Here it is. The entire month of December for the year 2001. Don't you just feel like a part of my life? Doesn't it make you all warm and fuzzy inside to know that I'm sharing a part of myself with you? I know it does. Read on, starting from the bottom.
December 25th, 2001: Nothing special to report about Christmas, really. My grandparents on my dad's side are having their kitchen redone (as they have been all Summer, Fall, and Winter), so for the first time in my 20 years of Christmases, our Christmas Eve happenings took place at my Uncle Allen and Aunt Cathy's house. My cousins Lindsey and Amanda watched years of show choir tapes, as Lindsey was in show choir in high school and Amanda is in her first year of it as a junior this year. Lindsey informed me that she wants to switch from Bowling Green to OSU because all of her friends go there, which pretty much says everything about Lindsey. I find it strange how different my sister and I are from my other cousins. We're all within a couple of years of each other, so you'd think we'd have a bit in common, but really, Amanda and Lindsey all about hoochie-in' it up and getting on all of the men they can, while my eldest cousin is all married and having a house and graduating from college. I think I actually make them uncomfortable in all of my different clothes, music, movies, everything taste. What's the old saying? "Ignorance breeds . . . " something. Baby bunnies, maybe. Ignorance breeds baby bunnies, yes.
The goings-on at Bethany's house Christmas day were much like the goings-on at my house on Christmas morning - very relaxed. We woke up at 9, unwrapped gifts for an hour or two, took our showers, and headed to Uncle David and Aunt Brenda's, where Joanie and I danced in front of Bethany to frighten her with our lesbian-ish antics. The day was grand, save the lack of stuffing, which I raved and ranted about until Aunt Brenda found a box of it in her cabinet and allowed me to make it. I got my money and my George Foreman grill(s), the only two things that I asked for, plus random odd things like 12,000-minute phone cards and ornaments shaped like sugared grapes. Very uneventful and home-y and nice.
December 21st, 2001: You know what's disgusting? My dad treating me like the sex goddess that everyone else does. (Yes, it's okay to laugh.) Tonight, I went to Wal*Mart to buy supplies for the Christmas crafts that I'm making, and when I called home to see how much wrapping paper we have, Dad asked me to pick up some chips for a little get-together that he's having. When I returned home, my kitchen was full of card-playing men demanding that I be stereotypical woman and bring their food to the table, which I did. Now, despite the fact that my dad is 46 years old (dear GOD, that's ancient), he hangs out with guys in their 20's and 30's, and these guys are all massive drinkers (which my dad is not, by the way), so my cell phone randomly gets calls requesting various "favours" from me if Dad doesn't keep an eye on his phone while he's with his drunken friends. So, after I was done feeding the men, I escaped to the safety of my living room to flip back and forth between a figure skating special and a made-for-TV opera. I heard the men exit the kitchen through the back door for a smoke break, so I slipped through to the bathroom unnoticed. I heard the back door open and hurried to finish my business before the men could get themselves settled, but I was too late by the time I washed my hands and all. A few minutes after I came home, Dad had mentioned my rustling of the shopping bags and asked what all of the noise was about, so evidently not being able to think of anything else to say, Dad's friend Jason stopped me as I walked through the kitchen and said that I sure was causing a commotion in the living room with my bags. I really had nothing to say in response to that, so I just shook the hand towel I was holding at him and said, "I will beat you with this towel." He chuckled, and one of the other guys said, "Oooooooh," so I continued with, "Yeah, I'm threatening. Don't pretend that I'm not." The guys all laughed and made various comments about my complete lack of ability to be scary, and Dad said, "Watch out. Jason's been eyeing you, Kate," as Jason called out, "Will you do it twice?" I simply replied, "Whatever you want," which I knew was the perfect thing not to say as soon as it came out of my mouth. And then in perfectly grotesque male fashion, all of the men proceeded to make perfectly grotesque male grunting noises, and male comments flew like . . . flying things. And my dad was one of the men making the comments. And now, he's offering my body up as his wager since he's run out of quarters. Yeah, that's disgusting, all right.
