Christmas Breakdown

[kashmir_bitches]

In a haze of Christmas zeal, Mom hastily over-watered the tree this morning, so it overflowed. It resulted in all my gifts getting soaked and waterlogged, but none of Matt's. His were all underneath the windowsill next to the tree, but mine were actually under the tree. Christmas, however, is not canceled: Matt, proving himself to be this year's MVP after a lifetime of slacking off, pumped up the proactivity and unwrapped and re-wrapped my gifts, even going to far as to exchange boxes so I wouldn't open up soggy lumps of cardboard in the morning. That brings his total this season to:

1. He got us home safely last Saturday, effectively saving Christmas.
2. He thought of all the good gift ideas for Mom and Dad this year.
3. He cut, put up, and trimmed Dad's Christmas tree.
4. He made noodles for the lasagna I made for Mom's dinner party the other day.
5. He rescued all my drowning presents.

Anyway, there's a theory floating around the family that the cat hypnotized Mom in her sleep (a la Kaa v. Mowgli in The Jungle Book) and bid her ruin Christmas, since Ophelia's meddling with the ornaments hasn't really amounted to much.

I got home last night at about 5AM. Mike drove down to CL in the blizzard and then drove up to Coventry. It was a good two hours out of the way, but it was really awesome that he did so I could get up there for a really pretty awesome show and then a fun/funny party on Lee.
At the show, I watched a man of no more than 28 dance by himself before the stage. He was cue-ball bald, save the patch of hair on the back of his head, long and ratty in dreads. Broken Silence was thrashing those last strands of ginger hair around, stomping it out and having a great time being alive. It made my heart well up, because I saw elements of my future self in that: the threat of losing my hair, reduced to a bald idiot with a death clutch on those last locks. Alone. I need to find myself a girl and lock that down before the same happens to me.

Speaking of hair: I was doing my political readings the other day and came across a picture of Hillary Clinton and my spirit sort of sank a little when I recognized how similar our hairdos are. Then the questions came: What's worse?

1. Hillary Clinton has my hairdo.
2. I have Hillary Clinton's hairdo.
3. I recognized that we have the same hairdo.
   

"Many strange legends are told of these jungles of India, but none so strange as the story of a small boy named Mowgli. It all began when the silence of the jungle was broken by an unfamiliar sound. It was a sound like one never heard before in this part of the jungle. It was a man cub! Had I known how deeply I was to be involved, I would've obeyed my first impulse and walked away."
-Bagheera, emulating the arrival of a savior of sorts, in the best Disney movie of all

Happy War on Christmas, internets!