Merry Christmas! And To All a Good Night!

I don't know why I find this so amusing. I just do. The object in the box to the left of the Poinsetta is . . . was . . . a coffee cup. On the bright side, the box showed up in pristine condition.


Merry Christmas, everyone!

A Love Affair with a Coffee Cup

In the spirit of opening Christmas gifts early . . . an old friend was good enough to visit last week, and she brought me the small red Starbucks coffee cup . . . which I now love in entirely unholy ways (although my unholy love for my new laptop leaves little room for new unholy loves). Still, the red coffee cup has worked its way into the room.

It's microwave and dishwasher safe (which most of the "cute" cups I've purchased from Target turned out to be handwash only . . . . grrrrrrr) . . . and it has a little indented around the rim, which doesn't make a difference until you take your first sip - and you realize the coffee cup is hugging your lip.

I love my new cup. Love it, love it, love it. (Thank you, R.!!!)

Starbucks has certainly cornered comfort coffee. Everything from the whipped cream, high carb, soothing music arena to the ergonomic and sensual coffee cup lip . . . . I might have to see if I can find a few more of these "seasonal" red cups before they leave.

In other news . . . Christmas shopping is now 80% done. (YAY!)

Novel writing has been put on pause while I deal with Holidays and actually reading the manuscript so I stay consistent (::cough cough:: Must . . . keep . . . writing novel . . .).

Knitting. Hmm . . . found a great deal on a beginning knitting book and needles at Michael's ($5 for all). Need to make time to meet up with S. for knitting instruction . . . and then additional time to actually . . . um . . . knit.

Nihongo . . . a note which deserves a moment of celebration . . . our informal Japanese study group is about to graduate from the first textbook. HUZZAH!!! Everyone is fairly capable of reading hiragana (which is an amazing accomplishment and the number one thing that terrifies people about Japanese) - so I need to think of some fun activity to mark the occasion . . . hmmmmm.

And Alyssa, my ball-jointed doll (yes, I have a ball-jointed doll), suddenly began crying out for attention, reminding me that I do eventually want to work on a blog project that will be a combination ficitional story and photographic work. Unfortunately, this will also mean spending money on wigs and clothing. . . which is what has kept me from completing the project to begin with. ::Sigh::

No wonder I'm always wondering what eats up all my time!
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Sample of Alyssa Aside . . .

Note: This blog is being written from the perspective of "Mike" - a 24-year-old bachelor who lives in a small apartment.

I don't know much about the little doll that I brought home (and by doll, I mean a real doll - standing 8" high - and not your standard high maintenance blonde wearing a little too much rouge). I'm not even sure why I brought her home, except there is something very sweet about her face. She looks as if she has been waiting for someone . . . for a very very long time.


We were both a little uncomfortable. I mean, what exactly do you say to a living doll? But then she saw the plant on the right-hand side of my writing desk, and her face lit up.

"I just love plants," she said, gently touching a leaf. "Don't you?"

And for a second I actually hoped that I wasn't dreaming . . . that all the odd little things that had happened this day wouldn't fade. Forget how I was going to explain her to my friends an my family. For this moment in time, at least, she was here, and alive, and real.


It wasn't until later that I discovered she has an attitude.

Cold Snap . . .

Once upon a time, in a place not so far away (actually, Breckenridge is about an hour and a half by car, in good weather), there lived a little girl who loved to play in the snow, dig tunnels, ice skate, ski, and build snow forts. She would stand still for hours in the coldest weather, attempting to catch the local wildlife, which - surprisingly - she was quite good at (and still feels terribly guilty about). After she could no longer feel her extremities, she would go inside and make a hot cup of cocoa, and - if the heat was out (which happened occasionally), she would start a fire using the huge pile of newspapers and small pieces of wood sap that were kept in a small tin container next to the fireplace.

Then the little girl grew up, and her mother moved to Las Vegas, and she traded her snowpants and moonboots for belly shirts and sunscreen. She spent long hours catching lizards . . . some of which did not survive (another thing which she still feels terribly guilty about), and whenever she felt she was about to expire from heat stroke, she would go indoors and get one of the nifty ice glasses from the freezer and drink cold water and hang out over the air conditioning vent until she no longer felt like passing out.

Which explains why I'm generally comfortable from negative 30 to 120 degrees Faranheit. However, the current cold snap (negative 18, with the windchill negative 36), has stirred a lot of old memories . . . and made me wish I hadn't given up my moonboots. On the other hand, I finally came to realize that I'm not the wuss I thought I was . . . when I lived in Breckenridge I also had a wardrobe meant to handle frigied temperatures (and a community in which you could puff without risking someone stealing your vehicle) . . . which made winter living far more bearable.

Still, the cold snap has been enough to take your breath away (literally), but it has triggered a lot of hidden memories. It reminded me how much I love the sound of crunching snow (snow only crunches when the temperature is below a certain number) . . . and how nice it is to walk into a warm room (and if you're extra-lucky, be greeted with a warm drink).

Maybe having a white Christmas adds more appreciation to the simple side of the Holiday Season . . .

Whatever the reason, while others may be daunted that the "high" for the week is thirty-two (YAY! It might get to the freezing point) a small part of me is embracing the cold snap. Then again, another small part of me (wearing a belly-shirt and holding a tube of sunscreen) is gibbering in a corner . . .

Have yourself, a merry little cold snap,
let the lights shine bright . . .
from now on, we gather round the furnace, tight. . .
So have yourself, a merry little cold snap,
and find your gloves and hand-warmers, tonight!

Come to Colorado . . .

And in my on-going (although heretofor fruitless) effort . . .



Colorado is hands-down more beautiful than Las Vegas. Come to Colorado B. . . . . Come to Colorado . . . .

This message brought to you by the letter M. and the first few snowfalls of the season.

I am the Ghost of Halloween Present

Apparently I'm a little behind in current events . . . Before the novel moved in and took over my November, I'd meant to post pictures of A.'s Halloween costume.


The fake muscles still crack me up . . .