O Christmas Tree

I got my tree last week, so it's beginning to look like Christmas in my apartment...instead of a moving box graveyard.

It was a minor ordeal to get the tree. Ostensibly, picking up a tree is easy, and I just went to the local Home Depot for a bargain $25 tree. The problem, however, is getting a tree when you are just one person. It can sometimes feel a bit lonely to get a tree -- as depicted in When Harry Met Sally -- but more than anything else, it's just awkward and bulky for one person to carry.

Of course, after all the work getting it here, I haven't decorated it yet. Just some randomly strung lights. Decorating the tree really isn't that interesting, and it requires a lot of effort. And, you get nearly the same effect if you put the tree in the corner and throw some lights on.

I may break down and decorate it today, if only to hide the fact that the branches are already drying up and losing their needles like a junkie in rehab (or a pregnant nicole richie). I'm hoping this baby lasts until Saturday, when I'm having some people over for a holiday dinner. I fear by then it will look like all the trees that get tossed out on the curb -- brown and dry and naked.

Speaking of which, I need a name for my tree. A british name. The tradition of naming the tree something british started in college, for reasons I no longer know. I'm not sure what's stranger -- the fact that we named our tree at all, or the fact that the name had to be british. In any case, I need a name. Maybe Beatrix.