Christmas is eight weeks away and I need to get my fella a nice gift. A gift that says “I put thought into this…I took the time to choose something I knew you would like…I love you oodles and gobbles.”

Last year I gave him an i-Pod.

This year I’m thinking digital camera.

Of course, there are already the other items I’ve amassed over the course of the year:  the Alan Moore/Alan Davis Captain Britain Omnibus; gift cards to his favorite bookstore and restaurant; a dvd; a new piece of luggage for weekend getaways; and a special Christmas ornament that I know (hope) will have sentimental meaning in the years to come (yes, I’m starting to think maybe this relationship may have legs…).

But I need that one gift with a “wow!” factor and this year I think it’s a digital camera.

So what do you guys think? Yea or nay? And if ye sayeth nay, what sayeth you in regards to a replacement gift?

Speak up, gang! (And whatever you do, don’t miss tomorrow’s Dear Elle and Lola — it’s gonna be HOT!)

…what did you get for Christmas?

I’m sure many of  my readers are wondering just how a certain first Christmas between a middle-aged, socially retarded ‘mo and his youthful paramour might have gone last evening.

The more astute among you may have imagined said middle-aged, socially retarded ‘mo leaving work early to stop by Borders to pick up a couple of last minute gift cards and running into the previously mentioned youthful paramour who had also ducked out of work early to see what was shakin’ at the local book shack.  If you imagined this, then I am sure your mind also conjured up the image of  these two ‘mo’s making plans to meet up at youthful paramour’s apartment for dinner at 5.  (If this is indeed what you thought probably occurred, give yourself 10 points.)

It’s probably not a huge leap for many of you to deduce that 5 rolled around and found the phallicly addicted duo sitting down to a delicious turkey burger at Ruby Tuesday’s.  (Give yourself 2 bonus points if in your mind the pervy older fag’s burger was sporting extra EXTRA bacon.) 

It’s also not much of a leap from there to connecting the dots to discover that once back in the car creepy daddy-esque fruit asks tragically adorable younger ‘mo if he wants to  come over and watch YOUNG AND THE RESTLESS or just wants to be dropped off at his place to which the younger ‘mo replies, “Just drop me off at my place and I’ll walk over — I need to get something from my apartment” leading the older knob gobbler to offer to wait and drive him over to his swinging Mr. Furley-esque bachelor pad so that he won’t risk falling on the ice and the younger fella accepting and returning five minutes later with a Kohl’s bag he  tries to hide behind his back and the huge grin he has plastered on his face.

No points will be awarded for anyone who pictures the two fruits under a blanket on the sofa, cuddling and watching the denizens of Genoa City screwing each other over before switching over to an hour’s worth of the video aphrodesiac known as Nancy Grace.  I mean, seriously — who doesn’t do that?

If you’ve managed to conjure up all of that, then I really don’t need to tell you that by the end of the Casey Anthony Hour Nancy, The Fella was fairly bursting at the seams for me to open a gift.  My pile was rather large compared to his one gift and oversized stocking — a fact which didn’t seem to bother him one iota.  Nor do I need to tell you that I received a massive hardcover volume collecting one of my favorite comic series, a rockin’ awesome Spiderman figure, the novel I’ve been eyeing every time we are at the bookstore,  a really nice — and incredibly soft! —  shirt I’d felt up several times but never said anything about when we’ve been out shopping, and 3 hard to find volumes of one of my favorite comic series from the late 80’s/early 90’s that I mentioned to him a few times when we first started going out. 

And of course I don’t need to tell you what The Fella received (because I posted about it last week).  But you might be interested to know that I put the i-Pod in the bottom of his stocking and then piled a shitload of candy on top of it and let him think he’d opened his 3 meager gifts (which he was really thrilled with) before telling him to look in the bottom of said stocking at which point he discovered the oh-so-professionally wrapped tiny treasure and proceeded to open it and then sit there slack jawed for a moment before giving me a big hug.

Which led to more cuddling.

Which led to kissing.