December 12th, 2001: Mike was supposed to take me shoe shopping on Wednesday (which automatically makes him gay, my other friends say), but he called early that morning and informed me that his sister was sick and needed someone to stay home with her while his mom and dad were working. That someone was Mike, of course, so he promised to call me if his mom got home early enough for us to still go. He called that night to see if anything was going on, so a game of phone tag between he, Jonathan, and I ensued with plans to go see Lord of the Rings as the outcome. I drove to Mike's about a half an hour later than I was supposed to, led him to his car, decided to take my car instead, waited while he ran back inside his house to grab a CD that was labeled Cat Stevens but was really Modest Mouse, and took us to Jonathan's. We then pulled up behind a car with a license plate that read Hammr, made fun of it, went inside Jon's and found out that the car belongs to Jon's friend Mark, and waited for Jon's friend Crystal to lose her way in the ghetto of Columbus's west side. The theatre that we hoped to patronise was sold out completely, so we chose another at random and all tried to pile into Crystal's car. (Which, by the way, has a decal on the back that says Bring the Heat!. Now that's good stuff. Yes, I'm being sarcastic.) When we figured out that it would involve a lot of unwanted touching and squeezing into tight spaces, the five of us tried to work out something new that involved taking two cars, but the process was so ridiculously difficult that Jon volunteered his parents' car and took us on a wild joyride of missed turns, spilled coffee, and really, really bad music.
The girl at the theatre's box office informed us that they had something like 250 seats available for the show we wanted, so Mike and I went in to choose seats while Jonathan, Crystal, and Mark did God knows what in the restroom. I offered up rounds of Easy Mac before the movie, which no one accepted, and allowed Mike to peruse my piles of unbanked paychecks so that he could make fun of the very little amount of money that I make. The movie was pretty darn great for the type that it was. My movie tastes include art-y independent films and flicks that I loved during my childhood, and other than my countless hours of watching Labyrinth, there's not a whole lot of fantasy lurking about in there. So, I was pretty impressed with Lord of the Rings's ability to make me enjoy it. Oh, except for the part where Bilbo turns into a madman for .02 seconds and gets that crazy look on his face; I had a hard time with that. Actually, come to think of it, I found the entire movie pretty disturbing . . . in a good way. Crystal and Mark left right after we returned to Jonathan's, so that left Mike, Jonathan, and me talking about things that really shouldn't be talked about period, let alone between men and women. I divulged many secrets to Jonathan a couple of weeks ago on the way home from church after announcing, and I quote, "My genitals are amazing," and he made me divulge them to Mike with a little coercing. Mike was totally taken aback by my sharing, so after Jonathan prodded my butt with various objects on his too-comfortable bed, Mike and I headed back to his house.
Our conversation during the drive was a continuation of the one at Jonathan's with Mike and me answering a lot of each other's questions about things that can't be discussed on this family-friendly site. And when I pulled into his driveway at 2 AM, we kept talking. And talking and talking and talking. We considered moving inside due to the extreme cold coming through fresh air-obsessed Mike's open window but decided that we didn't like the threat of his parents hearing our discussion, so we just stayed put. We talked a lot about our separate Spring/Summer flings of the year and the things we enjoyed, regret, etc., and Mike said that it felt really good to be so open with me. And then he hit me with this thing about a girl who lives in Dayton and rides back to Ohio with him during breaks from school. I had some idea that he liked this girl just by the way that he talks about her, but the reasons that he likes her really surprised me. Just after telling me three days ago how much my dramatic theatrics bother him, he announced that he likes this girl because she really “has her head on straight”, is so “level-headed” and “practical”, and never argues with him about anything. Apparently, she is the ANTI-KATIE. I asked if my melodramaticism bothers him that much, and he said, "Well, I could never marry you because of it," all nonchalantly as if I haven't been planning our life together since 7th grade. But that wasn't as much a big deal as his description of this staid potential new woman. I really can't imagine someone as creative as Mike having the capability to love someone who doesn't make a big deal out of things and won't fall in love too easily and can't argue just for the sake of challenging the other person. Challenge! That's all I've ever wanted. But apparently, Mike is not me.
