The Greezmaz Season

'Tis the Season

With Thanksgiving out of the way, Christmas was in with a vengeance, and thus began the parties. The entire month of December was go-go-go! Parties, eating, cleaning, parties, eating, drinking, parties, eating. My mother and sister were coming to L.A. for Christmas and my anxiety/preparation levels were on the rise as usual. I was going into "everything has to be perfect mode" as soon as Thanksgiving was out of the way.

The 12 Drinks of Christmas

The parties kicked off Monday December 3rd when Adam S. and I accompanied Robert to the AFI Holiday Party at the Geisha House in Hollywood. While it is misleading, there are no geisha at the Geisha House, instead diners get pan-Asian cuisine and expensive drinks. Ashton Kutcher is an investor in this restaurant, and while it is quite beautiful, I hate that Japanese culture has been so man-handled and "hip/sexified" in such a stupid, "exotic" way. Anyway, the AFI Holiday party had a free open bar so I wasn't complaining. We arrived at 7:30 and Andrew was already drunk. Adam and I sucked down a few drinks and mingled a little bit. I was really glad he came along because I never really have tons-o'-fun at these AFI shin-digs. I'm not one to poo-poo free booze, but the students at AFI remind me of Junior High cliques, not MFA students. And mind you, some of these people are old. Adam suggested that it was a class difference; most of these kids (by kids I mean 23 - 35) weren't paying the 100K price tag for their education. Others had never had real jobs. Maybe it was that they seemed happy in a way that my bitter loan-paying ass can't comprehend. Adam expressed some jealousy and disdain, but I reminded him that nothing is guaranteed--not even for kids plopping down 100K to be a producer/director/writer at the top school in the country for it. Don't get me wrong, the students at AFI have all be quite nice; they don't come across as stuck up or aloof. They just seem immature and unaware of the struggles of those of us that live in the real world, that is the world outside the bubble of arty major grad school. Maybe the best way to describe the AFI crew is through this example: Thanksgiving 2005 I was at an AFI gathering and after the meal we played "never have I ever." Understand? That's all I have to say about that.
Rob and Andrew got pretty drunk, and Adam and I left the party early. We stopped at Subway, then chatted in my apartment for awhile afterwards. Events like these make you think about the different ways to get were you want to go when you're an artist. There's no set path and nothing is guaranteed. Some of us struggle more than others. It's easy to look at your neighbor and want some of what they have, but the thing to remember is that we've all only just begun and who knows where any of us will end.

The Northwestern

Tuesday night was the Northwestern Holiday Party as thrown by the Northwestern Alumni Association. It was a co-Holiday party for Michigan State, University of Texas (Austin), and Yale. You had to RSVP for this party, which I didn't do, and for weeks leading up to the party we kept getting emails about how sold out! the event was and how no one else could get tickets. Sarah Peters and I wanted to go, and Aaron said Jason S. could get us in since he was on the board or something. I headed over to Sarah's and had a gin and tonic while she got ready. John Ross arrived at the apartment with Greg Pietrowski. Greg, an NU theater alum, had just relocated from NYC to L.A. John laughed at how concerned Sarah and I were about getting into the NU party and swore up and down that no one would be there; it didn't matter when we showed up or with who. He said he went the previous year and it was a joke. Sarah and I didn't quite believe him. John and Greg rode to the party with Ariel while Sarah and I left to meet up with Aaron and Jason outside the party. Our goal for the evening was to meet some nice Yale doctors.

The NU party was held at Sunset Beach, this restaurant/bar in West Hollywood on the Sunset Strip. The thing is, Sunset Beach is also the name of this terrible daytime soap opera by Aaron Spelling that used to air on NBC after Days years and years ago. My sister Alison and I used to watch it with our best friend Erin who lived up the street. One of classic moments was a character being impregnated with a turkey baster, but I digress. So yeah, while this bar was beautiful it also seemed about as douchey as that soap. As usual John Ross was right, we walked right into the party. There were lists, and I did provide my name, but I'm not sure what the system was because I know my name wasn't on any list and I sure wasn't turned away from this sold out! event. There were also no Yale doctors to be seen--about 90% of the people there were NU alums and most of them from 2006! That's the beautiful irony of these things: the jobless kids go to network and the older successful people who have jobs to give don't touch these events with a ten foot poll. The other thing about these events is that there's never an open bar. They had "special cocktails" for each school instead. University of Texas, Michigan, and Yale all had cool drinks. "The Northwestern" was a raspberry martini--purple and effeminate, much like many of my experiences at old ivy. "The Northwestern" was also $9! Overpriced, much like my college education. Zing! Sarah and I each had one drink (because that's all that we could afford), and then we laughed and yucked it up like one is supposed to at these types of events. Good thing we'd pre-partied. What recent alum has the money to get drunk on $9 purple martinis? To be festive and fierce I'd worn my purple blazer and big purple beads. Some dumb chick in the bathroom asked me if I was a lawyer--you know because lawyers wear big necklaces and blazers. It was a weird evening, slightly awkward, much like Northwestern. There weren't even goody bags or give aways! There were "holiday" Hersey's kisses, maybe I ate a few of those. You know the crowd is awkward when the best conversations you have are with the servers/bartenders. The bartenders/servers were all really cool--much like at the AFI party the night before. It was good to see Greg on the west coast, and there were a ton of people from Northwestern I knew. The thing is, when you go to an event like this you want to meet new people, you don't want to spend a fortune on drinks, and you don't want the evening to be a glorified version of a Ridge/Davis party. That John Ross. He's usually right.

