I had given up on Christmas being magical this year. All week leading up to the holiday, my mood had been so volatile that each time my mom called she wasn’t sure if I was going to sing “Oh, Holy Night” or lash out like the horns of New York City traffic. I was a Scrooge. Each day I attempted to go out and buy presents, and each day I made it down to Soho only to find myself cursing the crowds of people toting bags of gifts I wished I could burst like piñatas.
I’d made the decision to stay in New York for the holiday, to have my first “adult” Christmas away from my parents. There would be no setting cookies out for Santa; no stockings on the mantle; no taunting the dog by hiding her new toy as soon as my parents unwrapped it for her. No. This was to be the beginning of a new tradition.
During one of many dramatic phone calls, my mother assured me her favorite Christmas memory was the first year she and my father spent the holiday in New York City right after they moved here: two college graduates walking through Central Park hand in hand. Somehow I doubted I would be as fortunate.
Then I met the Christmas orphans.
Over the past few weeks I’d been responsible for organizing Christmas Eve plans for a select group of friends who, for whatever reason—the fact that they were performing, the fact that plane tickets were too expensive, or the fact that they were criminally insane—had decided to forgo traveling. I contemplated many possibilities. And I tried to listen to everyone’s advice. Because, after all, each person has a holiday tradition that must be adhered to. Even my Jewish friend had an opinion on the proper way to celebrate Christmas. (Chinese food.)
As the day grew closer we solidified our plans (which would include spending the evening in a 15 million dollar brownstone) but I felt worn out by the bombardment of Christmas surrounding me. (I even tried to quell my annoyance with an episode of "Friends," but it was a holiday marathon!)
I did my best to have faith that the disparate group of people, some of whom I'd never even met before, would blend together like a makeshift stew of refrigerator leftovers, creating a savory blend of holiday cheer that would bubble to the surface as eve turned to day.
And that's exactly what happened. It was a marathon Christmas if I've ever seen one. Though the days of waiting for Santa are long gone, we all stayed up until 5AM on Christmas Eve playing running pictionary and drinking egg nog. Then, after a paltry amount of sleep, we awoke and devoured a delicious breakfast, then double featured with a movie (Benjamin Button...aka Benjamin Busted) and a show (What's That Smell?) before we continued the festivities, and even squeezed in a little Chinese food.
I don't know where I'll be next year, but I can only hope to find such special (and attractive) orphans again in the future!
(Jurassic cross-eyed drunk.)
(Welcome to our actually not ours at all home.)
(Sasha Fierce.)
(Sasha Fierce 2.0)
(Sasha Fierce 3.0)
(Sasha Fiercest because I'm rocking a bargain bin holiday sweater.)
(We were afraid when the ghost of Christmas Death appeared in the back of the frame.)
(Working the Christmas levels...only a few more than the mansion we were in.)
(Quite possibly my Christmas card next year. Only that would require me to actually send out a Christmas card. Highly unlikely. As was the fact that I could still lift my leg after not dancing for a year and a half. It's a Christmas orphan miracle!)
