Holiday Blahs

There's nothing like spending Christmas eve with the father, the stepmother, the sister, and the insane single aunt who gets drunk after a mere two glasses of red wine. Is it the Asian syndrome or what?

Tonight, at dinner, it was hot pot, basically the Chinese version of the fondue—minus the cheese. The crazy aunt started to say inappropriate things once the wine started going. During one cycle of conversation, we chatted about the most annoying seat mates on long flights. I mentioned the gas-passing Indian that a friend had to endure en route from New York to Bombay. The aunt piped up and said, "Once I saw someone masturbating on the plane, and he was really enjoying himself." Sometimes I think the aunt is ADD. I could imagine myself saying something that silly and gross during holiday dinner, which, thankfully, I didn't.

As I noshed on fish balls, beef strips, and tofu, my mind and thoughts started to ricochet about again, as I thought about New Year's resolutions. All day I'd had a pen in hand and an index card in another, ready to write down what has always been empty promises. I promise to drink what I pour, I promise to carry less so that I might shed the nickname "bag lady." I promise not to show up at the wrong floor and door of my dates, simply because I'd forgotten the exact address. I promise to show up to places on normal people's time.

I laugh at the watch the pseudo-boyfriend gave me for Christmas. It could it be a hint to what he hopes for me: that someday I will show up on the dot rather than after a long lull and an apology.

Anyway, here I sit drinking diet Coke and eating chocolate truffles as I continue to think about resolutions, which were, at one time, large and lofty—writing a book, swimming the English channel—only this year I’m thinking of making it lean instead—drink what I pour and shed the bag lady status. Happy holidays.