The Fireside Room

That Friday was my work Holiday Party, a formal, sit-down dinner to be held at The California Club (the W.A.S.P.iest club this side of the 405 Freeway!™) in downtown Los Angeles. I have a love/hate relationship with my job. A few months ago I hated it, wanted to look for a new job post haste, and was slightly miserable. Really my job isn't difficult, and I get paid a decent amount. I wanted to put in a year and then look for something new, and now as I celebrate one full year with the company, I find myself once again re-evaluating my plans. I get a raise in a few weeks and the amount of money they give me will definitely influence how much longer I stay. I don't want to get comfortable and forget why I moved to L.A., but I also like making a decent wage, not having to work too hard, and being the big fish in a small pond. At times I wonder if I have "learned to stop worrying and love the bomb", the thought of which terrifies me.

My office is small, in fact there are probably only 30 people in the entire company. As such, the Holiday Party was a formal, intimate affair, made slightly less awkward than my daily office interactions by the flowing booze. My date for the evening was Mr. John Ross, a fine choice because John gets people and situations immediately. He appreciates trainwreck social events, and he's scathing and witty. Finally, I believe my taking John was my own passive-aggressive way of showing my true colors and silently protesting my Republican bosses. Here I am with my creative, liberal, gay, Jewish, witty, brilliant friend: RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

My goal for the evening was to look hot and sexy. I usually roll to work unshowered, greasy-haired, sometimes hungover, and looking nasty. I wanted to show the office, (again with the passive-aggressiveness), that I could clean up quite nicely, I just chose not to at work because there was nothing to look forward to and no one to impress. In preparation I'd dry cleaned my graduation dress, and bought a fabulous piece of gold lame fabric that I sewed into a stunning wrap.

John and I arrived at "The Club" and received free fancy valet parking, I had been told that tipping "wasn't allowed" at the California Club (lest one of the lowly servants gets a penny more than is coming to him). I love the photos from this night for various reasons (mainly John's face in the one at left. I "punched up" the settings on another I took alone in my room after the party all wasted. My office party was located in the fireside room, a room with a roaring fire, high-backed chairs, circulating hor d' oeuvres, and lots of champagne. John and I did the office receiving line, shaking hands, getting cheek kisses from the old men, and receiving a bevy of "you look so beautiful" followed by the obligatory "not that you don't always look beautiful..." Needless to say we got drunk pretty fast. The waiters kept bringing the champagne, and I kept sucking it down. We probably had 4 glasses each before dinner. We also stuffed ourselves with hors d' oeuvres: mini quiche, egg rolls, caviar, pate, little pots of curry, and spanakopita. I just loved walking about in my heels and gold lame wrap, sipping champagne, "mingling", and eating finger foods. It was better than playing dress up. John and I would stand off to the side and I'd fill him in on the office dynamics: who was a drunk, who was closeted, who had made out with who. And boy is that John Ross quick, he could tell who was sane and who was crazy immediately. He could easily pick out the two people in the office I care for, and for all the rest he could pick out their disfunctions. His best quip: upon learning that the office closet case had a wife: "she hasn't been touched in years."

