It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

Those of you who are new to my world may not know this, but I love Christmas. I really love it. At this time of year, my friend Nancy calls me “Chrissy Christmas.” (Aside #1: I know I usually switch things to Bookgirl in this blog for consistency, but Bookgirl Christmas doesn’t have the same ring to it. Aside #2: Just because Nancy calls me Chrissy doesn’t mean you can too. The list of people allowed to call me Chrissy is short. If you’re not sure if you’re on it, you’re probably not.)

But back to the topic at hand. I love Christmas. And everyone who knows me knows that. So every Christmas people buy me more ornaments and decorations and Christmas-themed housewares. Friday night, I purposely didn’t make plans. I went home after work to unpack my Christmas boxes and take stock of what I had. Out came the boxes. And boxes. And boxes. And I realized something. I am not okay. I am the poster child for conspicuous consumption. I counted, and if you count anything large enough to stay in its original box as its own box, I have 11 boxes of Christmas decorations. Eleven. I have three decorative Christmas pillows. Twenty-five Christmas CDs. Three boxes of onrnaments. Christmas dishes. Christmas glasses. Christmas wine charms. Pot holders and dish towels, place mats and cloth napkins. Napkin holders, spoon rests, salt and pepper shakers, and sugar bowls. It’s shocking, and a little bit embarrassing. But it sure is pretty. I like to think that I try to keep my decorations tasteful, and that all those tiny white twinkle lights all over my living room give everything a soft touch. Deep down I suspect that it might just look like Christmas threw up in my apartment, but I’m okay with that too.

On Saturday, my sister Denise and I had our annual Christmas shopping and feel-good movie day. Every year we meet at the Connecticut outlets in the morning (about an hour and a half drive for each of us), shop all morning, have soup and sandwiches at the same little café for lunch, shop a little more, see a movie, shop the rest of the day, and then go to Friendly’s for dinner. We somehow even get the same waitress every year. We’re creatures of habit, Denise and I. I got a ton of shopping done, totally loved the movie Enchanted, and even found these two great sweaters that fit perfectly and will show up under the tree on Christmas Eve to me from Den. (She has such great taste. I don’t know how she knew I wanted them. It might have something to do with my picking them out, trying them on, and then handing them to her and saying “Merry Christmas to me, from you.” Oh, and it turns out that on open highway with no traffic, my beautiful new car can go 90 without even shimmying. Um, not that I tried it or anything….

So yesterday was the big day—decorating day. I left my apartment, all bundled up, pushing my little rolling cart through the gently falling snow, off to get a Christmas tree. An hour later I came back to my apartment, cold, wet, and treeless, and said to my roommate, “You know those things I do, that will be really funny when I’m writing about them later?”

I’m not sure how people get Christmas trees in other cities, but every neighborhood in New York has at least one Christmas tree stand set up on the sidewalk. These nice people come down from Quebec with their trees and live out of their vans for the month of December. So I walked (4 streets and 2 very long avenues, this will be important later) to get my tree. Sure, I have a car, but why take it out in the snow when I have my trusty cart that’s served me so well in past years? I got there and explained specifically what I wanted—6 or 7 feet high, it had to be very fat and very round, and it had to have the stiff needles. No wussy soft needles for me. (It turns out that the technical term for what I want is balsam. I’ll forget it by next year, but good to know.) They go digging into their stash and come up with The Tree And I come up with the perfect solution to the whole “struggling to put the tree in the stand” torture I go through every year. I’m just going to throw some money at it. So I tell the nice Canuck. “I already have a tree stand at home. But I’ll buy one of yours if you put the tree in it for me.” He gets more money, my roommate and I don’t have to fight over whether or not it’s straight. Everybody wins. So far so good.

But now it’s time to pay for it. And this is where the problems start. I have $3 in cash, and I lost my ATM card. Again. I know this would be a big deal for someone more organized than I am, but I lose it pretty regularly, and it usually shows up, so I’m not all that worried. I had taken my American Express card so I could take a cash advance against it. Yes, I knew I’d have to pay a fee, but today was the day I was putting up my Christmas tree, dammit. I refused to let a little thing like service fees get in my way. So I leave the pretty tree and go into the drugstore to get money from the ATM. Transaction Denied. Shit.

But wait. The ATM had a weird message when I got there, and it made me wait while it loaded. It’s obviously the machine. I go across the street to the bakery and try again. Transaction Denied at this Terminal. Ah, that’s it! American Express won’t let me take a cash advance at a store ATM for my safety. That’s so nice of them. I need to go to a bank! Great. So I walk 3 long avenues and 3 streets to the nearest bank. I’m good. I’m getting my money. Transaction denied. Okay, now I’m in trouble. They already cut the tree for me, put it in the stand. I can’t just not go back, because I left my cart with them. Besides, this is decorating day, dammit

So I head back to my apartment (one long avenue, 1 street) and show up (cold, wet, and treeless) to explain to my roommate that this will all be very funny later, but right now I need her to give me her ATM card so I can go get cash to pay for the tree. I walk to her bank (2 long avenues, 1 street) and back to fetch the tree (4 long avenues, 3 streets). I’m in business. I’ve got my tree. It’s in the stand. I’m ready to go. But oh, one little detail. See the stand is too big to fit in my cart so they’ve had to tie the tree across the cart. Which means I now have to make it home (4 streets, 2 long avenues) with a 7-foot wingspan. In the snow. In New York City. I wish someone had been there to see me. Tilting the cart to get around trees, just giving up at some points and pushing my cart down the middle of the street like a homeless person. And of course, giggling out loud, because even I can see how ridiculous I look. Anyone who saw me had to think I was insane.

So finally. Finally!!!! I get home. I push my cart up to the ramp that leads to my side door and all I have to do is get the tree off the cart and I’m home free. But did I mention that it’s tied on? Really tightly? I try sawing through the rope with my house key. This is going to take forever. I try just standing the tree up and holding it, with the cart still tied on, sticking off the front like a three-foot tumor. There’s no way I can get it inside without killing myself. Now I’m screwed. My super is out there shoveling, but he’s conspicuously ignoring me and avoiding eye contact. I’m going to have to leave my tree outside, unattended, and go inside for scissors. My beautiful, beautiful tree that I have now worked REALLY hard for.

Just then, one of my neighbors comes to my rescue. He has nothing to cut with either, but that’s okay, because his window is right above where we’re standing. And he calls his wife and has her (I couldn’t make this shit up) drop a steak knife out of their kitchen window down to us so he can cut the rope for me.

So my beautiful tree made it inside my apartment, I got a workout, I made friends with my neighbor (and his wife, who I met when I returned the knife) and my apartment is totally decorated. I still love Christmas, but right now I’m glad it only comes once a year.

p.s. For those of you who remember the Fourth of July Lost Key Debacle, I still haven’t found my ATM card, but while I was looking for it, I found the key to my dad’s car. It had somehow fallen between the head of the bed and the wall, and gotten stuck under there. Because I evidently took my car keys to bed with me the night before?? For those of you who were with me, just how much tequila did I drink that night??