Tralalalalalala
On the Ninth Day of Sockmas, my true love gave to me... nine merry monkeys, a cardio tiara, furry feline footsies, arch-saving shape-ups, sniffling date-night(!), melting credit cards, a holly jolly head cold, one sock-saucy simian, and a loris in a pear tree.
+Andrew Wright and I approved of yesterday so much that we thought we should do it again today. I think it was a stellar decision, but too much teflon on the frisky weekend frying pan means, well... happy Monkey Monday! One week down, two weeks to go until GO-GO-GO Holly-Jolly time.
But a short Sunday revival for nostalgic reasons may be in order. Having been thwarted by a severe dearth of nails and handimanly motivation, I decided to turn my decorative energies towards the homes of loved ones. On Sunday, my mom and I hauled out the bling and bauble for a festive decorative bacchanal set to egg-noggy tunes of Star Trek: The Final Frontier (David's entertainment while we faught our way out of clinging light liana). While we did that, Andrew decked his own halls with only a minimal spell of icy mud on Galbraith.
The day before our Solstice Star Trekking Mountaineering, the bike-and-chain and I practiced some guerrilla holiday tactics while my Dad is off in New Jersey with the other daughter and son-in-law. As official mail-maiden in his absence, I gained stealthy ingress to the home with full working schemata for the winter wonderland stale in my brain. The tree is quite gargantuan and takes roughly twenty boxes of ornaments to adorn it properly. There was quite a lot of rummaging in the attic and several flights of stairs ascended and descended in the process. At the end of the blitz, boxes were scattered amongst shards of shattered ornaments (ok, only one). We did amuse ourselves with thoughts of leaving the wreckage intact and disavowing all knowledge. Perhaps some of the bums that perennially festoon his lawn with beer cans amped up their game this year! In the end, we relented, although inevitably things will be misplaced and no doubt the father figure will have his work ahead of him fixing our merriments.
As I shake the tinsel from my hair and styro-sno from my fingernails, it's time I marched onwards into week two of the interim holidaze work week. There's a collaborative law meeting to memorialize with my frisky fingers and fulgent impatience/wit. Oh and a trial coming up on Wednesday. Maybe we can show up dressed as Santa and elves?
On the Tenth Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me... a small sporting good store, nine merry monkeys, a cardio tiara, furry feline footsies, arch-saving shape-ups, sniffling date-night(!), melting credit cards, a holly jolly head cold, one sock-saucy simian, and a loris in a pear tree.
The next step in home decoration has been taken: in addition to our winter wondergym, we now have several boxes of Christmas decorations in our living room. This includes what I believe to be our new little tree. My sister warned me that she had sent some boxes of unwrapped gifts my way, so I'm quite wary of opening any packages that have not specifically been identified. But I'm pretty darned sure that I know the box that is our tree. Really. I'll dare to open it soon, perhaps. Although I'm currently going with the boxed decor as my own visionary decoration inspiration. I call it Christmas: Decubed and Recubed.
But speaking of holidazing it up, Andrew and I attended our very own holiday party, "Buenos Aires style" By which I mean "steaming hot and humid, full of wine, and decorated up with incongruously winter-themed objects." Actually, not a bad representation of Xmas on Calle Florida, with its styrosnow and scrawny melting men in Santa Suits. No, this was a tango party, held in lieu of our regularly scheduled third-Saturday milonga. The heat radiated from a cozy furnace and the snow was mostly plasticine lining along our host's elaborate Christmas train set.
I continue to be lamed-up with my tingly-touchy arch, so my dance card was aggravatingly suspended. This severely limited my party repertoire down to hovering over the snack table and making odd bursts of ebullient conversation before lapsing into introvert mode. Since it was also a Monday evening and I'm an early bird, I had to condense this repertoire into a concentrated hour of nibbling and mulled milling. But I did it with akward elan. And Andrew was able to consume several homemade meatballs in this small spell of time. Not exactly the Christmas parties of childhood: caroling and crafting with neighbors, but a mite bit easier than the pre-holidaze Honor's Party rush. And it fulfills my quota quite handily until the actual Wright family feast on Christmas day, itself. Holiday points: 2 + a bonus!
On the Eleventh Day of Sockmas, my true love gave to me... timered lights a'lighting, a small sporting good store, nine merry monkeys, a cardio tiara, furry feline footsies, arch-saving shape-ups, sniffling date-night(!), melting credit cards, a holly jolly head cold, one sock-saucy simian, and a loris in a pear tree.