One of the problems with my office is the controling nature of the business: the whims of the owner shape office policy, from collared shirts to a disdain for any Bill Gates/Microsoft Software--no friends, that doesn't mean we get Macs--we get generic PC substitute software that is often volatile. Another example of this is the fact that the dinner has a seating chart. Alex, my pal who used to work with me but left and moved to NYC, explained that at previous Holiday Parties everyone sat at one long table (think Clue) with the owner at one end, and his wife at the other. The "murder mystery" table if you will. Furthermore, you were separated from your date! I guess this was/is supposed to encourage "mingling" but it just makes things unbearably heinously awkward. This year the same was true, but at least there were several round tables. I swapped seating cards with Joyce, my "work mom", one of the people who I love in the office. John and I sat next to each other, and stepped on each other's feet under the table when dinner conversation turned crazy--examples to come.
Dinner was delicious, lots of great food served in multiple courses with lots of wine. I sat next to one of the executives who urged me to "stay the course" with the promise that it would pay off as the company is "growing." I could tell the speech was in light of the fact that one of my co-workers (who I particularly loathed for the douche he was) was leaving the company the next week. This particular co-worker we shall call "Reagan." I mentioned Reagan a few posts back as he had replaced my pal Alex "Hamm-boner" Hamm. Reagan was an Orange County Republican, immature, and annoying as hell. Sure he was friendly, and I was friendly back, but man did that kid irritate me. He brought his girlfriend to the dinner, a beautiful Asian girl who sat next to John. I wondered aloud to John why such a pretty girl would date such a balding douche like Reagan. (Not that I have anything against balding men--there are quite a few rev my motor, but that's besides the point). I asked the girl what she had majored in at UCLA. She replied that she had majored in Sociology but now worked in real estate, adding that she was making good money and the sociology books had been "too liberal" for her taste. John mashed my foot under the table, and it was suddenly clear that Reagan and his bride were meant for each other. John and I spent the night whispering and laughing. His grand question for me was what the rest of the office thinks of me? Good question. I like to believe that my stoic office demeanor hasn't been seen through. For all intents and purposes I'm probably the token "black girl" who went to "Northwestern" and "is smart." If they only knew the evil that lurks beneath (muahahahah).

By this time John and I were wasted and had eaten every speck of food on our plates: from the cheese to the foie gras to the beef wellington. Each employee had a Tiffany gift at his/her place. The gift: a $400 Tiffany desk clock. Four-hundred FUCKING DOLLARS. I really may try to sell mine on Ebay. They could have bought me an IPod, a digital camera, a years supply of contact lenses, new glasses. They could have paid a month of my car insurance, more than half a months rent, they could have paid off some of my student loans. But a fucking gold Tiffany's desk clock? WHY! The answer is tax write-off as a business deduction, as I later learned. Too bad the damn thing is engraved. My mother is begging me not to sell it, "it's your first real job." Bullshit! At the very least Tiffany earrings or a necklace. But a clock? Boooooooooooooooo.

Things cleared out fairly quickly after dinner. Some of my co-workers went to The Standard for a drink, but most everyone else left immediately after dinner. I went home to change and met up with Sarah, Zoe, and Eleni at a bar within walking distance from my house. Between the food, the wine, and the control top pantyhose my belly was ready to burst. The bar, The White Horse, is a decent dive bar--they have bowls of pretzels on the bar--and I like that I can walk there. However, I've been 3 times and each time I've been disappointed with the lame crowd, bad music, and witchy bartender. This time, I asked for water since I was too fucked up to drink more, and the wench refused to give it to me, telling me I had to buy a bottle for $3. I asked her for tap water with ice. She grumbled, and I refused to give in to her. I turned my back and took a sip from a bottled water Zoe had in her bag. The Bartender finally gave in and angrily poured me a glass of water grumbling "it's common courtesy to order a drink on a Friday night!" I was really pissed off, and vowed it was the last time I'd grace her wretched bar. I've never been to a bar where they refuse you water. Do they want you to pass out? Maybe at a bar with cover they'd make you buy a bottle, but at a dive bar? A bar with missing floor tiles and peanuts on the pool table? John showed up a little while later, seriously ill, just as I was--we didn't realize until that moment how much we'd eaten and how much wine we'd downed. I got a ride home early in the night and passed out at home. The Holiday Party really had been buckets of fun--if only because I finally had someone with which to share the human freakshow that is my office.

A Peppermint Christmas

Saturday night was another holiday party, well this time it was an all-out Christmas party with peppermint martinis as served in the home of Megan Rosati and Rebecca Rajkowski. The drinks were strong and good, and there were some 2006 NU alums that I don't get to see too often. I wore my red sweater and red hat to be festive. I also wore my Christmas socks. Dress for the occassion, I always say.

Buying Happiness, one Burrito at at Time

Sunday I headed down to the Rose Bowl Flea Market alone, because no one else was awake and ready. I ended up spending money on gifts for myself that I really didn't need: $20 in used books, gourmet salsa, 2 vintage dresses, and other things that failed to fill the void in my heart. Maybe it was the low after a week/weekend of drinking, but I was just feeling a little ho-hum. At times I realize what a scary consumer-driven world we live in. It really is horrifying, the atrocities had by our dollars. One of the minor things that really is creepy is the realization that you actually (both you and I) feel a little happier when you've just bought something you really like. The only thing scarier than realizing you've bought happiness is when you buy something and still feel depressed. You know when you buy a ton of shit and you still feel like shit? Well, after I left the flea market I drove downtown for a good tongue burrito, because I thought that would help. It acutally kind of did. When in doubt, eat it out...and that can mean whatever you want it to, Honey.