Which led to gay boys with exposed naughty bits making love until midnight and then falling asleep in each other’s arms.

Tristan is heading home Wednesday morning so we’re having dinner and exchanging gifts tonight.

Am I nervous?

Not really.

“What’s that?” I hear some of you asking, “what happened to the crazed i-Pod purchasing faggot from last week who didn’t even know how to sign a fucking Christmas card?”

Nothing happened.

Okay, that’s a total lie.  But you’re sworn to secrecy if I tell you.  Come closer — I’m not shouting this.   Sheesh.  Okay, I was over at his place the other night and while he was in the bathroom, I was watching it sleet from his 6th floor window and just happened to notice (alright, I snooped – cut a fag some slack, already!  Do you want to hear this or not?) a present or five under the tree for me.

Yep — you read that right:  five.   

Now in all honesty, it’s not about the number of gifts I saw.  It’s the fact that he took the time to find me five gifts. 

I think that could be an indication he sees this as more than just a dalliance.

Or not.

Okay, so I got the present issue resolved…and then another new relationship problem/issue/matter rears its ugly head: Christmas cards.

Both The Fella and The Hag sent me one.  

No biggie, you’re probably saying — just send one back, Dirk.

“No biggie.”

Yeah, right.

It’s not the card that presents the problem*, it’s how to sign it.

The Fella signed his “XOXO Tristan.”

The Hag signed hers “Love, The Hag.”

Sweet. Fetal. Jesus.

What’s a socially retarded ‘mo who’s never had a normal relationship supposed to do? How do I sign my cards back to them?

I’m leaning toward the “XOXO” thing right back at Tristan (kind of a “yeah, I’m feeling the same vibe” thing back at him, you know?), but The Hag presents a special problem. I feel I need to write a little something to show I’m not just phoning my shit in, you know? Maybe “Wishing you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year”?  Or maybe just “Christmas.  Have a merry one.”

Lord almighty.

Some one help me.

_______

*Actually, maybe the card IS a biggie.  I went out and bought a tasteful one for The Hag and a non-commital one for Tristan with the inscription “Merry Christmas… from someone who thinks you’re pretty wonderful.” I thought it sort of conveyed my feelings for him without saying “I *heart* you” because I know from years of soap opera viewing that it’s really important to actually say those words and not put them in writing the first time you express them since the card  invariably always winds up in the wrong hands and your intended totally thinks you are mad crushing on the bad boy/girl and breaks up with you but doesn’t tell you why leaving you all bereft and vulnerable and in swoops the bad boy/girl and you end up being lied to until you finally put all the pieces together and are forced to reveal their deceitful ways at the hospital fundraiser in front of the entire town before you are finally reunited with the one you really love and get to make sweet love with candlelight and a power ballad and I am waaaaaay too fucking old to be waiting for that.  

Anyhoo.

Have I fucked up starting with my choice of card, too?

Arrgh!

Start talking, people.

THE  FELLA:  The Hag asked if you would be embarrassed if she bought you a little something for Christmas. I said yes…and told her to go ahead.

DIRK MANCUSO:  What can I get her? All I really know about her is that she  likes GOSSIP GIRL and kittens…

THE FELLA:  You don’t need to get her anything. I got her a hoodie and a $75 gift card and put both our names on it.  I did the same with Raging Lesbian and Platonic Gay Male Friend’s gifts, too.

Yesterday — after much debate – I completed my Christmas shopping for Tristan.

What is Santa bringing my furry paramour, you ask?

Okay, I’ll tell you…but this is just between us, ‘kay?

• a dvd of one of his favorite 1950’s sci-fi films
• THE TALE OF BEEDLE THE BARD by J.K. Rowling
• an out of print hardcover volume collecting what is considered to be one of the greatest run of issues of his favorite superhero team
• a 16gb iPod nano

So how’d I do, gang?  Did Dirkie do good?  Or was the iPod a tad too much?  With the exception of the music doo-dad and hardcover comic collection, everything was under $10 and fits in the stocking I bought (and filled with lip balm, peanut butter cups, gum, and a milk chocolate Iron Man).

