Last night, Gray picked me up at the apartment and we headed off to see the Christmas House. I will post about that tomorrow, because it was KILLER and totally deserves it's very own post. Plus, we're going back to the Christmas house to see Santa tomorrow night.
Anyhoodle, after stopping at the Christmas house (which is responsible for the tiny glimmer of holiday spirit I seem to have found), we went to try a Chinese place called Asian Hon, which came recommended by one of the Non-sucky friends. I have a great weakness for Chinese food, and I've been searching high and low (not really, I've just been hoping really hard that an egg roll will fall into my lap) for a great place close to our apartment. This place, Asian Hon? OH MY GOD I'M IN SO MUCH TROUBLE BECAUSE THEY DELIVER AND THEY ARE FREAKING SO DELICIOUS. So thank you Tolz for that spot-on recommendation. You are officially hired as my Food Scout, for which you will be paid nothing but my undying love and affection. You're welcome and Congratulations.
My fortune cookie said, "Be prepared to modify your plan. It'll be good for you!" I'm suspicious of this fortune for two reasons: 1) I've never heard an Asian person make a contraction from the words "it" and "will" and 2) I'm leery of anything that sounds so unpleasant by itself that they have to tack an adage about how great that sounds-bad thing will really be if you just give it a chance. I'm hoping this fortune is NOT referring to my plan to drink lots of beer on Christmas Eve.
Well, it looks like Gray and I have decided to quit smoking. Again. If you'll recall, we quit smoking in August when we learned I'd been impregnated. It was easy for me as the person physically responsible for our spawn's health and wellbeing, but Gray didn't have too much trouble kicking the habit. Then, in October when the stress bomb fucking blew, I started smoking again and Gray was hot on my trail. Several times since, he's bemoaned the decision to light up again, and I often hear him mumbling under his breath about how he needs to quit again.
I realized yesterday morning that I hadn't had a cigarette (or even thought about it) since Friday night. So I counted in my head and found that three days had passed and I hadn't had one craving. Hmmm. Maybe I should just quit? You know, since the worst of the withdrawls and cravings generally happen in the first three days anyway...Yeah, I guess I'm just going to quit. So I threw out my half-pack and that was that. I still haven't wanted one, which is odd because it's reminiscent of my pregnancy-induced quitting. Except I can assure you quite readily that I am not pregnant.
Ok, so here's the main reason for my post today - a picture of me as a baby sitting in Santa's lap - let's see, born in April, so I was about 8 months old in this photo:
I found the photo last week in a box of other childhood pictures, and I kept going back to look at it again. Something seemed...amis. First of all, you will all note that my attire is about as far away from Christmasy as you could possibly get. It's not warm, it's not holiday themed, it's not even holiday COLORED. It's more appropriate for Easter. That's because we lived in Bellflower, California when I was little. It was probably 85 degrees and sunny outside. Californians have a strange sense of style. Mystery solved. But...no, something else doesn't seem...quite right....let's look closer:
Is it me, or does Santa look...like a drunken crack whore? Look at the big circles COMPLETELY SURROUNDING his eyes! Look at the grimace! He's clearly one of the worst Santa's in the history of Shopping Mall Santas. How could my parents stick their innocent 8-month-old, first-born on the lap of this derelict?
Oh no! It gets worse! Take a closer look at the first picture....you'll notice this was not taken in any shopping mall. It looks like someone taped up a piece of red felt in front of a doorway IN THEIR HOME, pulled a drunk hobo off the street, stuck him in a rented costume, and put me on his lap.
I am so bringing this to the attention of my psychiatrist - this photo could be the key that will unravel the mystery that is me.