Though Heifer and Ginxie spent the first couple of days hissing at and avoiding each other – and though heifer spent more of the week hiding under the guest room bed – it appears that the tension has melted. Heifer does not yet purr compulsively, prance about and get into impish mischief as she did under my care, but she does explore at intervals an, of course, eats heartily.

“little miss owns the place”

they’re not yet friends, but they tolerate each other and will even share the same space. ginxie, however, insists on keeping a close eye on the lithe, stripey heifer.

Heifer will warm up in time and begin to purr again. for the next year, she will be well fed and well attended to. She will be fine. I, on the other hand, am less fine without her, but accepting a job with a company that forbade her to come with me was a conscious choice so I haven’t the right to complain.

nonetheless, the place is cavernous without her.

Now?? Now?? Eight years after I turned 18 – countless opportunities within those 8 years – and now, 10 days before I move to Japan … a New York County Juror’s Eligibility Questionnaire in my mailbox?

The Atheist does quite well at Christmas. In theory, we who believe Jesus is a mythical figure do not deserve gifts. Yet, in the spirit of good cheer, gifts are pressed upon us. Though the fact that our stance on organized religion is consistently ignored might sting, far be it from us to scorn a random present – especially ones presented with hugs, good intentions and bright, shiny bows.

We especially do well in the culinary sense. Again, it’s food we technically have no right to eat. Panettone, white fudge-covered Oreos, honey-glazed ham, heady ron ponche, midnight tamales, egg nog, candy canes, spicy gingerbread, insalata di mare; it’s an endless bounty of delightful treats. It comes once a year and no one seems to mind if we partake. In fact, we are encouraged to do so; over and over again, at equally endless holiday fetes brimming with cheer, booze and delightful traditions like the mistletoe kiss.

The downside to all of this taking is that since we are polite and included in the fun, we feel obligated to give in return; thus, we are pressured into celebrating holidays we don’t believe in. But what can we say? Say this: “Yes, I do like that black Banana Republic shrug – thank you! More gingerbread, please. Don’t mind if I do help myself to some scrummy, rummy egg nog. The ravioli are amazing this year – ben fatti!!”

The way to an Atheist’s black heart might very well be through our stomachs.

in packing for tomorrow’s trip to Florida, I shook Heifer’s cat food box and, upon realizing it was empty, thought to myself that I should run down to the deli and get a week’s supply so that Jean and Frank could feed her while I am gone.

And then I remembered that Heifer is coming with me to Florida.

The days of the week since quitting my job are filled with hectic transcribing, legislative/administrative duties, cleaning, organizing and errands. Get the pants hemmed (still haven’t). Buy the work clothes (H&M and Express are making me happy). Hit the Salvation Army (two trips). Apply for the Visa. Pick up the Visa. Get passport pictures. Make housing decisions; my company’s housing liaison has literally given me a choice between space and privacy. I’m an old girl by now, though – the idea of a roommate makes me cringe. I believe I will have to pick that extremely tiny apartment in the “Mansion” in Otako. It certainly can’t be worse than my studio on 10th and A.

But the weekends: parties! It’s been a most excellent season so far, too:

• Sal’s pre-Thanksgiving party in Queens. A gorgeous bird stuffed with oranges and onions, lovely Spanish red wine, folks crowded round watching The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air and singing happy birthday to a guy who was given a pair of socks.
• Diego’s 25th Birthday bash. Fancying it up at a club with Diego’s work friends who bought rounds and incurred no complaints from me.
• A joint birthday party for Moire and Greg at Art Bar in Tribeca. Marie came with adorable little Hudson in tow, a hyper guy with a faux hawk shouted at me through a bar window that I look like “the girl from Clerks”, and a $3 trip to Magnolia yielded a cupcake that still had nothing on the ones at Crumbs.
• A dinner party in honor of Peaches at my place. Pasta e fagioli, a spinach salad with an interesting new hot pepper and ginger salad dressing, heady ron ponche and a delicious buttercream cake. Heaps of slightly sparkling red dessert wine as well. Oishii!
• The Orange Box Magazine Holiday Party. Almost forgot about this one – too used to not being able to go to Orange Box Magazine events due to working late and wouldn’t have even considered it if Greg hadn’t reminded me about it when I asked if he was into heading to Marie’s Crisis that night. With Gia, I scoped out the surprisingly impressive male eye candy, enjoyed my Heineken, and thrilled as Squirrel treated the crowd to some of her fantastic breaking on the dance floor.
• A Friday night extravaganza – dinner at Johnny’s Cafe in Greenpoint with Moire, Cash, Doug, Drusilla and Greg to partake of the famous hungarian potato pie. After two orders of fried pierogies, it came – served on a bed of beef goulash and accompanied by Polish beer. Cash was the man of the evening – finishing off his entire plate and a liter of Spaten as well.

A wedding in the hall next to our table blared techno music, including a hit of my beloved O-Zone’s “Dragostea din tei.” Hours later, the pie settling in my belly, I received a call from Ali. He, Enrique, and the visiting Chucky were whooping it up in the city. I joined them at a hookah bar, a dance club (free shots every hour on the hour – plus the birth of the Double Jack dance move) and then an hour of karaoke.

• Saturday night extravaganza – dinner with Diego and Jenny, a birthday party with Punasammy and then heading to Union Square to meet with Chucky, Enrique, and Ali. Dancing until 3:30 at Swift’s and then a meal at 7A saw us heading for home at 6 am.

I spent this Sunday catatonic – those frickin frackin Hayden Hall boys done wore me out. I’m young enough to be able to handle 3 straight nights of partying until the wee hours, but old enough to be knocked out on the fourth day.

The Stipes are coming to town this weekend. I am going to Florida from the 20-27. My mother has parties planned for that time, as well. After, a “come to my house, drink my leftover liquor and take my junk/farewell” party. Then a going away party. More karaoke to come? More Marie’s Crisis? Any other birthday parties I didn’t foresee?

Thank goodness for quiet Tuesday nights spent watching TV after hours of organizing, throwing out and sneezing on dust.

Walking home from today’s marathon holiday shopping with Evan, I stopped short and squealed when I noticed that another chapter of my favorite uptown bakery, Crumbs, has just opened a mere two and a half blocks away from my apartment. At last, the delectable buttercream cupcakes with stiff chocolate frosting are within my bony arms’ reach at any time …

for the next 23 days, that is.