Our Halloween front porch pumpkin was covered with bite marks yesterday. Small ones, which could only be rat bites. A byproduct of city life, and the kind of knowledge that gives you a touch of the willies when walking through the alleyway on a dark night. Despite this, it’s the neatest place to live. Looking down our street is like being thrown into a John Hughes movie. Summer and fall behind us, it’s now a tree-lined, midwestern scene complete with cars parked up against each other, packed in with fresh snow as buffer. The houses are old, pristine, decorated now with lights and blow up Santas. This is what the weekend after Thanksgiving should look like.
My personal holiday decoration contribution includes a brand new Homer Simpson Santa. He’s fabulously white trash. My roommate has a small Charlie Brown tree. These are our humble attempts at holiday decorating. The December issue of Vogue makes it official, though. We’re upon the holiday season.
I survived the family Thanksgiving last week, held my share of children, ate too much, and drank enough red wine to last me at least a week. I endured the danger of Black Friday, spent way too much on things I don’t need. On things no one needs….in true American consumer sheep fashion.
This morning, I went to mass with my roommate. We were late, of course, and I was relieved when the holy water didn’t burn my skin. As I walked up to the priest for communion, I wondered, “how many carbs are in the host?” These are the kinds of things that run through an overactive mind, I guess. That, or a sick one.
I’m in the market for a dog now, too. It’s time. I’ve had two years of grieving for animals that are still alive and living with my ex. I’m ready to take the plunge, but I’m going to take my time to really search out the perfect companion. I found one, Molly, who is a Great Dane/Rhodesian Ridgeback mix, but when I inquired about seeing her, I was told that I was up against a family. Families win adoption rights over single women any day. It’s discrimination, really. I almost called the ACLU, but I refrained and decided to go back to the drawing board.
The sugar turkeys are gone. Next up will be something resembling a snowman, made entirely from marshmallows and rum, I think. Watch out, Martha.