Well, just last night, actually. We had dinner at the Pen, courtesy of Dean's gracious and always gorgeous mother. The spread was awesome (including roast beef, duck, venison, smoked salmon, and some really scrumptious pate), and the atmosphere was tension-filled, as it usually is on Christmas Eve with my in-laws. It's gotten to the point where it's really more funny than anything; I'm so used to it that I hardly know what to do with myself if no one screams at anyone else the night before Christmas.
Sage was beautiful in purple velvet, and I wore a translucent black (It's not like I actually own many clothes in other colors!) number that Dean immediately vetoed as overly daring. Obedient wife that I am, I smiled at him sweetly, flashed some tit, and wore it anyway.
Later, we went to a little get-together at Dean's stepbrother's, where we met a bunch of new people who were either witty and charming, or already drunk in that delightful, glassy-eyed, emptily smiley sort of way. Dean and his brother reconnected after many years of estrangement, which served as a nicely poignant, Christmasy cap to the evening.
It's now Christmas morning, and raised as I was by an American mom, this is the day when we actually open presents under the tree, have a nice family meal, that kind of thing. We woke up at the crack of dawn (Well, 6:30, but I think that 9 a.m. still qualifies as the proverbial crack, so there you go.), gorged ourselves on ensaymada, glazed ham, and hot chocolate with marshmallows (really not cold enough for cocoa, but it just ain't Christmas to me without it), and attacked the hillock of accumulated gifts.
Sage, of course, received more presents than all the rest of our little family put together... to the point where she became overwhelmed and simply sat there, staring at the mounds of wrapping paper threatening to engulf her. After a while, she became acclimatized and started playing with unbridled glee. Her current favorites are a Winnie-the-Pooh fridge from her father and me, and a laptop (!) from her grandmother in the States.
I got a bunch of fabulous presents, along with a couple of questionable ones from people who I didn't tell what I wanted. Serves me right, I suppose. It was all a lot of fun, but a part of me is just relieved that the greater portion of all the hoo-ha is over.
Am I getting old, or what?
Boyet and me
Christopher de Leon wants a copy of Siglo. He spotted my brother walking around with his at the GMA Christmas party (My brother is an actor.), and immediately coveted it, which is obviously a testament to Carl's magnificent book design and his sister Yang's gorgeous cover art.
I mention this not because I'm particularly starstruck (Sadly, for the sister of an artista, I'm so ignorant that local celebs practically have to bite me on the nose before I manage to recognize them.), but because I have a weird pseudo-history with ol' Boyet, having spoken to him twice as a phone-in friend on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?
People tend to choose me as a resource person for that sort of thing, I'm not sure why. Then again, maybe I do know. Probably they think: "Now who do I know who hangs around home all day, and whose mind is cluttered with an absurd miscellany of useless information? Aha, Nikki!"
Good to know I'm good for something.