EastGirlsWest

Traditional Italian antipasto plate.

Shrimp cocktail.

Salad of mixed greens with dill and pomegranate.

Nana’s Italian Stuffed Peppers.

Linguini with homemade clam sauce, including fresh steamers.

Baked cod with olive, tomato and orange relish.

Lightly seared asparagus with lemon and olive oil.

Lots of wine.

Apple-cranberry pie, still warm from the oven.

Tay did most of the cooking, I did the baking, we both did the shopping (with Mom!). We take our Christmas dinner VERY seriously. And ate for over four hours.

I’m in Cape Cod. I just did an extremely satisfying and much-needed shot of Enbrel. Before that I drank two glasses of cabernet. Before that I spent the entire day driving around Massachusetts to retrieve our lost luggage. And prior to that I spent a day getting from the Pacific to the Atlantic. And in the beginning? There was shopping. Lots and lots of Christmas shopping.

The first few shopping trips are actually fun. I’m filled holiday cheer and the giving spirit. I buy beautiful and thoughtful gifts. I treat myself to an eggnog latte at the mall, and smile at my fellow shoppers.

Then quickly, it all goes to hell. By the last week before Christmas I’m a bitter, broken woman. I’m filled with stress, hate the mall, hate everyone, have no time for lattes and actual nightmares about people not getting presents. I think this photo that Aaryn took of the two of us at Fascist Valley a few days ago says it all.

But somehow the shopping gets done. And briefly, relief. It’s fleeting though, because mere hours after buying my last present I have to start packing all of my purchases into a too-small suitcase for transport to the east coast. (Here’s Tay, lying on a luggage conveyor at Boston’s Logan Airport. The same conveyor that did not deliver any of our bags, all containing gifts.)

Yet despite the shopping, and traveling and the stress, there is still some real Christmas joy. Yesterday afternoon my sister and I walked through the middle of Boston, arms linked, past the Macy’s Christmas windows, eating warm, roasted peanuts. I was wearing a hat, scarf and gloves, smelling the winter air, and listening to Jingle Bells play over the loudspeaker for all the pedestrians in Downtown Crossing.

And just tonight, in Provincetown, with my family, we found a Christmas tree made of lobster traps. The tree topper was a bunch of buoys. Only in New England, people. Only in New England.

Finally, there’s this. The most honest, hearwarming and real holiday video I’ve seen so far on The Internet. It’s two EastGirlsEast, my dear friend Mary and the love of her life, who completely charmed me with this wish:

I would like to erase abstinence-only funding on the federal level, as a stocking stuffer.

Watch it. It’s the best of Christmas and it will make you smile.

And any minute now, I will have come full circle back to that eggnog latte.

“So, he’s definitely interested. And she’s beautiful, and smart, and it looks like she might go out with him. What do you think?”

“Yeah, it might work. I just don’t understand why women are attracted to men.”

Once every few weeks we end up buying one of those delicious rotisserie chickens at the grocery story for dinner. And my sister always saves the wishbone.

After it dries out for a few days, it’s time to break. We have a ritual. We stand in the kitchen, each grab one side, and close our eyes.

The first time we did this, Tay made a beautiful suggestion: we should each make a wish for the other so that we’d always be pleased with the outcome, no matter who pulled the larger piece.

We are each other’s delicate mirror and solid foundation. We share memory, pain, and a bottomless well of laughter. It only makes sense that we should each embrace the other’s wish - to have the daring to ask for our sister what she is certainly afraid to hope for herself. Now every time I tug on my end, I think about our future, uncertain but entwined. I know her joy is my own, and my happiness has plenty of room for her.

Right before the final tug, I open my eyes to look at her. I want to kiss her closed eyelids and whisper that we will always be okay.

Snap.

I win. And she has her wish.

A couple of weeks ago, The Betrothed and I experienced a travel nightmare on the way to a conference. It involved a cross-country flight, a dissappearing connecting flight, a few hours of sleep at a Marriott in the middle of nowhere after a long night of gate-sitting at Dulles, and a day late arrival to our final destination. The icing on the cupcake: my lost luggage. It finally appeared on day 2 of the conference, and I then proceeded to do a wardrobe change every few hours to make up for lost time.

It’s so easy, and somehow satisfying, to complain about bad travel experiences. They are more and more frequent these days, and a loud rant about X Airline is often the only recourse one has in the face of bad weather, mechanical problems, and That Weird Guy Sitting Next To You On The Plane.

