Christmas Decompression

I'm one of those people who likes Christmas, as long as it's contained in the appropriate time frame. What I mean is, I hate when Christmas gets cheapened by department stores putting up displays and gifts after (or even before) Halloween. I'm a "one holiday at a time" kind of girl-- that way, I can stay focused. Or something like that.

I listened to Christmas music almost all day, every day when one of the stations dropped its normal soft rock rotation for a 24/7 holiday blitz. I came to realize that I really dislike The Little Drummer Boy and that I really like the classic version of Here Comes Santa Claus. I also came to realize that there are too many of us who believe that Christmas is ruined if a gift is out of stock or doesn't arrive in time.

I'm not sure if I ever felt dependent on a must-have gift on my Christmas list. I have many "would absolutely love you forever if you got this for me" items, don't get me wrong, and maybe it's just part of being grown-up, but I'd much rather spend time baking or eating food or playing cards or going on sleigh rides.

And even though I love getting in the Christmas spirit, I wasn't bummed that my parents' house wasn't bursting at the seams with decorations. My mom apologized to me at one point, and I told her that it meant much more just to be home for the holiday. She also apologized for us not having that many presents, but it's hard to get sheer volume under the tree when several things are true: 1. It's only my mom, dad, and me in our household, and 2. Our wishlists are fairly concise (and sometimes boring).

Anyway, I suppose what I'm trying to say is, yeah, toys are great, but time with family and friends make my holidays now. I spent a full day with my parents and our family friends, then spent the day after Christmas with my boyfriend and his family. His family usually celebrates Christmas near my hometown, which works out quite nicely.

Cameron took me on a sleigh ride while I was up in Leavenworth, and that was great. We glided across the snowy (yes, even though it was icy, old snow, it still counts) ground, with bells jingling on the horses and afternoon sunshine peeking over the mountains. I'd say it was picturesque, but more so than that, it was a very eastern Washington winter day.

Even more awesome: there were several cute dogs running around at the sleigh riding place, and I got to pet all of them. Yes, that's a highlight. Oh, and the hot cider. That was tasty, too.

But all good things come to an end. My bus ride home was miserable. The heat was on too high, and everyone around me smelled awful-- bad breath, unshowered, whatever it was, it was enough to give me a headache. It's enough to make me never want to travel during peak times again.

I also learned that you should always listen to your mother. Once I told her I was safe back in Seattle, she told me to get some rest. I instead decided to wash the dishes. Well, that ended poorly-- I broke another glass (third one in a week) and cut my arm on a shard. It was deep enough for me to call Cameron and ask him, "So... at what point does a person need to get stitches?" It wasn't bad enough for that, but it's probably the worst cut I've had in recent memory.

To top it off, all I wanted to do tonight was watch Up (thanks, Cammie, for the DVD) and drink hot cocoa. I saved enough milk for cereal tomorrow and poured a bunch into a mug. As my clumsiness would have it, I knocked over the mug when I got it out of the microwave. I spent the next while cleaning up the table (and floor) and microwave, and then I decided I was going to give up for now.

So, here I am. Decompressing from the holiday cheer and the bummer of a day today was. At least this coming week is a short one for me-- one of my best friends is getting married, and I'm a bridesmaid. It will be my first time as a bridesmaid since I was in 8th grade.

For now, take it easy. I'm off to hopefully not destroy everything I touch.

Wisdom Tooth Adventure

I'm back in Seattle after spending Thursday night til this afternoon in East Wenatchee. I had all four wisdom teeth taken out, and whoo-boy, was that fun.

I got laughing gas for the first time ever. I tried really hard to continue to make sense while the nurses prepped me and talked to me. I think I did an okay job, although I might have lost them when I started to talk about the multi-line phone program I have at work. They also gave me an anti-nausea medication through the IV, so there was no puking-- thanks, Cameron, for that scare. So, that was nice.

Back to the laughing gas.