The following Friday, December 15, I purchased my very first very own Christmas tree. My tree (which is still up as I write this) is "the Living Tree," a potted pine tree that you can plant outside after Christmas. It's about 4 feet tall and doing quite well in my living room, in fact it's growing! The living tree is a much better option than buying one of those sad dying trees that ends up in a landfill after Christmas, and not much more expensive. Friday is typically my errand day because I get out of work early. This Friday was no different, in fact, I started to kick things into high gear in preparation for Christmas and my holiday guests. I stopped off at the laudramat to do some much needed laundry before coming home and getting ready for Claudia's Birthday dinner.

Bolivian Birthday

For Claudia's birthday we went to Nora's Place, a Bolivian Restaurant in the valley. I wore my new purple flea market dress and Farah inspired hair--it was a night for fun! Claudia had been to Nora's Place before and said that the restuarant was never too crowded. However, the place was jumping this evening, and it appeared a local business was having their company Christmas party at the restaurant. There was a live band and dancing! We got busy drinking some Bolivian beer, and I knew it was going to be a fun night. It was me, Claudia, A.J., Andrew, Noel, and Patrick. The boys were the only gringos in the place, and a salsa band was doing Celia Cruz justice. I wanted to dance. Apparently Noel did ballroom dancing his freshman year at Cornell, and we were soon cutting a rug on the dance floor. My nights at the Norris "Salsa Parties" at Northwestern came in handy, and soon we were doing spins and turns, laughing and working up a sweat. I've never danced with a man that could "lead" in the ballroom style; Noel really impressed me! We were easily the tallest people on the tiny crowded dance floor. People were staring, but we really were the best dancers, and it was loads of fun. I ate some delicious tongue for dinner, and we danced a little more afterwards. Later in the evening the band stopped playing and a DJ started playing Reggaton. All the old people sat down, and all the kids got up to bump and grind. I felt like an old biddy complaining about "modern" music, but truly, there's just something formal yet freeing about ballroom dancing. I'm not talking about Dancing with the Stars--I don't watch it--but ballroom is fun. Maybe not American ballroom. I do enjoy Salsa and the Latin dances, but probably just because I enjoy the music. I should do it more often. Here's a story:

In 6th grade, a husband and wife ballroom dancing team came to our middle school and danced in an assembly. Afterwards, they offered classes for $50 a kid for 6 weeks. Now that I think of it, I'm not sure what any of this had to do with education. My friend Julie Clute and I signed up for the classes. This was 6th grade when the girls were tall and pubescent, and the boys voices were higher than the girls'. The class taught us the basics: the box step, the Fox trot, waltz. The social interactions were awkward as all get out, but I'm glad I did it--well, in retrospect I am. At the time it was mortifying.

After dinner we went back to Claudia and Andrew's house. The two of them had recently moved into a house a few blocks from my apartment along with Andrew's high school friend John. The only problem with the new place is that the landlord wants to tear the house down in 6 months. There's an avocado tree in the backyard, and hopefully they'll get to have a few parties before moving out. Robert came over and he and Andrew played Guitar Hero. Claudia fell asleep on the floor playing with Pato.

A Pain in the Neck

Saturday my neck was severely sore, probably from a combination of my spirited dance moves and laying on the floor of Claudia'a apartment in an awkward position. I ran some errands in preparation for Christmas: I braved the crowds at Target, bought some gold lame fabric and gold ribbon at the fabric store with which to dress my tree, then made it home in time for a nap before heading to Dusty's for Zoe's birthday dinner.

Dusty's is a nice restaurant in Silverlake. It's a dark, bohemian bistro with a large wine list. The dinner was, me, Zoe, Dan Sinclair, another girl from Northwestern I didn't know, and Zoe's older friend Jacqueline--by older I mean 40. When Jenna visited last April she had a chance to meet Jacqueline, and had shared an awkward tea with the older filmmaker. Jenna had given Jacqueline two thumbs down, and as such, I was already biased going into the dinner. I tried to keep an open mind, but it soon became abundantly clear that this woman was a jealous, controling, and extremely awkward friend to Zoe. I didn't approve. It was hard to pinpoint what it was exactly. The woman came across as very cold, aloof, and know-it-all-y. Dan made a comment about not being able to eat soft cheese because of digestive problems, and the woman went on a spiel about how Dan should eat goat cheese and other health food stuff. She had a cold penetrating stare, and seemed to distance herself from everyone at the table. She almost seemed possessive of Zoe, and it was especially creepy. She just gave me bad vibes. I pride myself on my ability to "sniff people out" and this one didn't pass the smell test. It was unfortunate because her pressence tainted the overall vibe of the dinner. I hope Zoe had a good night, because she is the sweetest girl, and I'm glad I got to celebrate with her, but if anything the dinner reaffirmed my stance on cutting cancerous people out of my life and not feeling bad about it.

