Scrooged!
Well, Christmas is over and it's back to work. The weekend was a good one, considering the mass quantities of snow and ice that poured down on us. And now, this boy is ready for the new year. and vacation. yeah, vacation will be nice.
Wednesday night, amidst the snow coming down, Chica and her father and I went to drinking. It wasn't a very festive kind of drinking either. Delmar had a few too many and by the time we arrived at the bar, he was ranting and raving about six sorts of nonsense. I suppose it may have made sense to someone more apparent in his life, but for us it was pretty much jibberish. After all that and a few games of 8-ball, he took to crying. I really can't stand a sloppy drunk. heh. Especially if it's me getting sloppy.
By Thursday morning, I was nursing the worst headache known to man and there was a solid inch of ice that glazed the world. I didn't really think to call our emergency hotline and so I took to scraping my way into the car so that I could drive to work. After my hour and a half trip into the office (scraping and driving combined) my headache had tripled in strength as I was greeted by an empty parking lot. The only people who were stupid enough to brave the roads were my boss, my co-worker, and myself. I moped around the office long enough to drink a cup of coffee, take some ibuprofen, and turn in my time sheet. And although I was supposed to go to my parent's house on Thursday, I was more than happy to put off the holiday craze for one more day in favor of sleep and recuperation. Chica and I spent the day watching Christmas movies and exchanging the gift we had bought one another. Mostly we just lounged around all day on the couch. It was a grand day, really.
Friday came with a blast. The roads were a little better and my father decided (with the help of my mother's incessant goading) to make the trip to C-bus to pick my non-driving self up. We arrived home only to be rushed out to Sears for one last gift, and then it was a rush to the DAV hall, where my Mom's family have had Christmas dinner for the last few years. Initially it was a bit wierd not going to Mamaw's house for Christmas, but after a while you learn to appreciate the spacier accomodations (even if it doesn't help with the racket the kids stir up.) heh. My family left the party after everything was cleaned up and back in place and headed home. We always exchange the gifts "the kids" bought on Christmas Eve. This stemmed from the fact that my father never, ever let us open any presents until the morning had come. As soon as we thought that the gifting was done for the evening, big AK spoke up, "Let's just open all the presents tonight." This was much to our shock, and my mother's horror, who had some last minute wrapping left to do. But Dad wasn't feeling all that well and didn't want to be awoken at the ass-crack of dawn as young kids are want to do on Christmas morning. As far as I know, Dad's words have always been final, and so we set to opening up all the things that were bought over the last few months. It was a good Christmas with the family, and as always, I received far more than I ever imagined.
Saturday was fairly nonchalant. I woke at 9:30 to find out what Santa had brought. Even though my younger siblings no longer believe in Santa Claus, we still go through the charade. I think the act continues mostly for my mother, who would like to believe that her children will never grow old. Although I admit, the game is still a jolly good time. After every one had lazily dressed themselves, we left for my Dad's parents for Christmas dinner and all the mischieve that comes with a house full of Kimblers. There was no bluegrass music this time, Christmas tends to be a little more crowded than Thanksgiving, but my brother, uncle and I did manage to sneak off in the bedroom to play some old rock-n-roll tunes. We hung out there most of the day, stuffing ourselves with ham and beans and pie and all those things that only come around a few times a year. It is good to have family to go home to.
And, inevitably, Sunday came. My father drove me home through the rolling hills of white, back to this humdrum apartment life. We ate dinner together and talked about growing older. He dreams of retirement and taking my mother to the exotic places she's always dreamed about. He also dreams for me, of grandkids and steady employment that will take my non-existent family through our tough years. And after he left, I spent some time thinking about my own version of the future. Then, I put on some Over the Rhine and cut my beard off. I trimmed up my hair and all of the sudden I looked like I was ten years old again, clean-faced and smiling.
Wednesday night, amidst the snow coming down, Chica and her father and I went to drinking. It wasn't a very festive kind of drinking either. Delmar had a few too many and by the time we arrived at the bar, he was ranting and raving about six sorts of nonsense. I suppose it may have made sense to someone more apparent in his life, but for us it was pretty much jibberish. After all that and a few games of 8-ball, he took to crying. I really can't stand a sloppy drunk. heh. Especially if it's me getting sloppy.
By Thursday morning, I was nursing the worst headache known to man and there was a solid inch of ice that glazed the world. I didn't really think to call our emergency hotline and so I took to scraping my way into the car so that I could drive to work. After my hour and a half trip into the office (scraping and driving combined) my headache had tripled in strength as I was greeted by an empty parking lot. The only people who were stupid enough to brave the roads were my boss, my co-worker, and myself. I moped around the office long enough to drink a cup of coffee, take some ibuprofen, and turn in my time sheet. And although I was supposed to go to my parent's house on Thursday, I was more than happy to put off the holiday craze for one more day in favor of sleep and recuperation. Chica and I spent the day watching Christmas movies and exchanging the gift we had bought one another. Mostly we just lounged around all day on the couch. It was a grand day, really.
Friday came with a blast. The roads were a little better and my father decided (with the help of my mother's incessant goading) to make the trip to C-bus to pick my non-driving self up. We arrived home only to be rushed out to Sears for one last gift, and then it was a rush to the DAV hall, where my Mom's family have had Christmas dinner for the last few years. Initially it was a bit wierd not going to Mamaw's house for Christmas, but after a while you learn to appreciate the spacier accomodations (even if it doesn't help with the racket the kids stir up.) heh. My family left the party after everything was cleaned up and back in place and headed home. We always exchange the gifts "the kids" bought on Christmas Eve. This stemmed from the fact that my father never, ever let us open any presents until the morning had come. As soon as we thought that the gifting was done for the evening, big AK spoke up, "Let's just open all the presents tonight." This was much to our shock, and my mother's horror, who had some last minute wrapping left to do. But Dad wasn't feeling all that well and didn't want to be awoken at the ass-crack of dawn as young kids are want to do on Christmas morning. As far as I know, Dad's words have always been final, and so we set to opening up all the things that were bought over the last few months. It was a good Christmas with the family, and as always, I received far more than I ever imagined.
Saturday was fairly nonchalant. I woke at 9:30 to find out what Santa had brought. Even though my younger siblings no longer believe in Santa Claus, we still go through the charade. I think the act continues mostly for my mother, who would like to believe that her children will never grow old. Although I admit, the game is still a jolly good time. After every one had lazily dressed themselves, we left for my Dad's parents for Christmas dinner and all the mischieve that comes with a house full of Kimblers. There was no bluegrass music this time, Christmas tends to be a little more crowded than Thanksgiving, but my brother, uncle and I did manage to sneak off in the bedroom to play some old rock-n-roll tunes. We hung out there most of the day, stuffing ourselves with ham and beans and pie and all those things that only come around a few times a year. It is good to have family to go home to.
And, inevitably, Sunday came. My father drove me home through the rolling hills of white, back to this humdrum apartment life. We ate dinner together and talked about growing older. He dreams of retirement and taking my mother to the exotic places she's always dreamed about. He also dreams for me, of grandkids and steady employment that will take my non-existent family through our tough years. And after he left, I spent some time thinking about my own version of the future. Then, I put on some Over the Rhine and cut my beard off. I trimmed up my hair and all of the sudden I looked like I was ten years old again, clean-faced and smiling.
posted by taliendo at
1:20 PM
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