December 19th, 2001: Last night, I spent my first real time with Chicago Mike since his coming home on Sunday. His sister was getting ready for a middle school choir concert, and she told me about her teachers while I reminisced about the days of old. When she and Mike's mom left, Mike did the dishes while I told tales of short men and re-warmed breadsticks. We sat down at the overly-well-lit kitchen table for a bit and discussed people who don't tell their children about Santa Claus and don't have Christmas trees and such. (Just so you know, I fully intend to tell my children about the tradition of Santa, but I'm not going to force them to believe that he's the one bringing their Easy Bake Ovens unless my husband can coerce me with his manly charms. It was a massive disappointment to me when I realised that not only my parents but the entire world had been lying to me for years.) The dishwasher was heating the kitchen a little too well, so Mike moved to the living room, and I followed after a moment. We were trying to decide what to do, so he kind of milled about the room while I checked myself out in the mirror above his couch. Realising that we weren't going anywhere for many minutes, I finally had a seat on the couch while Mike took a chair across the room. We were squabbling over something extremely petty when he told me that I don't always have to be right. I chuckled and said that a lot of people have been telling me that lately, and in a very disgusted voice, Mike informed me that it's quite annoying that I always have to disagree with him just to spite him. I told him that I enjoy arguing, he told me that he doesn't, and then he took off on a list of reasons why I grate on his nerves, something that he's apparently been compiling for a couple of years. My relationship with Mike has been filled with tension since our senior year of high school. That year was the culmination of years of my being absolutely infatuated with him and not saying a word about it, the time when I started getting worried about what would happen to us when he left me for Chicago. And to tell you the truth, not much has happened to us, but it doesn't always feel that way. Going for weeks or months without hearing from him hurts, but when he comes home, our time together is exactly as it always was. Except that I'm really bad about ignoring him when he comes home, and that was the first point he brought up. I don't want to jump all over him and tell him how glad I am to see him when he makes his way back to Ashville, because I didn't really think that Mike's the type to enjoy that sort of thing. He's more of the type that you wave hello to rather than wrap your legs around. But apparently I've been a bit too restrained. He then brought up the Mom thing, which has been one of the main creators of our tension for far too long. As you well know, I went for a long time thinking that Mike's mom disliked me . . . a lot. Mike informed me that his mom is just quiet, so I've realised over a long period of time that just because she doesn't take me shopping every weekend doesn't mean that she's not okay with me. I think that she thinks that the way I do things is a little odd, but well, who doesn't? So, when I bring up Mike's mom's hating me, it's just in jest. Apparently this has not been made clear, as most things with me aren't, and Mike has major problems with it. I mentioned that my family just seems to be a bit more important to me than his is to him, which hit a definite sort spot. And I realise now that it's not that my family is more important to me but that I like my town a whole lot more than he does, so I spend more time at home. As you know, Mike plans to spend the entire summer in Oregon, which is great for him, but I have no desire to be away from my dad all summer when he's been without Joanie and me all school year what with me at Ohio State and Joanie at the University of Kentucky. I'm glad that I go to college in the city, and I'm glad that I have a job in the city, and I'm glad that I've had the opportunity to travel around the U.S. and Canada, but I really loved my childhood in smalltown America and wouldn't put up a fight if I was forced to live here my entire life. Mike would. And finally, Mike evidently hates the fact that I seem to always be wanting to change him. He claims that I'm trying to make him into my ideal man, which he apparently doesn't realise that he already is. Mike thinks that I consider him a bad friend and that I must always be telling my other friends that. He feels that when we're together, all I do is put him down and make fun of him, which is exactly what I think he does to me. However. I love that Mike makes me laugh and cry and scream and think about everything. I'm not trying to change anything about him . . . I just want more of him, more of his time. He realises this, so he told me that when he comes home, more of his time is devoted to me than to any of his other friends, possibly all of his other friends combined. But like one of my other Mikes tells me, I'm never satisfied. He then went off on a crazy tangent about traveling and how he must have his adventures while he's not tied to anything and how his neighbor spends money on ridiculous things and how life is meaningless if it's not lived for the glory of God and . . . whoa. It was random and un-Mike-like in every way. I enjoyed it. And I enjoyed the fact that he really thought that I was going to be upset by the things he said, when we all know that I'm addicted to honesty and knowing what people think of me. It was so good. Kind of awkward for a few minutes afterward. But then his family came home from the concert, and we left for Blockbuster. And things were as they had always been . . . but with this deeper understanding floating about. Good times.
