(and at Christmas you tell the truth)

The Treehouse is freezing. In a last-ditch effort to heat it up, I am cooking. I have a big copper pot on the stove making sausage-and-bean stew that I think is going to be marvelous. There are Christmas decorations strewn about on the floor. A holiday dress that got the official "OK" last weekend is thrown carelessly on the couch (where I left it, heh heh heh). I am enjoying this.

I have decided that this holiday is going to be like "Love Actually" in real life. I am going to be bold. I will honor my family (although it won't keep me from having sex with my super hot man like it did for Laura Linney--sorry, girl). I will get cozy with friends. I will go to holiday recitals and make out with my boyfriend behind the stage. Later I will declare my love and intentions for him in front of a bunch of Portuguese people. Claudia Schiffer will make a cameo. Bill Nighy will end up naked on my television. And little girls will do the running man when someone sings that King Wenceslas song.

I love that frickin' movie. I've seen it five times recently, and we're not even a week into December yet. Thank you, dear Britain. You have inspired me to make each moment in this life one that I can be proud of.

And Billy Bob is a dick. g