Diary of a Sex-Starved Pseudo-Mennonite, Part 41

When my ex-husband's half-brother's girlfriend texted me on Thanksgiving because she missed me, even though she is 20 years younger than me and we had barely spent any time together because Satan left me before we could, I felt loved. I wondered if she felt a special connection to me due to our mutual vulnerability. If her partner acted on a certain foul mood, she might be the next lady catapulted far from her current holiday table placement. I mean, she's not even engaged to her guy. I was married to mine for 18 years.

My mother was with me for Thanksgiving, possibly partially due to guilt, because I told her I didn't move across the country to spend Thanksgiving alone like last year. I was subsequently invited to a Friendsgiving but didn't go, not wanting to leave Mom or drive under the influence of turkey and gravy. Mom and I hot-tubbed and she loved it so much she lingered til her legs went numb. Drummer Boy wasn't working on Thanksgiving. He was resting and admiring his sexy, newly purchased audio equipment. My distant, late-stage turkey belly couldn't compete with that.

Next Thanksgiving, will I have a new home and job and family? Will I cook, even? It's interesting to have no fucking idea about that, whereas folks with more cohesive families seem to have holiday perma-dates predetermined year after year after decade until death do they part.

My brother called to wish me a happy holiday and complain bitterly regarding the number of questions my dad asked him about me over the phone. Dad didn't know I had moved back to the Midwest. I didn't know Dad knew I was divorced, but I guess my brother told him. My brother calls Dad every few months and Dad apparently asks him about me. I guess it's a family trait to pursue people who are focused on someone or something that is not you.

Dad told my brother he would email me. In the energy of the abandoned latchkey kid I was for so many years, I checked my Hotmail, hoping and not hoping to hear from him. Nothing. At least he's consistent. Dad probably got off the phone with my brother and realized an unsettled Ness might need money and decided to maintain his reliable unavailability. 

This year, I put up exterior holiday lights with my current hosts. I had never done such a thing before. This personal factoid puzzles people who grew up with fathers. You think my single mom was gonna scramble up a ladder and wrestle with tangled cords and unpredictable currents to doll up a structure so small and unassuming that Santa might just miss it? We didn't believe in Santa at our house. Mom didn't want to lie to us, she said. I think she got a dark charge from pulling our dreams out by the roots early, before childhood fantasies really had time to germinate. All of our Christmas presents were clearly labeled as gifted from other in-the-flesh humans we had seen before, even if we didn't particularly believe in them. I think single moms might be less likely to blow smoke up their kids' asses than moms who stay married.

Will Santa cum this year? Does his "Ho! Ho! Ho!" sound different when he does? More breathy? Extra jolly? What's the status with Mrs. Claus? Will he be a widower by New Year's Eve (cuz I need a date)? If not, would I lose your respect if I became Santa's other woman? Will he move me to the "Nice" list or keep me "Naughty" when I deliver? I don't think there is a real chimney at my current residence. Definitely no fireplace. And I plan to spend Christmas in yet another state. How will Kris find me to Kringle my Christmas jammies? I hope he received my change of address form and love letter spritzed with raw cookie dough smell and my well-worn yet unwashed red and green lace panties at the North Pole. If he plants his North Pole in me, will I have a Santa Baby? Is Kris shooting blanks? If Santa's not sterile, will the baby be born with a white beard? Should I name our love child Kris Ness? Or Mary Kris Ness?

Check back this holiday season to see if Santa knocks me up, or at least agrees to be my "plus 1" for New Year's Eve.

Until Next Time, Sweeties!

Ness Sweet Ness