I did things today, someone acknowledge this.

I worry that these posts are losing their fortitude and conviction, as I've become weepier and weepier in the past two weeks. There's been no actual weeping, but I think it's safe to say these have been two weepy weeks.

So, let's talk about something else.

I've managed to regain some semblance of energy in the past two days, mostly because of the presence of one Jill Caryn Kaufman. Today I went Christmas shopping for the first time. First stop was the American Girl Store on 49th, right off of Rockefeller Center. I inadvertently got to see the tree, which is okay with me. Hundreds of people tip-toeing around barricaded, snow-covered streets is not.

I was not prepared for the corporate monster that is the American Girl Store, jesus christ. I love children, but not when they're all leaving this place in tears, in spite of many red shopping bags filled to the brim.

I'm very lucky to have a very sweet and pragmatic nine-year-old sister. Nine is an annoying age under normal circumstances, but Sarah marches to her own drummer and is just generally awesome. Her mouth is that of my 46 year old stepmother, who is also awesome.
Andrew, who's five, and a BOY, and the product of my mother and stepfather's union, is a lot more difficult. I once gave him a stuffed lion wearing an NYU tee-shirt in his STOCKING, it wasn't even his REAL present, and he burst into tears and rejected it entirely. He's not difficult to shop for, but he's the kind of kid who after having opened far too many presents, for Christmas AND Hanukkah, asks "is that all?" Maybe that's all kids, maybe some are just more vocal about it.

I'm a child of divorce, and glad of it. My parents have remarried and since had younger kids, so Christmas is still a huge deal, and it's doubled. My stepfather's Jewish enough to say a prayer over a Menorah, so every year I get $5 a night for Hanukkah. So, a lovely 40 bag will result from my reverence for Judaism.

My Christmas List included the following:

1. Socks, the preferred cuisine of my building's devious dryer machine.

2. Camera film and Batteries.

3. TOILET PAPER, in bulk. Not a joke, this is extremely important.

4. Toiletries. This is not as strange as it sounds, because my mother has counted these items as stocking stuffers for years now. Toothbrushes, razors, acne medication...

5. Underwear. Better yet, THONGS. Also not so unusual, for the very same reason mentioned in #4.

6. A printer. This will likely be the customary "big present" from my dad. I'm so excited. With this, I will avoid the horror of getting up early before class to wait on line at the swarming NYU printing lab. Of course, if this thing breaks, or ever needs new ink cartridges or anything like that, I'm very screwed.

7. An electric kettle. These are excellent! My ex-roommate had one, so that counts for at least one thing I miss about my ex-roommate. My current tea kettle is dank.

8. Blank cd's and dvd's.

9. I've been very tempted to ask my mother to buy me a carton of cigarettes and call it a day, but I don't feel like talking to her.

10. A new Brita filter, also extremely dank and often forgotten and empty in our refrigerator.


Here's how I plan to spend the money collected from 92837598273598745 relatives:

1. January Rent and Utilities!

2. A handyvac, to better deal with the cigarette ash that is so attracted to my area rug.

3. A really excellent reading light.

4. Books, EXTRACURRICULAR ones.

5. Herbal supplements, which by the way, are perfectly legal in Massachusetts.

I expect that at some point, I'll be too old for Christmas presents. At least, not in excess. I'll start getting a single cashmere sweater, a scarf, maybe a watch.

When I was a teenager, my dad started buying me self-help books for Christmas. Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul, and the like. I think this was his way of saying "Aren't you supposed to be more visibly fucked up and rebellious? I'm not sure how to address your occasional bitchiness, maybe it's a sign of some undetectable manic depression that I myself am prone to. I can't tell you that you won't find a job on Wall Street without a college diploma, so let these people talk at you."

When I'm 40, still single, and surrounded by my little family of French bulldogs, I suspect this giftie may recur.
Chicken Soup for the Spinster Soul.

Here I am, a woman of fortitude and conviction.