Yuletide Observations

Call me a scrooge, but I hate white Christmases. I like warm, sunny, bright Christmases. The kind of Christmases that make people say, "Wow, it really is a warm one this year." White Christmases mean cold Christmases. And the cold makes me cry like a girl who didn't get asked to prom.

I ran into my buddy Scotty here in St. Louis. I hadn't seen him in years. We took a cab out to the east side to visit some fine strip clubs and Scotty ditched me. Now, he paid for the cab on the way there and I was supposed to pay for it on the way back. And he left me alone in a strip club (my element) so I wasn't mad at him. (No harm, no foul.) But well, I've got the keys to his rental car and Scotty hasn't gotten in touch with me (or anyone in his family) since. So I'm dying to know two things: one, how fast can a Pontiac G6 go? And two, what the hell happened to Scotty?

I dare any of you readers to try to get through the holiday season eating only forty-eight grams of fat a day. It's like doing calculus without a calculator. Im?freaking?possible.

I hate malls. That's it. No joke and no rant. I just fucking hate them.

I went to Church Sunday (Mom's a minister) and I learned that just about every week in Church, my mother mentions me. Yet she still hasn't mentioned this fine website to her congregation. Gee, I wonder why.

Really though, where the hell is Scotty?

Writing at my parents' house always feels a little weird. Kind of like switching condom brands for a night. Okay, maybe that was a bad analogy, but I'm on vacation here. Cut me some slack.

Sunday after church, my brother and sister and I went up to my dad's favorite bar, where they let him in the kitchen to make his famous chili, then handed him the remote to set up all the games on all the televisions. Ladies and gentlemen, these are my roots. Rest assured that I come by my personality honestly.

And finally, because logic and fluidity are adjusting to the turning radius of a Pontiac G6, I leave you with the following, which my friend Jermaine told me in a Tampa airport bar:

"The problem with airports is that so many people use them."

Labels: observations

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