Festive

I had my yearly festive "Oh crap it's only two weeks 'til Christmas" panic attack yesterday. Fa-la-la-la-la la-la-la-la.

It's alright. It wouldn't be the holidays if I wasn't buying candles for the advent wreath two weeks in and then burning them down preferrentially to make it look like I had been on top of it from the beginning.

So I'm a little behind, but I'm catching up. We got some lights up, mostly utilizing little nails we discovered in the porch eaves that must have been supporting Christmas lights for many years in a row now. And I've managed to get a few little presents stashed away. (I'm buying most my gifts at the hardware store this year, seeing as how that's where I'm spending all my leisure time anyway right now.)

And we're still festively without hot water, if you were curious. The plumber showed up (a fairly round and jolly sort of guy, but no reindeer) and knocked around on the water heater for five minutes about a week ago. Now we wait for him to return with the magic part that makes taking a shower possible. Before our holiday guests arrive, ideally.

Everybody's waiting for the man with the bag.

I'm through one of the two Christmas parties on my docket. I'm wearing the same damn thing to both of them. (Don't tell anybody.) I love invitation instructions that say things like "Cocktail Attire Requested". I don't drink cocktails, but I do occasionally have a beer while I watch Star Trek on the couch in my old sweatpants. You sure you want to request that?

And so this is Christmas. Moving on to trees and fudge and all the double-checking of lists and whatnot.