How Christmassy, exactly, am I supposed to be feeling? Is there some sort of Suggested Timeline of Appropriate Christmassy Sentiment that someone can send me as a PDF?
So have you been wondering what's become of my ear? You know, the one that just fell apart in my hand and made for some pretty gross and yet fascinating photography? So funny you should ask! Because today I had it sewn up and it was SUCH a blast. Anyone need any Percocet by the way? Because I have a prescription for 50.
My siblings and I have pretty much always been scattered across the world. I was 11 when I left Hong Kong, where my family was living at the time, to attend boarding school in England (oh trust me, we are going to have SO MUCH FUN with that in another post.
There are three pieces of advice I've been given in my life that have seemed to stick with me. The first was from my friend Ellen, with whom I lived in The Coldest House In London during university, weathering such everyday hurdles as the male flatmate who left his forest-green underpants to dry in full view on the radiator and disappeared into the (communal) bathroom for hours at a time with the collected works of Ezra Pound. Oh, he was a sweet boy really, a little dorky but ultimately harmless.
There's something about me you should know: I don't trust other people's mashed potatoes. It's possible there's some deep and complex pyschological issue behind this, but I think it's more likely that I just refuse to believe that anyone else could be as dedicated as I am to the task of making sure that ALL the lumps are gone from the finished product. As such, you'll never catch me ordering mashed potatoes in a restaurant or partaking of them voluntarily if they're on the table at a communal gathering.
So if you'd needed a kidney yesterday, I would totally have given you one. Not because we're super best friends or anything (although we are! right?) but because yesterday I was at the point where I would gladly have CARVED OUT MY RIGHT ONE WITH THE PLASTIC SPOON I ATE MY OATMEAL WITH, just to get it out of my body. It was hurting, you see. Well, something was hurting---I sort of assumed it was one of my kidneys, because there are no other major organs lurking in that area (are there?
The other day my sister told me that she didn't like the picture of me at the top of this site. She said---and I quote---"it looks like your nose is dripping off your face."
Here in Charleston, we're a little bit behind when it comes to the Swanky Fancy Gym Department. (And yes, that is its official name, though it's possible, of course, that you may also have heard it referred to as the Holy Crap, I'm Not Paying That Much Every Month Just To Have a Personal TV On My Treadmill Department, which is its alternate name in many parts of the country.) I suppose the thinking is that we Charlestonians will get our cardio by chasing each other through the cobblestoned streets or doing some vigorous bell-ringing in one of our eight million churches.