Friday night, I drank a shitload of wine and smoked some dope and had such a great time, I nearly knocked myself out laughing. JJ did not indulge in either, being designated driver.
Even though I woke up clear-headed and my stomach was fine, I couldn’t conceive of drinking anything at all last night. I stuck with water.
JJ and I watched a terrific French movie called Crazy, starring this gorgeous dark-haired man named Marc-Andre Grondin. We both decided he was fabulously fuckable. Yes, it’s sub-titled, but worth the time! I’m recommending it. The story: Middle-class family with five sons, one of whom is gay. The pain he goes through growing up surrounded by that much testosterone is palpable. Streams on Netflix.
After that wrapped, we decorated for Christmas. This consisted of setting up a small fake tree near the window and stringing it with lights, tossing tinsel on it, and calling it a night. If it was up to me, I wouldn’t bother with even that much, but JJ is finding it hard to let go of tradition. He doesn’t feel right if we don’t do something.
Christmas is not one of my favorite holidays. The stench of retail desperation as they shill for dollars, the sheer number of commercials and ads coming at me from all media, and the incredibly boring, mind-numbing repetition of holiday songs has me wishing I could leave the country until after the new year.
It’s okay, you can call me Scrooge. JJ does.