Something

I got to go home for Christmas, which I suppose, in a lot of ways makes me fairly happy. I brought along Wayne so we can, again, display our highly dysfunctional relationship to my family, friends and assorted loved ones still stuck in the void I call home. Aren't the holidays great?

He mentions on Christmas Eve that before we started fighting and Lesli became the obnoxious nuisance that she still is, he was planning to buy me a ring. I had by that point finished off a litre of cheap wine and was spending most of my remaining brain power just trying to focus on his face (since when do noses casually float in the middle of a forehead?), but it occurs now that I was making a fairly large deal out of Mom's new diamond ring from dad all night. My mother has so much 'frosting' that it's a wonder she hasn't been robbed 3 times over by now, but I've always said, with a certain amount of conviction, that my brothers had both better marry women who appreciate large yellow gold diamond rings, because I have no use for them. Well the new ring is no less LARGE than the rest, but it does seem more aesthetically pleasing to my untrained eye than the formers.

He did ask, fairly casually I might add, what my ring size was, and my mom and I debated for about 5 minutes on whether or not my grad ring, which currently resides on my opposite ring finger, is a 7 or 8. I was drunk though, not born yesterday. Men are so silly when they're trying not to be obvious.

Anyway, back to that. So I was going to get a ring. I mean, I had a fairly good idea. We ARE living together, we DO profess to be in love, and well, before I realized what a life-sucking waste of skin Dawn was, we HAD gone out for drinks one night with Wayne when he told her in the strictest confidence and, she of course being WHO SHE IS, can't keep a secret.

Well, after he told me that I got the warmest, most fuzzy feeling inside, but that may have just been the wine, and I felt so deeply in love (may also have been the wine), and felt really, well, horny (definitely a combination of the wine and a lifelong insatiability for all things sexual).

So Christmas morning was nice, except for having a happy, psychotic, slightly overweight and very impatient 12 year old pounce on my head to wake me up at 9 am. Wine headaches are not pretty, neither are ones induced by both wine and head trauma.

Groggily descend the stairs, start in on the 6 scratch and win tickets in my stocking (resulting in 6 festive, bright-colored bookmarks!), back up the stairs for morning nicotine, and back downstairs to open up gifts.

Well.. the good news is that if I wasn't irritating enough with my 3 current cameras, I now have another to annoy everyone with! Fantastically good news.. too bad my dog is the only one that ever seems to enjoy being captured, while everyone else seems to react like African Aborigines who think I'm stealing their souls.

And a promise from Wayne.. he's paying for my tattoo.. *blissful sigh* Fabulous.