I didn't think I was getting terribly sleepy or light-headed until all of the nurses, except one, left the room. Have you ever been taking a test and suddenly remembered something absolutely hilarious? And you obviously weren't in a setting where you could tell someone else what was funny or even laugh out loud? That was the feeling I got, only there was no joke or specific incident. I controlled myself enough not to burst out laughing or tell the nurse that something (and I don't know what) was really funny.

After that, I think I just closed my eyes and fell asleep for most of the procedure. The doctor, Dr. Collins, told me beforehand that even if I woke up, I would be in a place where I didn't care what was happening. I was skeptical, but it proved true. I woke up somewhere between the second or third tooth, and I was aware of everyone talking and some poking and prodding going on. I don't remember many specifics because, like the doctor said, I just didn't care. I couldn't feel anything anyway.

I do recall the crew moving on to the final tooth: the sideways impacted lower left tooth. I remember some noise and prodding, and then the doctor saying, "...we're going to have to go in at a different angle." Thanks, tooth. When I looked in the mirror later in the afternoon, I noticed the left corner of my lip was busted up. I wonder why.

After the procedure, most of the operating team left. They took me off the gas, and I slowly regained consciousness (uh, sort of). The entire time, soothing piano music was playing, so it was kind of like I woke up during a dream sequence (that doesn't make sense, but whatever). When I left the office, a nurse and my 90-year-old father helped me out the door (that's just funny).

I spent the next several hours unable to talk, since the entire lower half of my mouth was numb. I watched Pirates of the Caribbean and tried to drink some juice. I say "tried" because the first attempt ended with half the juice on my sweatshirt. The rest of the day went like this: ice, couch, mashed potatoes, and TV.

Saturday went more like this: Vicodin, TV, 5-hour nap, and hang-out time with Tanja. We got DQ Blizzards (om nom nom), went to Hastings and Macy's, and got some potato snacks at Shari's. I chose potato pancakes; she got baked potato skins. Yay for carbs.

Sunday was a bit more exciting. I went to Old Navy and Target with my mom, and I picked up some new shirts and a set of flannel sheets. Score! Then I plopped down on the couch and watched the all-day Man v. Food marathon.

Yesterday, I watched more TV (duh) and eventually drove myself to Wenatchee. I went to Kinko's and finished copying some material for grad school applications. Afterward, I tried a new restaurant, Spring Lotus, because I was craving pho. It was excellent, and I drove home with warm soup belly (HIMYM fans, you feel me on that one?).

That brings me to today. Went to a post-op check-up, took a nap, packed up, and got on the bus back to the west side. I apparently conked out somewhere before Stevens Pass and woke up in Gold Bar. Then I drove home to Seattle and did some grocery shopping. Mundane, but necessary.

Anyway. It's time for soup and mashed potatoes. And ice cream. Oh, how I love thee, ice cream.

Moral of the story: Painkillers make me sleepy. And I love potatoes. Is that good enough? I have no insight for you, sorry.

All About Flannel

Nah. That would be way too boring.

I generally dislike winter. Sure, snow's pretty to look at, and sometimes I even go snowboarding or sledding, but other than that, snow/ice/cold cramps my style. I'm a summer girl; I feel and look better in the summer. It's this simple fact that causes me to miss my Wenatchee summers. 90 degrees during the day! Tank top weather at night! Now that's summer weather-- none of this 70-degree, wussy stuff I've been living with for the past four years.

When fall and winter sneak back, I find myself struggling with clothing choices. I'm proud to say I expanded my cold weather wardrobe last year, and I'm continuing to do so. It's almost to the point where I look good a majority of the time. That also means I have a lot of boots. I never thought I would be a person with a boot fetish, but I have a tub of boots now. It's my treasure chest.

I suppose winter (note: I keep referring to fall and winter as just "winter." Take that, cold weather.) does give me an excuse to snuggle up in blankets. I have an electric blanket, and it's heavenly.

This post really has little direction, so I'll end my rambling with just a few more thoughts.

One: There was frost on my car last night. Not. Cool.

Two: A dear friend's wedding took place yesterday. It was so much fun-- everything about the day made me smile. (And there were funfetti cupcakes.)

Three: Flannel sheets are awesome. I'm totally buying myself another set from Target when the ridiculous holiday prints come out.