Holiday Cheer

It's just a week away from Christmas Oh Nine and I'm unloading provisions I bought at the grocery store in preparation for the Patterson Family Expedition . This year it might be a little tricky. There's snow in them thar hills. The fam has booked a seven bedroom cabin in Gatlinburg for this holiday week-end and we intend to eat and drink until we all but puke. But first we have to get to the cabin. We'll see.
I have to unpack my bag to pack my bag because I just rolled in from Bristol, where last night I was inducted into the Yahoo's at their festive, alcohol-ridden, finger food orgy of a Christmas party. I'll try to share parts of that experience without giving away any back-alley, cloak and dagger, I'd-tell-you-but-then-I'd-have-to-kill-you secrets of the Yahoo's. I don't think they'd mind if I say that all fourteen women in attendance arrived carrying (or in some cases wearing) :
1. A Christmas hat (for the secret ceremony)
2. An appetizer to share
3. A gift to exchange
4. A favorite adult beverage to sip or guzzle, no one judged

The hats. They ranged from a billowy feathered chapeau (the most glamourous by far) to a modified commode seat (one of the most creative) to a decorated headband that had what looked to be glued-on aspirins and nerve pills among the other festive bling (the most apropros). Note to self: get a little more "out there" with my hat decorations next year - anything goes.
The appetizers. The "spread" included every dip that has ever been invented (they were all delish) and every kind of cracker or other "dipper" to go with it. Note to self: bring a dessert next year.
The gifts. This is really when you get to know people - a dirty Christmas gift exchange. There were three gifts that were the most popular, and by most popular I mean they were "stolen" at least three times (the limit in this case): a fancy apron, a fancy scarf, and some fancy crystal ornaments. Note to self: buy something fancy next year, so that my gift will be in the popular crowd.
The adult beverages. I was fine until I had to do the tequila shot during my induction ceremony and that's all I can really say about that. Note to self: either champagne or tequila...but never both.

Wampum

I'm no longer a virgin. After years of saying, "I don't know, I've never been there," when asked about the gambling in Cherokee, I finally broke down and made the trip over the mountain to the Indian casino. Here's what I have to say about it: its a casino. A wasteland of slot machines. The poker tables are electronic, i.e., not real. No cards in the air. I sat and played for hours. I didn't win, but I enjoyed myself. Actually, I did win the first night, but I went back the next day and gave it all back. I will make another "run" one day to rescue my money. And to eat some more delicious "tribal" baked chicken at their big ol' buffet. I think it was made from a secret recipe of herbs and spices handed down from an old Indian woman many moons ago, along with really good mac and cheese. Damn, that bitch could cook.

Good Ole Rocky Top

For the past few days (since PhillyTwo moved back in) I've had these familiar "Rocky Top" lyrics running through my head, and I think I know why. I've been giving up closet and drawer space like I'm the clueless guy who lets his girlfriend move in, thinking "how much room can one sexy, little baby doll need?" The answer is, of course, all of it. In this case it's my daughter who's pushing me out of my roomy existence, and back to the more familiar "cramped up city life", and like a good mother, I let her. I did get to enjoy maybe a year and a half of stretching my stuff out into the spare bedroom closets before she moved back in and staked her claim. I admit it. I had shoes and clothes in three different rooms. It was every woman's dream. But not anymore. I'm back to being as squished as the passenger in the middle seat on an airplane. Don't get me wrong. I love having her here. I just wish I could have kept a few of my drawers. But while she's singing, "You'll always be, home sweet home to me!" I'm singing, "It's a pity life can't be simple again."