Christmas Dinner
Tonight my mother took me to a Christmas dinner that a friend of her’s was throwing.

“Some of my friends’ kids will be there,” she said. “They’re right around your age.”

Something about those five words sounded eerily familiar, and I started having one of those childhood flashbacks filled with corduroy patchwork pantsuits and Joni Mitchell. I started remembering that same explanation years ago when, as a child, the fact that a friend’s child ALSO happened to be 6 years old seemed to ensure that the two of us would get along smashingly and be friends for years. “Oh you know, there will be another kid there at the boring hippy party. While we smoke pot in the back room, you and the other kid can try to pretend you like each other and talk uncomfortably to keep the other one from feeling bad. I think there will be some home-made whole wheat play-doh there!”

In other words, I was prepared to suffer silently while smiling blankly and eating polenta.

Instead, I spent several hours eating great food, laughing my ass off and trying to cram as much “getting to know you” as I could into the evening. All the other “kids” (ranging from 19 to 30) were really interesting people including an dashingoofy actor from New York and an Americore volunteer. We all sat at the “little kids table” together (you remember that table at family gatherings?), which also happened to have the best champagne and be very close to the food, making it the best table in the house. We popped crackers, chatted about barfing in cabs, and discussed orgies at Burning Man.

All and all, a fantastic evening. I should be packing for Montana instead of sitting here writing, but considering that my bags are still packed from Los Angeles and New York, it’s really just a matter of making sure all the warm stuff is in the same suitcase with the prezzies. Don’t be confused: it might sound glamorous, all this travelling, but it’s really just about wishing you hadn’t forgotten your favorite hoodie, seeing grocery stores in different cities, and using other people’s toilets.

Not that I’m not enjoying it.