Dreidel Dreidel Dreidel

After the dinner I raced off to Jason Spitz's Chanukah party in the valley. I was kind of in a bad mood from the dinner, and my neck was killing me. I took half a Vicodin, which helped quite a bit. By the time Robert and I got to the party we'd missed Dreidel and there was hardly any gelt left to eat. We also missed the latkes! However, we didn't miss the booze, and soon I was on a pain-free booze cruise. It was a low-key party, and I got fucked up fairly quickly. SNL was on mute in the background, but we turned up the volume for Justin Timberlake--my guilty pleasure. After the party Rob and I drove over the Sarah Peter's and watched the whole episode, which she'd recorded. I remember laughing over "Dick in a Box" (if you're one of the 5 people in the country who hasn't yet seen this, watch it now) through my Chanukah haze.

Sunday I cleaned up the house and really began preparing for Christmas and the arrival of Al and Ma.

Preparation

As Michael has pointed out to me, I love to plan "events." Parties, gathering, baking things and the like. However, I also tend to get myself worked up and in a crazy, anxious, bitchy tizzy. Things have to be perfect--perfect on a budget. So of course you can imagine I was working myself crazy in preparation for the first Christmas where I would technically be hosting, it was also Al and Ma's first visit to Los Angeles, and I hadn't seen either of them in roughly a year. Lot's of self-imposed pressure.

I'd bought a few things a few weeks earlier: a Barbra Streisand Christmas album here, a DVD of fireplace scenes there. Each day the week of December 16, I shopped for Christmas things during my lunch break, then came home and cleaned. I was also obsessing about money, as I usually do. It got to the point where I found myself justifying to Michael the return of $3 Christmas lights that we're quite long enough to trim my tree in the "perfect" way. I knew I hit rock bottom (only in retrospect) when I was on the phone with Michael at Food 4 Less. I was agonizing over spending $5 on a frozen pizza for dinner. I realize this is crazy now, but at the time Michael had to convince me that I could afford both the frozen pizza and the frozen concentrated cranberry juice I would require for Christmas morning mimosas. I compromised by buying the generic gallon jug of juice and ate my pizza that evening after washing the ceiling in my bathroom. It was an intense week.

Thursday: The Arrival

Thursday Al and Ma's flight would come in. I was nervous and antsy all day at work. I made itineraries listing the activities planned for each day of their trip entitled "Ganyan Greezmaz Spectacular." I've always loved to create nicknames and improvised words. "Ganyan" is Bubby/Eileen slang for Ghanaian, "Greezmaz" is Alison/Eileen slang for Christmas, and the phrase is fitting for my family. We have the kind of sisterly love that involves biting each other, pushing each other off the bed, and eating pudding. Possibly in that order. After work I went to my co-worker, Jo's house. She is one of my two "work moms" and she fed me a little snack before I headed to the airport to pick up Al and Ma.

I arrived at LAX and Al and Ma were already on the curb. It was one of the smoothest airport pickups in history, at Christmastime nonetheless! We drove home, I changed out of my work clothes, and we were off to the Griffith Park Holiday Light Festival as presented by the L.A. Department of Water and Power. It's good to know my electric bills help pay for an egregious waste of energy in the name of holiday cheer. What the hell, Al and I got a good laugh out of the lighted elves who jerked in odd, slightly sexual, somewhat phallic positions. There is something enjoyable and kitchy about light shows and I do enjoy them. It felt like Christmas, even if it was 70 degrees. Haha!

After the light show, we headed over to Red Corner Asia for a late dinner. We had a delicious meal and I was happy to share the best damn panang curry in town with my family. After dinner we returned to my apartment and I started preparing pomegranate pound cake. Jo and her husband Joe were having us over for dinner Friday night, and I had to prepare the dessert. Ma peeled the pomegranates, and I grated 4 tablespoons of lime zest, which takes a hell of a lot longer than you'd think. Claudia stopped by to meet Ma and Al before she left town to be with her family. My mother was in the process of heating up lime, which she claimed helped heal her "diseased" finger. Al and I giggled in embarrassment, but Claudia proclaimed "you remind me of my mom" which meant a great deal to me. There's something about foreign parents. No matter how long they live in the States, there are just some things they will never completely "get." It's the cultural difference. But it's endearing, and first generation kids understand this. Al likened our mother's love of lime to the father in My Big Fat Greek Wedding's love of Windex. It was a pretty accurate analogy.

