how I celebrate

Dear friends and family: Unless you are my brother, his wife, their kid who has been born and their kid who is not yet born (because Christmas is for kids, so that's why these are the only people who are getting presents from me -- shh, don't tell the cats they didn't actually come from my womb as this will surely break their little hearts), your holiday gift this year will be watching me pour all of my money into Ironman Arizona. You're welcome! And hopefully you will be as excited as I am about ripped abs and the Garmin 910XT, both of which I fully expect to attain at some point over the next 11 months. (Hey, Santa: I swear I'm not a selfish bitch!)

That said, I am partaking in festive activities. Case in point: Casually mocking the Hipster Lumberjacks in Holiday Gear at the bus stop. (Side note: Santarchy isn't until Saturday, so I have no idea what these folks were doing.)

I also decorated my apartment this weekend.

And I'm pleased to report that so far, the cats have not destroyed my miniature fake Christmas tree hung with oversized phallic vegetables. But honestly, I'm not holding my breath. Who knows what sort of mayhem they've been up to today while I'm at work.

Speaking of the cats, I've addressed my four Christmas presents (Seattle insider tip: Wait until the Seahawks game starts and then go shopping -- you'll have every single store to yourself!) as coming from the cats.

(And in case the photo above makes your brain hurt, my family calls me "Kelly." It's an old nickname. And unless I knew you in high school or earlier, you are not allowed to call me that. Don't even think about it.)

And finally, no real celebration is complete without drag queens.

You know those times when a dude in drag is more woman than you are? Yeah. Those times. I really need to do some sit-ups and figure out what mascara is.