Christmas roundup

Facts:

1) My family is totes cute when they're not criticizing my love for Barack Obama.

2) My grandmother is totes cute even when she IS criticizing my love for Barack Obama, in her favorite Christmas sweater.

3) My dad is totes cute, unconditionally.

4) My brother and I are way too rad for reality.  The addition of Daisy the Border Collie makes this snapshot mind-blowingly rad.

5) The fact that my mother bought me a harmonica for Christmas is also mind blowingly rad.

We've made a decision

After much heated debate about our post-New Years long-weekend destination, we kind of surprised ourselves and went with .... 

Barcelona!  I know, right?  Bit left field.  But I started thinking about Gaudi and the beach and not being in cold gray London and it just became apparent that I needed to trick Adam into wanting to go too.  Luckily, I think his (eventual) enthusiasm for the idea is (now) wholehearted and we have already planned a Kate v. Adam Street Photography Deathmatch.  I will win.  What I cannot guarantee is a victory in the battle of Kate v. Catalan because my romance-language brain can get behind Spanish, but "si us plau?"  Not so much.  One last highlight, especially for me, Ms. Christmas, is that Spaniards typically don't give gifts on Christmas Day, but instead on January 6th, Three Kings Day.  The night before, there is a huge celebration as the three kings arrive by boat to Barcelona and parade throughout the town.  Kings throw candy, kids get gifts.  We will be there and I will be giddy. 

  

And I'm thinking as I type this "Whose life IS this?" because 90% of the time, lately, my life just seems totally surreal.  It's nice though to feel the need to pinch yourself every now and again, just to check.

I've somehow lucked out.  Though I'd say my most lucky acquisition is a traveling partner who makes traveling even better than traveling.  A keeper.

   

Merry Christmas to Me!

I broke down and bought my camera last night.  Yay!  And for the record, I'm working three nights' worth of overtime to afford it.  WORTH IT.

Eureka!

You know, sometimes writing is a special kind of torture.  Those times when you can actually visualize the roadblock in your thought process but can't manage to get it out of the way?  When you start editing your words before they've even hit the page?  When everything you write makes you sound like you've the charisma of a friggin' piece of toast?  Those are the best times.

I've been entrenched in the world's worst (and most inconvenient) case of writer's block this past week.  Every time I sat down to answer the question "Why are you applying for this degree?" I was paralyzed with indecision.  I know why I want to do what I want to do, but I couldn't draw a connection between my past and my future.  

And then, all of the sudden, fifteen minutes ago, the clouds parted etc. etc. and it became completely simple.  Sublimely simple.  Now I can't stop writing.  It's GOOD.  I sound like, you know, a serious candidate!  Sweet relief!  

More to come.

HALLELUJAH. 

barry hussein

So remember a few weeks ago when i was complaining about this? Well, I was actually so annoyed that I fired off a snarky (but well argued) email to the event coordinator complaining about how impractical it is to ask "Generation Obama" for $100 ... two weeks before Christmas. I'm generally not this confrontational, I swear, but maybe I will be from now on because it totally paid off. Now I'm volunteering for the event, going for free and have a good chance of meeting the good Senator as a result. The historian in me has officially classified this as "BIG DEAL, A."

22 days!

Telling

Email exchange with Adam this morning: A: "Hey, your boyfriend's on the Drudge homepage." (I look at Drudge homepage) K: "Which one, Ahmadinejad or Obama?" A: "Brian Williams." K: "Oh THAT one!" Eccentric? Demented? I know not the best description for my taste in men. What really needs to be said here, though, is that this whole conversation started today because I woke up from a very vivid dream this morning in which Brian Williams traveled to my house to hang out where I proceeded to try and get him in the sack. Unfortunately he was not amused and hit on my sister instead. And the best part? We got to my house on a very special, hidden "Reporters' Railroad" with golden cars, available only to very special journalists. Brian was happy to give me a (non-sexy) lesson about the history of the rail cars for some reason, but was still partial to hitting on my sister instead of me. Part of me was not bothered, though, because in-my-dream Brian Williams was kind of a frat boy. I'm holding out for real life Brian Williams, who instead likes dogs, spray tans and his adorable elderly father. And is totes sexy and into me.