Long story, but I did not attend my "Cinderella ball" of a holiday party at Chicago's Art Institute this evening. (I did, however, get all dolled up for the event, as is barely evidenced by the above picture.) My rockstar hair was bummed about the decision, but the cat lady in me was a bit relieved. Instead of wandering out in the subzero temperatures to enjoy beautiful art and fancy cocktails, I stayed home and watched House Hunters reruns with my parents, drank coffee from our new-to-us Keurig machine, ate pizza from Giordano's, and tried not to dwell on the fact that I could have skipped the shower after all.

You're never too young to become a hermit.

One of my favorite aspects of South Park is when they animate a scene of angry people gathered into a crowd. Instead of giving the voice actors lines to shout over each other, everyone just screams, "Rabble, rabble, rabble, rabble!" over and over.

That's a bit what it's like in my head tonight, with a bunch of emotions elbowing one another for more room and making ever so much noise. In just the past few days, I have been: livid to the point of tears, worried, sad, giddy, guilt-ridden, ecstatic, and mischievous, just to name a few. At one point, my subconscious decided that the best solution was to drown the impending madness in true Hollywood style; before I knew it, I was looking up flasks on Etsy and trying to determine what sort of alcohol to buy online. (I'm sorry to report that I didn't make any purchases. 2011 will not be the year of the Drunkskirts.)

I suppose that's the nature of the Christmas season sometimes. Hectic, harried, bustling, dizzying. So I'm going to curl up with a crossword puzzle, some hot tea, and a purring kitty in a valiant attempt to find a little peace in the eye of the hurricane. I suggest you do the same.

She is gullible, unaware of her own ignorance, opinionated, and convincing. Give her a few years, and she'll be buying pasta strainers and egg poachers from late-night infomercials. With just the right hint, she will find her way in front of the camera, prattling on about a diet pill that takes stains out of laundry.

He is educated, immature, prideful, and vain. You don't have to ask to know; he definitely thinks that song is about him.

She is beautiful, clever, strong, and vulnerable. Her passion is her greatest asset and her greatest weakness, but she doesn't know it yet.

He is argumentative, brilliant, sentimental, and broken. I miss him.