We went to bed late that night, but not before preparing Ghana pancake batter for the next morning. I could see from my itinerary that I'd scheduled three days worth of activities into one. I wanted to show my mother and my sister all I could of Los Angeles while they were in town, because who knew when they'd be in town again. I wanted to savor every second I had with them. While there would be fighting, impatient exchanges and passive aggressive silences along the way, I knew from our family history that there was a strong possibility that I wouldn't see them again for quite awhile. I wanted to do all I could with them while they were here. I wanted everything to be perfect.

Friday: The Getty

Friday we woke, ate Ghana pancakes, and headed to the Getty. Al is studying history and anthropology at Loyola University Chicago and I knew she would really dig the museum. There was also an Icons of Sinai exhibit I knew my mother would enjoy for its religious value. The icons are amazing images of the saints from the Orthodox church. These icons come from a forgotten church located at the base of Mount Sinai. Due to the location, the icons survived the burning of icons which was occassionally done by groups that felt icons were idolatry. The arid desert temperatures have kept these icons in pristine condition, and this is the first time they have left Egypt. I love the Getty, because you lose yourself in the art. Only a pane of glass separates you from furniture, painting, books, glassware, and tapestries that are centuries old. Al loved the 15th century French furniture as much as I did. I was especially anxious to see it again after seeing Marie Antoinette (not that I was crazy about the movie). The Getty was beautiful as always. We walked the grounds, took pictures, and ate in the garden. I had packed a lunch, learning from my trip with Michael that the foodcourt was overpriced. It was a beautiful day, and from the Getty you could see all of Los Angeles, all the way out to Catalina. After the museum we went to dinner at Jo & Joe's. They had prepared a delicious roast, and the pomegranate cake went over well. I'm always very nervous about friends meeting my family--well, probably just my parents. I always felt growing up that my family was "messed up" and everyone else had a perfect life. It wasn't until college that I finally realized that everyones family is crazy in some way. I also never know what is going to come out of my mother's mouth. Therefore, it means so much to me when my friends accept my family and show a patience and understanding that I sometimes lack. It reminds me that things aren't as bad as I imagine them to be. It also makes me re-examine the underlying reasons for why I feel the way I feel.

Saturday: Confessions

Saturday we woke up and went to confession for a clean slate before Christmas. Confession is the Catholic process of going to the priest and confessing your sins. It helps lift the Catholic guilt off your shoulders. I hadn't been in several years, and even though the priest couldn't see me, I was still was overly paranoid about my identity, and found myself whispering in a hoarse voice. I couldn't even bring myself to confess everything--there are some things you just don't want to say to a priest, even if you did them.

After church we went to the African food store. Since my mother was in town I had to get my fix of Ghanaian food. I try to learn a few dishes everytime I see her. I have Ghana pancakes down now, but some of the more complicated things will take time. I wanted her to make granut soup with goat meat and rice balls. (She made this in Evanston for my graduation gathering at Ridge & Church). We had In N' Out Burger for lunch and I drove Al and Ma down Hollywood Blvd. past Grauman's Chinese Theater, the Kodak Theater and along the Walk of Fame. Al noted that it was smaller than she thought it would be, which was a sentiment shared by many of my guests. We came home to prepare the soup, and my mother informed me that I lacked a pot big enough for her meal. Hoping to avoid the mudhouse at the West Hollywood Target, we piled into the car and attempted to reach the one in Burbank. However, Mapquest screwed me over, and I had to call Sarah for directions. Utterly lost, we ended up at a Kmart, which worked just fine, and Al bought me a big, beautiful Martha Stewart stew pot for Christmas. We came back and my mother started on the soup. Al and I decided to walk to the liquor store--I had been trying to find kirsch for my Christmas Eve black forest cake for days. I'd already been to a few liquor stores, and no one seemed to know what the hell kirsch was. It's cherry brandy! Fine liqueur is lost in this day and age. Al and I ended up walking to Ralph's and buying grenadine. It was good to have a little time with Al and to walk about the neighborhood. We came back and played Super Nintendo while Ma made dinner. We drank wine and ate dinner with my fireplace DVD crackling and popping in the background.

