I'm Drinking Christmas.

No, seriously. Christmas. In my mouth.

Back in my late teens, my good friend Haley and I would go to a lot of scene kid parties. Our drink of choice was oftentimes "Christmas." Basically we'd just buy a half-gallon of chocolate milk, dump a lot of it on the lawn outside of the party and fill the container up with Ice 101 or Peppermint Schnapps.

Classy, I know.

I'm older now (23, in fact), but I still enjoy a mug of Christmas. The boyfriend and I are drinking chocolate soymilk and peppermint schnapps, out of his pretty gold cracked-foil tea mugs. Eighteen or nineteen seems so long ago sometimes, though it was only a few years. He's organizing his bell jars while soaking asian energy drink bottles for an art project.

Yes, we are adults now.

(But not really.)

It's been a week since Thanksgiving, but the green bean casserole in the oven doesn't know that, so we aren't going to tell him. I bet by now he knows that we used soymilk instead of real milk... He'll just have to get over how runny he is. Its like he's adopted or something, geez.

Also, fakebeef stroganoff is bubbling on the stove. My hetero life partner is a vegetarian, so we crumbled up some Morning Star sausage pattie things and sauteed them with onion and mushrooms. Red onions because the yellow onion we had on hand has started to grow significantly. I'm talking half a foot of growth here, people.

Of course, instead of throwing it out, the boyfriend ran downstairs and planted it. Weirdo. It's one of the things I love about him though. He gets excited about the dumbest shit, running about like a chicken with its head cut off, sorting through his collection of Polaroid cameras, organizing his back issues of GQ by month.

We are some strange, strange people. Oh well.

Happy Christmas!

When Will I Sleep Grown Up Hours?

Dear Sleep Schedule,

Consider yourself fucked.

Regards, Work.

It's five in the morning, I got home at about 3:45 a.m. I got promoted, and have taken over inventory at work. Combine that with a midnight showing of Twilight: Breaking Dawn Part 1, and you get a ten and a half hour shift, filled with numbers and shouting at grown ass women for running through our halls to get good seats.

Oh, I work at a movie theatre, so you know. And yes, it's "theatre." Cause we're pretentious. Largest screen in North America with a working curtain, Egyptian marble, and the highest grossing IMAX theatre last holiday season. How do you like them apples?

Blah, blah, work, blah. I'm sure no one cares. But the sun will come up soon, and I'll be sitting here staring at cooking blogs and yearning for darkness and normalcy.

So here are the things:

First off, I'm finally reaching out to fellow ICT knitters for help on my holiday yarn bomb. I've been planning this for like two years. Our downtown is covered in random statues of people and animals. I just want to blanket them in knitted goodies. So, I'm taking the proper steps, and hopefully, December 2012 will bring about a wonderful Christmas wonderland of yarn and warmth. With a political undertone of raising awareness for the homeless of Wichita, because that's something I'm passionate about.

Secondly, Julie, the writer of one of my favorite knitting blogs is pregnant. It sounds creepy because I don't know her personally, but my oldest friend is expecting and I'm excited for all the baby knits she'll have on her blog. The little bundle of joy is named Temperance Paige, which is no random choosing, as my name is Paige. I'm going to be the best fake-aunt ever, and cover this child in stitches of love and awesomeness.

Okay, let it be said, I'm on glass three of wine. So there's that.

Thirdly... Do I have a thirdly? Is that even a word?

Fuck it. Thirdly, it's almost Thanksgiving. Being on the lowest end of the managerial totem pole, I'll have to work that day. But I'm still excited, because it means poor people food. Food with a poor people background is the shit. Stuffing and ham and mo-fucking corn and hawaiian rolls and awesomeness. I love holiday food.

Fourthly (yeah, I'm rollin' with it), The Boyfriend has never had green bean casserole. Really? How? We live in the Midwest, which is Casserole Country. I must introduce him to this awesome poor people dish, complete with fried onions. So good.

I'm going to stop here because I'm convinced Fifthly is not a word. I'll try to cling to sleep now. And do it all over again tomorrow.

So it goes.