Act natural

( Thursday, Dec. 26, 2002 12:36 am )

>Kitties, kitties

I'm writing to you now from Lonely Girl Worldwide Headquarters, having just spent a disheartening Christmas evening with the extended family at my Aunt Janie's house. Disheartening because I felt ignored and/or condenscended to the whole time, plus my cousin Jeff had to say at dinner, as he does every single time he sees me, "Hey, Almostreally, could you keep it down over there?" Ha ha, because I'm quiet, get it? No, people pointing out that I don't talk much never gets old with me, no sir. Luckily I was able to sneak out early with my brother Adam and his girlfriend Carrie, who drove me home through the sleet in the Camry that used to be mine, so I got to sit in the effing backseat of my own car and enjoy the view of my brother's arm draped over her seat when it wasn't on the shifter (because he's pretentious and wants us to think he's driving some sports car when the Toyota isn't even Standard). I followed that up by watching my brand new copy of Amelie here (my self-pity movie). And I spent last night watching The Joy Luck Club on cable and crying at various parts, especially one of the Chinese mothers saying "I see you. Best-quality heart" to her daughter. The point is that I keep feeling worse and worse.

Not to say that it wasn't a good Christmas. I had a good time when it was just my family, and I got everything I wanted, such as the aforementioned Amelie and both Howards' End and A Room with a View (the books, not movies), four episodes of MST3K on DVD, Manu Chao CDs, a sweater, a bracelet of greenish stones, many pairs of socks, a potato masher and a potato peeler, and, oddly, double-stick tape such as the stars use to keep their precarious garments from slipping down to reveal nippleage (my mother pictured me using it to fix hems on this pair of pants I have). The presents I got for my family went over well. I got my mother a scarf and Lucinda Williams, who she's never heard of but seems to like, and my brother two books (Choke by Chuck Palahnuik or whatever, and Jesus' Son by Denis Johnson) that he'd never heard of but seems to like, and my father the new Tom Petty, which he asked for, so kind of uninspired there on my part. I don't know about the stuff I got for my young cousin Emma yet, but I suspect she'll hate it all, and if so, I hope she sends it back to me.

As for the rest of my week at home, I don't know what I'm going to do. Be very bored, certainly, and continue eating my way through the house, of course, but I don't know what else. I'm kind of anxious to return to Philly, even though I fear it will be a Week of Depression with nobody there but me, and I could easily wind up popping the cork on my champagne all alone on New Years. More for me, but still, not quite what I would wish. No, I would wish Nino, or George Emerson.

Also, isn't Nino like the French version of Steve from Blue's Clues? You'll just have to trust me on this one.

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