Be honest, guys — is the iPod too extravagant for a guy I’ve only dated for 9 months?  And if it isn’t too extravagant, is it a poor choice from the iPod family?  Help me out here.  I totally do not want to left with egg on my face during this blessed gift giving season marking the birth of that Christ kid…

Dear Santa,

I know it’s a couple of weeks early and all, but I seriously need that Baby Alive doll I asked for. Any chance you could get that shit to me like yesterday?  It’s crucial — that’s a word my lawyer keeps using — that I get my hands on one as soon as possible.  I’ve been a really good girl this year and…okay, scratch that — I’ve been a complete fucking train-wreck and we both know it, but I swear on my daughter’s life if you come through for me on this I’ll totally use my employee pass to get you and the wife into Universal Studios for free. 

XOXOXOXO

Casey Anthony

P.S.  Truthfully (haha) I think you kinda owe me after that Karate Choppin’ G.I Joe with Neck Breakin’ Action I got stiffed on  last Christmas (totally don’t need that any more).

I’m Nicky Bruschetta and these are the headlines at this hour:

~ TV SO GOOD I WANT TO EAT IT UP (OR RUB IT ALL OVER MY BODY AND HAVE A CERTAIN SOMEONE LICK IT OFF):  How awesome was last night’s GOSSIP GIRL?  From that MY FAIR LADY opening to more of the national Serena van der Woodsen love-in (“I heard Marc Jacobs named a purse after her”) it was awesomeness incarnate.  Not sure if I’ve mentioned it before, but I love this show.  And the previews for next week’s CRUEL INTENTIONS rip-off have me making happy in my boxer briefs already.

~ YOU WANT ME TO WEAR WHAT?!?!?!?!?!?…OKAY:  The Fella decided on Halloween costumes for us should we decide to dress up.  I’m not going to tip our hand just yet, but think fairy tale.  And then put the accent on “fairy.”  (And no, Trout — this does not involve drag in any form…)

~ YOU CAN’T TEACH AN OLD DOG NEW TRICKS:  Mia called to tell me she’s decided to go back to college after 21 years. Her major?  Umm…undecided. But what she was sure about was correcting me when I suggested she might have to retake a few classes due to the gap in her educational career:  ”So what?  If you’re out of college for 21 years and in your profession, do they make you retake the fucking class again?  I don’t think.  I’m an American, I have to the right not to take things over.  Unless they’re oil producing countries.  You’re serious? You mean I really might have to take things over that I’ve already taken?  Wait! — I have an associate’s degree!  They can’t touch that.  They have to take the credits! I’m immune — they can’t touch me.”

~ THE SHAPE OF THINGS TO COME?:  The Fella and I are making some holiday plans (re: Christmas-y). Don’t make too much of it — I’m not.

~ WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT DOESN’T GROW ON TREES?:  I have spent an obscene amount on amazon.com in the last few weeks.  Think 9 big boxes at my door obscene.  

~ ANYONE EVER TOLD YOU THAT YOU”RE LIKE COLD WATER ON A HARD-ON?  REALLY? ‘ CAUSE YOU TOTALLY ARE:  Clint informed me yesterday that I would need to work this Saturday.  All day.  Which totally fucks up my plans with The Fella. Of course, the good news is that he didn’t pick next weekend which is a Nicky and The Fella Getaway Part Deux.

~ COMING SOON:  Watch this space tomorrow for not one, not two, but three — that’s right, count ‘em! Three! — big announcements.

~ AND FINALLY, BECAUSE I HATE TO BE QUESTIONED ABOUT THINGS LIKE ACCURACY:  No, MindyMoo — it is not a “collapsed” uterus — it really is a prolapsed uterus.  Think of a really big pendulous hemorrhoid…only swinging from your vagina instead of your ass.  Does that make any sense?  No? Hmmmmm…then just click here.

I’m Nicky Bruschetta and it’s news to me!