And to all a good night...

Every year, I write a Christmas Eve blog. This year is no different. Tonight, my parents and I enjoyed a feast of fried rice and garlic chicken at our favorite restaurant--Empress of China--conveniently located on Dort Highway. Nothing says Christmas like burying your face in a juicy, fat-covered Chinese rib and wiping your greasy fingers on a festive red cloth napkin. After all (like most people in the world do) when you say Christmas, I think: "Chinese ribs."

I wish I could say I'm overwhelmed by a Christmassy feeling. But truthfully, after I finished my Chinese rib, all my holiday cheer fell away like, well...like meat off of a juicy slow-cooked rib. Tonight just feels like another harsh and unforgiving winter evening, with no promise of gifts tomorrow morning or Hot Toddys tomorrow afternoon. Even the thought of spraying whipped cream into my mouth doesn't put me in a holiday mood.

After returning home, as we walked across the slick pavement of the parking lot toward our loft apartment, my dad noticed the makeshift Santa house that the Chamber of Commerce sets up downtown every year and that kids line up outside of in the days leading up to Christmas, eagerly awaiting their turn to tell Santa that they want a tutu or a bubble-gum dispenser or one of those learn-it-at-home Rosetta Stone language kits and said: "What if we blew up Santa's house tonight? Or burned it down?"

I probably should have been horrified, but all I could think was: I'd like to see that. Yes, I would like very much to set fire to Santa's little red house tonight.

But alas, we don't have the supplies or the know-how. So I guess it'll be another mundane Christmas this year. And the best part (the ribs) is already over.