"A word of advice, next time you fight a man with a sonic screwdriver...don't let him near the sound system!" - The Doctor, 2006 Christmas Special The Runaway Bride
First things first, it's four in the morning, most civilized people in this country are either asleep or finishing their fan Doctor Who scripts, I however am unfortunetly doing neither. Instead, I am awake in bed trying to tell my seven year old sister that it's not time to wake up yet. My sister's name is Alice, here's what happened:
Alice: Nelly, let's go downstairs.
Nelly: (Almost completley asleep) No. It's not seven thirty yet.
Alice: But can't we just go down anyway?
Nelly: Mom and Dad said: We can't wake them up till seven.
Alice: But can't we...
Nelly: NO! Mom and Dad said we can't wake them up until seven, we can't go downstairs at seven, we can't open presents at seven, CHRISTMAS DOES NOT START UNTIL SEVEN, if we were to leave this bed before seven then Santa would come, take away our presents and throw us into the white hot pit of flaming plum pudding! DOOM awaits those who go down the steps before seven on Christmas. Abandon all hope, ye who...
At this point, I notice that during my rant my sister has fallen asleep, completely bored and quite possibly frightened by my half comotose speech. Shame really, would have made great autobiography material for her. Anyway, at this point it's about 4:15 and it takes me probably all of a second to fall back to sleep. God bless us, everyone.
At exactly seven on the dot my sister's eyes shoot open and she wakes me up again. This time, I'm not quite as sadistic as I was at four, having had two extra hours of sleep to repent my soul. I head downstairs to find my slippers (because that's the obvious place for them) while my sister goes and wakes up my parents. By 7:10, we're all downstairs.
My family all has matching stockings hand knitted by my mom, except for my sister. It's not because mom wouldn't knit her one, she's had one started for her for years, it's that my sister didn't want a family stocking. Instead, my then three year old sister decided to to assert her independence and make her own stocking. Needless to say, we bought her one at Walmart and let her cover it with glitter. The rest of the stockings are knitted. Cute stockings slightly larger then the average store bought one, each striped according to person. My mom's is striped red-green, my dad's is striped green-red and mine is striped red-white. Alice's was suppose to be striped green-white, but alas, it remains half finished in the barn outback. Again, it's a shame.
Why am I ranting about stockings? I'll tell you why. Have you ever opened a stocking and realized almost instantly that it wasn't yours? Then checked the outside and realized it was? Then checked the inside and realized it wasn't? How imensely confusing is that? Aparently over the night "Santa" got the stocking content confused, and gave all of my mom's stocking stuffers to me and all of mine to her. Clearly hanging out with all those reindeer in a sub-arctic enviroment does terrible things to one's mind.
By 7:30 the presents are torn open. My mom got a dead presidents fact book, my dad got a cargo net, my sister got a VILE baby alive doll and I got:
- A David Tennant as The Doctor action figure (complete with little sonic screwdriver!!)
- A Doctor Who original novel: The Price of Paradise
- A 50$ Gift card to Macy's (FIFTY DOLLARS...what am I going to do with all that?)
- A Doctor Who poster of The Doctor standing looking awsome infront of the TARDIS
- A Doctor Who K-9 keychain
- Two t-shirts, one that says "They say I have ADD, but I think...ok look, a chicken!" and another one that says "Watch it or you'll end up in my novel"
- The Doctor Who Soundtrack (and mousepad and badge)
- A grey sweatshirt
- A blue sweater
- A gift card to iTunes
And by far the most useless yet still incredibly cool gift all year:
-A Doctor Who glass light, basically a pane of glass with the Doctor Who logo lit up in Neon Blue. No IDEA what I'm going to do with this...but I love it!
So yeah, that's my morning. By eight I've managed to read half the book and eat two cinnoman nut buns. At eight thirty I call my friends, see what they got. At nine I contemplate taking a shower but dad says there's no hot water so I end up waiting until nine-thirty. Relatives to come over at ten. At nine thirty I'm about to step into the shower when all the relatives show up, at once, completely unannounced a half an hour early. I don't even get time to put conditioner in or use the hair dryer. I open more presents, hair completely soaked, at ten.
I am aparently the hardest person in the world to shop for. No idea why this is, my friends tell me the same thing. This may be why I ended up receiving seven different notebooks and sketchbooks and six pairs of plain white socks for Christmas. Granted, I love notebooks and sketchbooks, and everyone needs socks. I was just sort of hoping I'd maybe get a pair of earrings or something...
Oh, and of course, the annual famed Aunty Gay gift. I've never met my Aunt Gay, nor do I think she's ever met me. I may have met her once when I was about three years old, and aparently in her world, that's the age I stay forever. This year my gift was the famed five story wooden jewelery box with little bumblebees and flowers painted on the side in pink. It is the most gastly thing I've ever seen in my life. If it really is the thought that counts, then what was she thinking? Anyone want it...anyone?
And so, that's Christmas morning for you. From four to eleven on December 25th, that was my life. At twelve thirty we sat down to have our Christmas dinner (see entry "Putting the England in New England") and at one thiry I quietly excused myself so I could obsessively watch the live streaming broadcast of Doctor Who: The Runaway Bride. Was in state of shock for the rest of the day after hearing David Tennant say Gallifrey, in character, on screen, in a cool and slightly menacing way. And I thought he only did that sort of stuff in my dreams...but let's not go there... Anway, by the end of the evening, while still in shock, I managed to have my book finished, my soundtrack dumped into iTunes, and a fan-fic started in one of my notebooks. All in all, a good Christmas. I even managed to find a place for the light, right at the foot of my bed, where bizarly enough is actually where my head is.
Merry Christmas to all.
And to all, a goodnight.