Nightmares of Yesteryear's Stale Gingerbread...

Hello, friends! I do hope that you've been well, I suppose that I have. I've been meaning to sit down and post a few thoughts on this blog of mine for a good week or two, and now that I sit down in Espresso Royale, cappuccino and laptop in hand, I find that I've really startlingly little to say. I guess that isn't so startling after all, though. Christmas is fast approaching, and although I'm reminded of it every time I use the internet, turn on the radio, or enter the grocery store, I guess I'm still in denial about it. I love Christmas, I actually do. In fact, I love nearly everything about Christmas. I like parties and friends and relatives who I don't see often enough. I even like Christmas music, in moderation. I guess now I'm just getting into my annual gift anxiety stage, where I have yet to complete any fraction of my Christmas shopping. My Christmas shopping ritual tends to be about the same every year, a mind-numbing experience of not knowing what I'm looking for when I leave to go to the store (or stores), and then (predictably) not finding it. The root of the problem might even be something truly depressing. Perhaps I don't know the ones I love well enough to be able to pick out good gifts for them. Anyways, since some of them might (by chance, or perhaps stemming from an overdeveloped sense of loyalty) read this post, and I don't want anyone to think that I'm trying to play the martyr card ("you have no idea how hard it was for me to pick out that gift you don't like"), I'm probably better off apologizing for being overly indecisive. I'm sorry.
Moving along, Reens and I set up the Christmas tree last night, that was fun. It turns out that my Type-A sister has a method for doing just about everything, including wrapping lights around the branches of the Christmas tree just right. Or else. She's funny. I also got to hear various fecetious repetitions of the phrase "It must be nice living with a man," which apparently has been said to her about us living together by various people, much to her amusement. I can't figure out what exactly people mean by saying it, to be honest. I mean, it's me. I'm not exactly Mr. Fix-It. I'm taller than Reens, but I think that's about all I've got on her. She's better at fixing stuff and owns her own tools. Nobody says "must be nice living with women" to me, expecting that they do my laundry and cook for me, although to be fair, my sister sometimes takes pity on me eating my crappy bachelor food and offers me something resembling nourishment. Ok, I've babbled enough for one post. I wish you all well, do take care.