December 10th, 2001: My lovely university enjoys kicking me out of my dorm over Christmas break, so on Friday, I was forced out into the street. I had to work all weekend and today and didn't want to have to drive from home every morning, so I begged a couple of my friends for a place to stay. I asked Bethany first and got a confirmation, but I didn't want to impose on her the entire time, so I next questioned Dave's Mike, who told me that I could stay at his apartment with Dave and the other men, despite the fact that he would be spending the weekend in Pennsylvania. I wasn't all about that, so I moved on to Nick, who informed me that his tiny apartment's lack of separate bedroom and living room areas would cause some problems what with the fact that he has a girlfriend and all. I was feeling rather unproductive at that point and decided just to stick with Bethany, but then The BIG K.N. and I went out to Applebee's with Rhonda, one of my suitemates from last year. I mentioned my homeless situation, and Rhonda informed me that her roommate was heading out on Friday, leaving her without any company until December 23rd. So, I spent Friday night with Bethany, Saturday night with Rhonda, and last night with Bethany again. Bethany and I ordered pizza and Rhonda and I went and saw Ocean's Eleven, so I was really enjoying the not having a home thing. Living out of my trunk was quite interesting, too. My entire life was held in a Rubbermaid container, a duffel bag, and a laundry basket. It bothered me to have to pack up my life each morning, to have no milk for making hot chocolate, to be mooching off of everyone, but it was really convenient to have all of my clothes on-hand no matter where I was.
However, I don't have to work tomorrow and Bethany isn't going to be home tonight, so I returned home to The BIG A-ville after work today. Dad is spending the night with his girlfriend, Linda, so three cats were all that greeted me. Dad's not being here has given me a chance to look around, though. The thing that struck me as soon as I walked in the door was the Bible sitting out on a table in the kitchen. This is not your average little, brown Bible, though. This is the 20-pound white leather Bible that was given to my mom and dad as a wedding present from Mom's parents. Now, my dad has always gone to church every Sunday and all, but he seems to enjoy the bulletin more than the actual sermon and is very quiet about his faith, so the all-too-obvious Bible freaked me out. I swung open the front door and felt it push against something, something that turned out to be our Christmas tree. Now, the front door should never touch the Christmas tree, because the Christmas tree belongs against the wall in front of a window on the other side of the room. But here it sits, not decorated the way that Mom used to decorate it, because Joanie and I weren't here to decorate it the way that Mom taught us to. The kitchen is chock full of wrong things - the toaster is being stored under the sink, the junk drawer has been stripped of its junk, the pile of mail that Dad keeps for me has been relocated out of sight, there are flowers all over the freaking place, colourful new rugs sit by the door, the antique decanter full of bourbon was hidden after Linda made fun of Dad for displaying his liquor, and our refrigerator is filled with girly things like cream cheese. Cream cheese, man. Girlfriends are bad news all over the place.