Christmas Eve

What better way to spend Christmas Eve than with brisk morning hike in Griffith Park? We woke up earlier than expected with a call from Bubby and Daddies in Germany. They were celebrating Christmas (the celebrating in Germany is done on the Eve) with the grandparents and lots of wine. Enno, took the phone, somewhat tipsy, and I proceed to giggle with glee to his slurred English! Bubby had told Enno and Thorsten about her Christmas experience in St. Louis with my Grandparents. My Grandma used to play Santa when Bubby was little, and Barbara was traumatized because she'd seen Grandma coming up the stairs from the basement choking down a mouthful of Christmas cookies. While Bubby made Enno and Thorsten play Santa, she told them that she'd scream if she saw them chewing cookies. Instead she left "Santa" champagne and chocolate, and on Christmas Eve morning, she was rewarded with a big box. Inside was a Barbie tea set, complete with little chairs and a table! I suppose they have healed her childhood trauma. She's their spoiled little plump fraulein! What good Daddies!

The Korte women in L.A. got up, dressed, and prepared for a hike. It was a wonderful 72 degrees and we sweat, laughed, and moaned to the top of Mount Hollywood. It was so nice to walk the trail, greet other hikers, and share a fantastic view of the city with the girls. We had a really great time. We're a funny bunch. My mother was getting Christmas calls from the Ghanaians and amazingly, she had cell phone reception in the mountains. She was yapping away in Akposo, and sweating up the hill with a walking stick she pulled from a tree. Al and I were giddy with exhaust and laughing up the hill. When we got to the top of a secluded peak we posed for funny pictures, and I congratulated the girls on making it to the top. It gets easier every time.

After the hike we drove along Mulholland Drive for a great view of Los Angeles from the car. We came home, and my mother showered and napped while Al and I started preparing Christmas Eve dinner. I made everyone wear moo-moos for the occassion. For weeks I had been trolling Epicurious for the perfect combination of recipes. In the end I decided on: rosemary and thyme cornish hens stuffed with mushroom and porcetta stuffing (the same stuffing from Thanksgiving), wild mushroom and carmelized shallot green beans, spinach and butternut squash gratin, tomatoes with stilton cheese, and broccoli soup. Everything was made from scratch, and the preparation took hours. Al and I started drinking coffee, knowing full well that there would be no time for a nap before Midnight Mass: we were in it for the long haul. Soon we were slap happy from the coffee, and going at a breakneck pace. It seemed everything had rosemary in it. We made rosemary butter, mashing herbs into butter, and sliding the butter under the skin of the hens. We chopped broccoli, boiled it and pureed it in my blender. We peels and chopped roughly 2 pounds of shallots. We chopped onions, and halved tomatoes. My mother wanted to help, and we allowed her to peel the squash. We were making a "whole foods" feast. No Stove Top stuffing or pre-bought food. We were making everything from scrach, and it was going to taste amazing! We set the table and our feast began. We drank a bottle of champage, a bottle of white wine, and I feared my belly would burst. I'd popped the black forest cake in the oven, and we quickly dressed for mass after dinner. I threw on my dress, assembled the cake, and poured Al and I a third cup of coffee. We each had a bite of cake--we were too full to eat more, and then headed downtown to the Cathedral around 9:30 to get good seating for Midnight Mass.




My favorite part of Christmas is Midnight Mass. I like the chill you get in the church, the low lighting, the drowsiness, the incense, the music, dressing up, being with family. That to me is the real, true Christmas. I was so happy my mother got to see the Cathedral and the beautiful tapestries that are my favorite part of the space. She was somber from the moment we arrived. Unfortunately, Al and I were coffee-crazed, and far too giggly to sit still for the another 90 minutes. My mother was getting irritated with us, and told me to stop snickering. I told her Al and I were too hyped up on coffee, and she allowed us to go for a little walk around the Cathedral. We went outside, into the meditation garden, and got out the giggles. We came back inside for mass, and a couple, who was clearly a little drunk, squeezed in next to us. The woman had a bag of macaroons in her purse and offered us some. I ate one. They were friendly, but ended up leaving halfway through the mass. My mother pointed this out somewhat upset and added that she thought they might have been a little drunk. Oh mother. It was a beautiful service, and afterwards we took pictures in the cathedral. As you can see from the pictures, so hyped up on coffee was I, that I forgot to wear my black slip. You can see the headlights of my coral bra popping through the purple dress. Oh well. I prayed that we would make it home safely: I was exhausted. Thankfully we did, and I passed out that night, looking forward to sleeping in Christmas morning.

