celebrate.
BUT, I did sit on Santa's lap today. And he gave me a present. OK, it was like a keychain--but who in 2015 does not love attention from a beard? And a random stranger paid my tab, which is like the third time in as many months that something like that has happened to me. And I sang Happy Birthday to a lady named Barbara who was shit faced on Italian restaurant table wine at 3 pm. I don't know Barbara at all, but she may just end up on my cookie list. And I have a gay Christmas wedding to look forward to. I might pull out my cutest sundress for it. Cookie anyone?
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