I think this holiday season is going to be OK. Maybe more than OK, maybe just fine. Perhaps even freaking awesome. Earlier this year I was seriously apprehensive about the jolly, holly season. I thought I’d be miserable and all Scrooge-like once Thanksgiving came and turned into Christmas and New Years. The concept of parties and social engagements gave me panic attacks (let’s not forget Bernie), and the idea of being joyful seemed far, far, away.
Oh thank goodness I was wrong. Thanksgiving week allowed me to regress…I went out, I drank, I laughed, I ate, I spent time with my favorite boys, I ran, I met new people, and I simply lived. I lived A LOT. I don’t know that I will ever think of Thanksgiving the same way again. In fact, I know I won’t.
Last weekend I attended a holiday party with some delightful friends. Apart from the near fist-fight that darling Brad and I almost got into over the music, the evening was pure fabulousness. Fabulous with a side of glitter. You know I enjoy myself wholly when I end up engaging in frivolous kleptomania. Thank you boys for letting me steal your duckie.
The next morning I felt INCREDIBLE. I think happiness somehow conquered the cheap wine hangover that seemed impossible to avoid the night before. No one else seemed to feel the same, so I tackled the Farmer’s Market solo and returned victorious with a little tree and a wreath. A trip to the storage shed to retrieve ornaments meant that Christmas descended upon my house. Happily.
On Friday I am seeing Phantom of the Opera for the first time with wonderful people. I have a date for the holiday party next week. I am going home for Christmas to see my incredible family and friends. God, how I have missed you all. I might even go out, out, out for New Year’s. Optimistically, I already have the rocking dress. In a size 6, I might add.This year needs to end, and it is looking to end well. Scrooge has nothing on me.