Having strewn sundries and baubles in every house but our own, I decided that it may well be time to attack the (W)right household with a little holiday cheer. I mean, the palpable kind that hangs from nails. The manic skipping about and humming lalalalalalalalala while goosing my husband and giggling is an omnipresent thing that needs no season. As I might have mentioned, our home doesn't have a lot of nails of the "small little ones for lights" variety.
The wall-nail situation is actually somewhat random and sporadic. There are a very heavy duty nails planted in odd and unpredictable places throughout the home. They are few enough and far enough in between that a typical hanging pattern of lights and garlands is a bit of a challenge. Never fear, that's what door jambs, hanging curtain strings, and other little nips and tucks are for. Two strings have ascended to the heights of yuletide effulgence in our dining room. And our teeny tiny Christmas tree sits on the window sill. Doesn't have batteries yet, though, so not super shimmery.
And it only took me most of the evening - including many brief interludes during dinner - to figure out the light timer. I swear no two of these little demons are the same. They all have some perfunctory clock setting mechanism and some Byzantine system of pegs and levels to push and pull. But should you push the times you like? Should you pull the pegs you don't like? Should you have the lights go on and off on the half hour just to avoid any uncertainty?? Nobody can say for certain, because it changes in every new model. I'm pretty sure, having seen the lights come on and go off this morning as planned, that I sussed it out eventually (I'm lying - this will last for one day before it all goes kooky). And I got to crawl around on the ground a lot! Thank goodness the cleaners had just come.
Today, as an added bonus holiday gift, we have A SECOND TRIAL ACTUALLY GOING TO TRIAL. Funny story, though. After taking several steps to confirm we were indeed on after having been bumped twice before, the judge's assistant called to check if we could be done by three, because the judge has a doctor's appointment. We didn't even have the bizarro brief in hand yet, so that was a bit unpredictable. But what the hell, say yes and hope for the best! Judges need doctors too! And he may be in special need of medical help after one of our cases!
Wish us all luck!
On the Twelfth Day of Sockmas, my true love gave to me... Amazon invasion, timered lights a'lighting, a small sporting good store, nine merry monkeys, a cardio tiara, furry feline footsies, arch-saving shape-ups, sniffling date-night(!), melting credit cards, a holly jolly head cold, one sock-saucy simian, and a loris in a pear tree.
I officially have lost count of which packages might be mine (as in ordered by me for others) and which might be mine (as in intended for me and ordered by others). There are more of these mysterious cardboard troves in my magical pantry in addition to the living puke. Mixed in with the spices and grains, of course. Mmmm cinnamon flavored gift!I believe that my next wave of to-gift orders are incoming soon. But if I've mixed a few up with my for-Adella-gift orders, well, don't we have to treat ourselves? The thought is what counts in gifting anyways, right? So if a few people don't get the tangible manifestation of those thoughts, meh!
Last night was a very necessary date night. Our little trial turned into a bit more of an embroglio than anticipated. Turns out that the other attorney - who has been ignoring us, idling about, and putting in less than minimal effort - decided to show up with something resembling a case with untested and unanticipated "evidence." Meaning, the judge likely made his doctor's appointment, but he's stuck with this case again today for a once-more-with-feeling (I won't describe the feeling, because it defies even a fifty-ton tome's efforts to loosely approximate). Once again I am reminded that I, to put it mildly, abhor trial. I like some of the trial trappings: mostly writing long narrative oratorios about people's lives and tatting exquisite patterns from the barest and driest of legal foundations. But actual litigation makes my blood acidify. I just don't enjoy that strain of high adrenaline rushes, despite imbibing the sweet nectar of pre-performance anticipation in other arenas. I'm not even on the front lines, but this hardly dulls my distaste.
But yes, date night. We tried once again to frequent the ever-booming Boomer's. As always, nary a table available, and so onwards we plunged into the heart of town and towards Andrew's cardiac poutine burger meal at Fiamma Burger. I'm pretty sure that my side salad existed solely to judge his food. Judgmental little tart, that Fiamma side salad. Putting on airs with its little pepitas and powdery parmesan. Judgmental insalatas aside, we had a relaxing evening and a good sofa snog and snuggle upon return.
That screw that's been coming "first thing next week" since the Pleistocene, may or may not actually be coming last thing this week. If so, there could be weekend work on the horizon for Mr. (W)right. If so, I'll miss him as I lounge in my pajamas and persist in my denial (already setting in) of all things work-related. Oh the denial is already setting in I see! Work?? What work??? Merry not-really-but-close-enough weekend!!
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