Let it be known, I complained plenty about last month’s travel nightmare. In fact, it was such a horrible experience that I was DREADING the thought of getting on a plane today.

However, in the interest of good karma, positive thinking, and a general belief that pointing out when things go well is a license to whine when they don’t…I want to tell you about my great travel day!

No bad weather. Clear skies and sunshine the whole way. No line at security. I had an entire row to myself from San Diego to Cincinnati, so I could put my arthritic legs up. My arrival and departure gates in Cincinnati were right next to each other. They were also right next to a handy shop called “10 Minute Manicure”, so I got one. I had TCBY (white chocolate mousse, my favorite flavor). I had an empty seat next to me on the flight to LaGuardia, and they showed an episode of Will & Grace that I’d never seen. The cherry on top? My suitcase was the FIRST bag to appear on the conveyor belt in baggage claim. And when I walked outside, there was no line at the taxi stand. I rode into Manhattan watching a full moon rise over the stunning skyline.

I’m sure by my next trip the memory of today’s travels will have faded, and something extremely inconvenient will happen, and The Betrothed will be patiently dealing with a major Jess Meltdown at the airport. But knowing that certain future, I had to celebrate today.

As you may already know, I’ve been married before. And there was a beautiful wedding, and a pretty dress, and a good time was had by all. I was in my 20’s and dirt poor, which made certain aspects of financing the wedding a challenge. But we also had some help (thank you, Mom) - and in some cases the lack of options made decisions very, very simple. For example:

Buying My Own Dress + no $$$ = Cheap Dress

See? So easy.

Now I’m older, wiser, prettier (let’s face it, women in their 30’s are hot), in a different relationship (Dreamy Betrothed) and a more stable economic situation. I am not in a “I’ll spend whatever the hell I feel like spending on my wedding” economic situation, but I can now actually pay my bills which sometimes leads me to convince myself I can live just a teensy, weensy bit beyond my means.

Tay and Angela took me out wedding dress shopping on Friday. Just in the nick of time it seems, because every bridal shop owner told us that dresses need to be ordered 4-6 months in advance of the wedding. (Apparently the seamstress is on a sewing schedule similar to my workout schedule, and then the dress is shipped to San Diego on a glacier.) We went to three beautiful shops, and I tried on the most stunning frocks I’ve ever worn in my life. I felt appropriately fairy princess-like and had a wonderful day (thank you, Tay & Angela).

We knew in advance that the establishments we were visiting carried a few dresses in my price range, but were also aware that most of the inventory would be decidedlly OUT of my price range. As in way out. As in not even close. There was a group decison made before we got out of the car: I should stretch the truth a bit about my budget, and then enjoy trying on the dresses.

We then told ourselves the following lies:

- I was just getting some ideas about what I liked and what I wanted.
- I was not going to fall in love with some dress I couldn’t afford on my first day of shopping.

Can you see where this is going?

I’m telling you, dress after dress made my heart swoon - and my shopping companions were quickly drawn into my web of fantasy. The first moment I crossed over to insanity occurred when I slipped into this dreamy Italian number. It was only two times my intended budget, which looking back now seems almost reasonable. But then I considered selling my car when I put this dress on. Also Italian. Even further out of reach.

Stop number two yielded the most glamorous garment I’ve ever wrapped by body in, followed by what became (for about an hour) The Dress. The Dress was then later replaced by what is now THE DRESS. But we all loved The Dress. I wouldn’t take it off. I tried it on twice. I mentally emptied my 401K.

It just kept getting better and better. Or worse and worse, depending on your outlook.

Our last stop found me simultaneously laughing and weeping in a Carolina Herrera that I have convinced myself I can’t live without. I love this dress, and it loves me back. It DOES. It needs me to wear it. If I own it, I will at last be happy. Tragically, I will also need to sell The Betrothed’s car to get it, and then he will not marry me.

I’m pretty sure I’ve come to my senses.

As we ate lunch halfway through the shopping day, I was sighing over my food, talking through the dresses with Tay and Angela, trying to understand how the lies we told ourselves were just that: lies.

“Well,” Tay said. “It’s kind of like going to the pound and telling yourself you’re not going to get a dog.”

So true. I really, really want a dog. But since it looks like I’m not going to get one, I wanted to at least post the evidence that I spent some time getting to know the dog, and that I looked really, really good wearing it.