Dreamgirls

I woke on Christmas morning and prepared the Christmas morning Epicurious feast. On the menu: eggnog french toast with cranberry compote, apricot-mustard glazed breakfast sausages, citrus salad with spiced walnuts, cranberry vanilla bean mimosas, and champagne grapes. Again, everything was from scratch. I realized as I scrambled to prepare breakfast that I had forgotten to assemble most of the dishes ahead of time: the grapes were supposed to marinate in the champagne, the french bread was supposed to soak in the eggnog mixture. However, it all worked out. The mimosas were amazing. I bought the vanilla beans, and they are simply an intoxicating spice. So fragrant and you can use them to make vanilla sugar, or to spice up a drink or cocktail. Seriously, make these mimosas. The sausage was also addictive, as was the french toast. As I cooked, I realized I hadn't heard back from Sarah regarding our double-family matinee. Sarah's broken family would be in L.A. for Christmas as well, and we had decided to have a double-family screening of Dreamgirls on Christmas Day. I called her, and it turned out I didn't get her text message; we were seeing the movie at 3:30! That left about 2 hours to eat breakfast, get dressed, and get to the theater. It was a scramble, but we did it.

For weeks, I had been waiting in giddy glee for Dreamgirls. I'd watched the Jennifer Holliday rendition of "I'm Telling You" on YouTube about a million times. I told Al that we were seeing Dreamgirls, and she hadn't even heard of the film or the musical! My mother knew about it from Oprah. I told them they'd love it. We met up with Sarah's family at The Grove and hugs were exchanged. Her dad and brother had flown out to spend Christmas with her and Eleni. We all sat together at the front of the theater, and I was squealing in anticipation. The movie was pure candy. Candy! The makeup! The costumes! The wigs! The fake lashes! Pure sugar, and oh so tasty! We all especially loved the Urkel cameo in the first 10 minutes of the movie, of course we spotted Jaleel, god bless him. We had tears in our eyes during "I'm Telling You" and the theater went wild. People were hooting and clapping. That's the great thing about the Hollywood theaters, people react. Whether it's Borat or Dreamgirls, you're going to get an interactive crowd. We screamed and clapped for "I'm Telling You", Sarah was dancing in her seat during "One Night Only," we nearly peed our pants laughing at "Jimmy's Rap," and Al started to cry and held my hand during the finale when Curtis sees the daughter he never knew he had. We stayed until all the credits had run, and everyone was in agreement that the movie was thoroughly enjoyable. It was a really great afternoon. What a Hollywood Christmas. Afterwards Al, Ma, and I took pictures in the fake snow at The Grove. Yes, fake snow. They pump it in at The Grove, so we get a white Christmas and 75 degree weather. It's so disgusting that it's brilliant! Then we went home and ate leftover breakfast. We watched Something New and Al and I played some more Super Nintendo before going to bed.

Tuesday in L.A.

Tuesday we decided to see the little sites of Los Angeles. We went to the tar pits and walked about the park. Then we drove up Rodeo Drive and past some of the more luxurious homes in Beverly Hills. Afterwards we drove out to Dockweiler Beach. My mother poured libation in the ocean, and Alison wet her feet in the cold saltwater. My mother forced me to take her to Jack in the Box, arguing that she hadn't had any since 1992. I obliged, and later got to say "I told you so" when she had Alison had indigestion. We headed back to my side of town, and I drove them up into the Hollywood Hills. We ate leftovers that night, and Alison and I shared our photo albums. Then the packing began.

Wednesday Departures

We woke up super early on Wednesday, as Ma's flight was at 8AM. Alison and I hugged her, kissed her, and dropped her off at the Terminal. We then went to a local IHOP for a fine breakfast before Alison's flight at 10 AM. I'd forgotten how gross IHOP is. I also learned that they did away with the boysenberry syrup. During breakfast I filled out my passport application, and then dropped Al at LAX. It was sad to say goodbye, but I've done it so many times that it has become easier. Airports and post offices have long been reminders of people I miss very much.

I had to get my passport in order for my upcoming trip to Germany. I had a passport that was several years old and somewhere in a box in St. Louis. As such, I decided to apply for a new one, only to learn it wasn't so easy. I went to the post office in nearby Atwater Village since my Los Feliz post office is usually a mudhouse. The gentleman there was very nice and helped me declare my previous passport lost/stolen (god knows where it is). I filled out the paperwork, took a hideously bloated-fat faced picture, and paid money for an expediated passport since I'd procrasted. It cost me $200, and hopefully that learned me good about waiting until the last minute to get shit done.

I headed home and took a much needed nap, waking later in the day to regroup and clean the house. I felt rested. I felt older. I thought about the family dynamics that played out under my roof. I thought about the woman I had become and if I would have turned out the same had my childhood been different. A new year was rapidly approaching, and I felt lost--like I'd forgotten what my days were typically like--like I'd forgotten the routine, albeit for a short while.