"can I have your number?"
"leaving on a jet plane" - again
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Everyone seems to be having such odd celebrations for New Year’s Eve.
Ours is fairly sedate by comparison. Because the family compound is gated, fenced, and outside city limits, we will be setting off all sorts of fireworks, many of whom we suspect to be slightly illegal, and firing all sorts of arms. Because, after all, this is Texas, and it’s not quite a New Year’s celebration until we’re half-deaf and dazzled.
I’ve been cooking since yesterday in preparation for the shindig. This year we’ve more families than ever to host, seeing as how Filipinos seem to be inimitably drawn to the climate and the enormous signing bonuses available here in the Rio Grande Valley. Half of the foods being prepared you probably wouldn’t approach with a ten-foot pole and a Geiger counter, but it’s what I’ve enjoyed for years on end. Even for last year’s holiday, when I was far removed, I made a small pot of arroz caldo to ring in the New Year with.
Of course, everyone wants to know what resolutions I’ve come up with. The only one that can stand up to public scrutiny is: I have decided not to cut my hair for one year. I’ll still get it trimmed and styled, but I won’t put my poor stylist into fits of depression because I have walked in and asked her to cut off a foot of hair. I figure this one I can manage to do.