Someone Like That

After WC and I got thoroughly rubbed and moisturized, we trekked over to the east side for dinner at her favorite sushi place, which has now become my favorite as well. Think art deco diner turned sushi bar.

Not only is the sushi lovely, the two-for-one happy hour drinks can't be beat. (SK, we are so going there for our post-Christmas dinner together!)

We decided to see a horror movie (big surprise), and the natural choice was I Am Legend. But we did cruise around Fandango on WC's blackberry to see what the rest of our options were, and this led to a perfectly ridiculous conversation. Ridiculous mostly because our post-spa glow was accompanied by a sudden descent to room temperature IQs and 6 pomegranate martinis didn't help.

"Atonement is playing, but that's sort of serious. Don't think you want anything serious right now that doesn't involve the spilling of lots of blood."

"Need blood-spill."

"Wasn't that a book?"

"Blood-Spill?"

"No, Atonement."

"Yup."

"Who wrote it? "Mc"-something. Like that guy, "Mc"-something. The cute one."

"From Moulin Rouge?"

"And Star Wars."

""McEw"-something. Very cute. Can sing, too. Lovely tenor."

"Wasn't he the one who wrote Angela's Ashes?"

"The guy from Moulin Rouge?"

"No, the guy who wrote Atonement"

"Huh. Maybe. It's definitely a "Mc"-something name."

"McKellan?"

"Wasn't he Gandalf?"

"What are the chances Gandalf the Grey wrote books?"

"Huh."

"Huh."

"Another round?"

"Yes, please."

So on the way to the theatre, we ducked into the Borders and the information kiosk clarified all:

Author of Atonement: Ian McEwan
Author of Angela's Ashes: Frank McCourt
Actor in Moulin Rouge: Ewan McGregor
Actor who played Gandalf: Ian McKellan

We bought our movie tickets then went to a bar across the street, stole glassware, threw back another cocktail, and returned to the theatre. As we found seats, WC told me, "I knew it wasn't Gandalf the Grey who wrote Atonement, just someone like that."

Suksan Wan Christmas!

With the holiday season upon us, I have had the following conversation multiple times with various people:

"You're not getting me a present, are you?"
"Nope, wasn't planning on it."
"Oh thank goodness. Not getting you anything either."
"Phew."

This is my new interpretation of the Christmas spirit.

MG texted me the other night; she wanted to drop off a "small giftie to tuck under the tree." This immediately elicited a flood of panic as I tore through my closets, looking for something to re-gift. I did pause briefly to consider my apartment - can a dying jade plant count as a Christmas tree? Maybe if I attach my tiara to it.

WC and I negotiated Christmas this year. After 20 years of diligently buying each other Christmas and birthday presents, we've run out of ideas. So for this Christmas (later this afternoon, actually), we will be spending equal amounts of money on ourselves at a spa, during which we won't actually see each other. But we will, afterwards, all limp-limbed and drooling after 3 hours of being pummeled and rubbed, have an early dinner together.

Two years ago, I spent Christmas by myself at the Banyan Tree Resort in Bangkok. It was a contemplative Christmas. Spent 8 hours in the spa, then ate mangosteens and drank wine with the bell boys in the lobby who tried their best to teach me dirty words in Thai. Well, that part of it wasn't so contemplative. But it was a test for myself, and one I think I passed. If you can keep laughing, then all is calm, all is bright. Wine and mangosteens don't hurt.