A Quirkyalone Christmas

December 20th-22nd

Days 2-4: Baking and Besties

Firsts: Shower without flipflops, kiss

Listened to: Joyeux Nöel playlist (Mannheim Steamroller, Frank Sinatra, Sammy Davis Jr., Michael Bublé, Harry Connick Jr.), Regina Spektor, Out of the Blue, my mom shouting at the Vikings on TV

Watched: 30 Rock season 3, Chuck season 1

Read: Quirkyalone, Sasha Cagen

I woke up my first morning home to a fresh pot of coffee and a delicious home-cooked breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast. And by morning I mean afternoon. My mom definitely loves me, because she doesn’t drink coffee and had to dig the coffee maker out of the pantry in order to make it for me. She kept asking if it was too strong or too weak. And it was perfect.

At a furniture store:

Mom: “Sales people are shit on flies.”

Me: “Do you mean flies on shit?”

After Mom and I sat down on a loveseat, she said: “The last time we did this, I spent 2,500 dollars. We better go.”

At Barnes and Noble:

I picked up a magazine with an extremely close-up picture of a man. I had no idea who it was.

Mom: Scoff. “Obama.”

Me: “I don’t think that’s Obama…”

Mom: “Oh, I meant to say Tiger.”

After a long afternoon shopping, we were really looking forward to baking Christmas cookies. Starting with the ginger snaps was not the best idea. What called for 4 cups of flour turned out to be 4 cups of powdered sugar. Dry, gritty, sugary cookies with a hint of cinnamon got thrown in the trash. It kind of got us out of the baking Christmas spirit, but I picked it up a notch over the next few days by making a batch of brownies, peanut blossoms, and frosted, sprinkled sugar cookies. Nom.

I ended my evening drinking hot apple cider and soul-searching. Although I’ve been a serial monogomist forever, seriously, I’ve definitely acquired some new quirkyalone characteristics, which I learned about while reading Quirkyalone: A Manifesto for Uncompromising Romantics by Sasha Cagen. Turns out I’ve had at least one quirkyalone quirk for a long time. My favorite flower has always been the daisy, and it’s the official flower of the quirkyalone movement. Daisies are commonly sent and received on International Quirkyalone Day, which just happens to fall on February 14^th every year.

The next night I embraced my quirkyalone, or perhaps my quirkyslut, but we don't really need to get into that. Let's just say I enjoyed the wine. And the vodka. And being with friends.

So far, it's been an eventful start to my break. I finished my Christmas shopping with Chelsea, I finished my baking with Mom, and I hung out with close friends I haven't seen in four months.

I think the best part so far was hearing that my roommate and my friend Jana's roommate were moving out, and the two of us are going to move in together! We're definitely going to never get any sleep or homework done in our extremely messy room. I can't wait.

Hiatus for the Holidays

December 19th

Day One: Arrival

First: Real visit in my new home

A wise person told me once last week that winter break is a wonderful experience. I think my sister's exact words were, "There is literally nothing better than winter break freshman year of college. NOTHING." So I decided to document this relaxing and once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. My month-long hiatus from school and work began on Saturday, December 19th at 3:05 pm. I was on the road home by 4:15. Surprisingly, my friend's dad, with whom I hitched a ride, drove the 238 miles in exactly 3 hours. I don't even know how it happened. It was like a time vortex.

I surprised Mom at the front door, because she thought I had a final on the 23rd, which for a while I did, but my Intro to Judaism professor decided to acknowledge the Christian holiday beginning the following day and moved our final a week earlier, during Hanukkah. Enough commas for now.

I had a calm evening in my new home, wrapping a few presents and visiting with Mom and my friend Abby. Mom moved out of our old house after I moved to the dorms, and I had only been here once to help her move stuff in. I thought it would be a weird winter break, going "home" to a completely different house, but it feels like I've always lived here. There are two twelve packs of mountain dew under the Christmas tree, and the previous homeowners had the same color schemes in our bathrooms. It feels right here.

The best part of my night was the backrub/back crack exchange with Abby. Always a worthwhile time.

Oh, and did I mention I love my dog?

This is her spot.

Fine

Fine

written December 9

photo taken October 1

I shouldn't have worn these heels. My legs trembled as I climbed the steps of the bus. I flexed my calves tight. Faded blue seats had been torn open and revealed yellow foam beneath. A comfort to my aching feet. A homeless man sat on my left, drinking vodka from a 20 oz bottle of Sprite. The smell burned the inside of my nose like an unexpected nosebleed, when you swear you weren't picking it or anything. Across the aisle sat James. He had his hands folded and his eyes out the darkened window. Next to him was a woman in red. Her red lips shushed the crying baby on her lap. Shut the fuck up, will you? Two men behind me argued in Spanish. I leaned back to listen, but I hadn't retained much since high school. Trafico... tarde... We were late too. The bus jolted to a stop. Vodka spilled on my dark green dress. I shouldn't have worn this dress. That stain would be there forever. Let's go. James stood, and I groaned. I followed him off the bus. He hurried. Streetlights reflected in the rain puddles. I danced around them to remain dry. Headlights and neon signs brightened the city. I shoved my hands in my coat pockets. I shouldn't have left my gloves. At the next corner, "don't walk" began to flash. I paused, grateful for the break. James continued. We can make it! I struggled to keep up. His brisk stride had a few inches on mine. I loved watching him walk. His confidence. The back of my right heel slipped out of my shoe. My right foot was slightly smaller than my left. I collapsed on the ground, legs outright in front of me, toes pointed up. I sat in the middle of the intersection, soaked. Are you okay? James helped me to my feet. I tried to laugh. He laughed. He held my hand when we crossed the next street. Yes, I'm fine.

Val's Cat

I wrote this in Fiction Writing class today. Our prompt was to write of a sad or difficult situation told in a humorous or unique tone. I'm also practicing flash fiction--stories in 500 words or less.

For Salazar

RIP

Val’s Cat

December 14 2009

Val’s cat got hit by a car yesterday. I said sorry, wanna go dancing? She says I don’t understand. She says I don’t understand nothin’. I know she’s sad and whatnot. She’s only got one cat. Well, now she got none cat.

Look, I said I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to do no more. What can I do? He’s gone, Val. Then I made her cry. Damn I hate makin’ her cry. She got such pretty eyes she shouldn’t cry ‘em away. An’ I told her that, but she said it don’t make no sense.

Maybe she’s right. Hell, she’s always right. Except the time she let the cat outta the house. That ain’t right.

Poor cat. Poor Val.

I think she woulda felt better if we went dancing. Now she’s a scaredy cat of goin’ outside, thinkin’ she’ll get hit by a car, too.

Haha, scaredy cat.

Damn.

I just don’t know how to tell her I did it.