All is well…unless you consider spending Christmas with your “engaged”-for-the-fourth-time mother (who told you that she slept with someone in your Baby Daddy’s band the night she had them over to play for her birthday party in early December, and then leaned over the minute your sister walked out of the room and said with a big wink, “I’ve done much worse things than that since I got engaged”) you know, stressful. And then you get to watch your mother telling your aforementioned underage sister that she needs to “drink more.” Good times. Next year I will just put myself in a stockade in Pioneer Square and invite everyone to paddle me in the tooshy. That will be more delightful, as I will be surrounded by STRANGERS ONLY.
Despite getting MSG-ed in one of the only Chinese restaurants in Shoreline that was open on xmas, spending time with the Shedonist and my sister was better than witnessing the Kavalcade of Kapitalism that was no doubt going down at Rancho Alexander. And I discovered that it is now much harder for the Shedonist to provoke me than it used to be. Perhaps I am now more accepting of her deal with polyamory and the fact that she refuses to be a role model for my sister.
I will rise above this through, through my new dependence on Lush bath bombs, macaroons, and stabbing stuff. I bought a mattress today for my new apartment and I sat under my new best friend Pierre for four hours while he put a tattoo on me that looks exactly like a luscious oil painting. Pierre is an artiste, and is now threatening to give me a whole chest piece. I said “oui, oui, Pierre, as long as the grant money keeps coming down the pike.” I will post a picture soon.
Off to the bath! Don’t worry about me, babies, I am much better now than when I was not writing.