7-Dec-2005

Holy crap!  By my usually wrong calculations, Christmas is less than three weeks away.  In fact, I'd say it's not a stretch to call it two and a half.  I have got to get crackin' on this whole shopping thing.  Plus, the Designated Driver has promised Iplish and I a tree, complete with ornaments, lights, and the potential for apartment fires.  Granted, Iplish will only be around for about twenty-four hours of said arbor enjoyment, but I for one plan to spend the rest of the month curled up under the tree with the cats and a bourbon-saturated mug of egg nog.  Of course, this portrait of holiday perfection will be ruined when Peter starts humping Max, a sight that curbs even my enjoyment of the Tim Allen Christmas movies we will have running on a loop beginning this weekend.  Never let it be said that the girls at 1635 lack holiday cheer. 

In other news, the Tennis Pro was more than happy to accept my invitation to the office party.  I promised him filet mignon and karaoke.  Guys are so easy sometimes...