kellita the señorita the ibby dibby dow: Feliz Fernet...Err Navidad

Christmas eve plans were me, Nells and Derek. Skype dates with our families, and a nice home cooked meal before heading out to enjoy the ruckus of fireworks at midnight. Part of that plan went well. The other part was more improvisation.

I biked over to their house around 3pm, in 75 degree weather, sun shining, just another normal day in July. Except it's not July. It's December. December 24 to be exact. Christmas Eve in the summer. Don't know how I would ever get used to this. I love the christmas light, snow-on-the-ground, over-produced Christmas in the States. That magical feeling of being in New York City during the holidays. Where you feel that everywhere you go starting at Thanksgiving, it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

The random sampling of Christmas trees and decorations in stores the past few weeks has been freaking me out. In my mind, like I said, it's July. We should be prepping for a 4th of July cookout, no? But Facebook keeps reminding me that there's snow on the ground and it's time for ice skating and Starbucks hot chocolate fire-side in the States. I loved experiencing it from a totally different angle in the Southern Hemisphere. The holiday season for me didn't feel stressful. I didn't have to think about what to buy who. There's something great about Christmas in the US, but being here made me realize just how over-commercialized it all is.

Here Christmas Eve is more celebrated than Christmas day. Everyone gathers with their families to eat and be merry, opening their gifts and toasting at midnight. The city shuts down, and there is no one in sight. I love that.

Anyway, I got off subject. I arrived at Nerek's house, and we toasted Christmas cheer sweating with icy glasses of Fernet and Coca. After a quick discussion, we voted against cooking ourselves, opting to dine out Parilla-style. Nells and I cut up the gay maps I took from work to make "snow flake" decorations for the house. I made everyone newspaper hats, because nothing says Christmas like a newspaper hat, right? We skyped with my family, as well as the families of Nelle and Derek. And the next thing we knew, it was almost midnight. No time to eat. Time to toast the champagne and head outside for the show.

Much like my Christmas in Guatemala, this year's was filled with watching and listening to fireworks go off from every direction. This involves a certain level of awareness, as you never know when a 5-year-old is lighting something on fire at your feet. At 12am sharp, families began to flood into the streets of Abasto. Mothers hugged as their kids ran around with sparklers, and little boys begged their dads to light just one firework. I guess it's somewhat like what 4th of July is in the states. We ran around the streets trying to catch all the action for about an hour and a half, reveling in the merryment.

Then we realized we were hungry. And that besides a package of crackers, we hadn't eaten anything all day. We went on a hopeful walk to try to find an open restaurant, but the only thing open was us as targets for getting hit by amateur firework lighters. After a tour around the hood, and a failed dinner search, I sang "Oh Christmas Tree" to a Charlie Brown-esque tree in the street before we headed home for huge plates of pasta.

I wouldn't have spent it any other way.