Christmas cannot be in five days. I refuse to allow it. I need more time. I’m not done wrapping, I haven’t baked a single damned cookie, and allegedly we’re having at least three more guests on Christmas Day that I haven’t purchased gifts for.

If the Xanax people haven’t gotten in on holiday advertising, they’re just plain ignorant.

My mother’s family’s holiday party was this past weekend. This is the loud side of the family, the side that hunts and goes to Country Thunder (local country music festival) and is damned fun to drink with. This year we had a large supply of both glug and Jell-O shots (my aunt thinks of everything) in addition to the pierogi and my homemade lasagna, so the volume was unbelievable.

Things discussed over dinner:

- whether or not my mom clogged the toilet, and how big the offending turd must have been
- how often is healthy to poop
- how often each respective family member poops
- whether or not it is respectable to poop at work
- who poops where (this quickly degraded into “who can poop anywhere”)
- poop, quality and quantity thereof

I looked at my mother at one point and said, “See?? THIS is where I get it from.”

The kids were all in the basement (where they belong), running around and having a fabulous time shrieking at top volume with no adults screaming at them. The adults were all upstairs having a blast getting drunk and screaming at top volume with no kids shrieking at them. Plus, there were at least five kinds of cookies. All in all, it was a very well-planned event.

One of the gifts I received was a rechargeable electric wine opener. Anything that gets me to my wine faster is much appreciated, so kudos to my aunt and uncle for their thoughtfulness.

After the party, since I was already half in the bag, I decided to go to my local bar.

Now you might think that this is stupid, but you would be missing one important fact: I never, ever have seizures when I drink. Therefore, why not enjoy myself?

Luckily, the Stolichnaya vodka people were in residence and giving away free drinks. For free. Did I mention that these drinks didn’t cost anything? Oh my God. If I were not already rather tipsy from the tequila-infused Jell-O and glug (which I am now convinced is the devil’s drink), I would soon become uproariously drunk.

You have to understand that typically, I drink nothing but beer and the occasional glass of wine. I am not a mixed-drink or shot drinker (unless I’m in Green Bay, heh).

Thankfully, I’m a happy drunk, and I do believe I let everyone in the bar know it. I closed the place down, got a ride home (Thank GOD, because walking the four blocks in the freezing cold whilst drunk would have sucked rocks), and promptly passed out without drinking half a gallon of water or taking Tylenol, which for me staves off hangovers very well.

This was monumentally stupid and led to one of the worst hangovers of my life. I was in a bad way yesterday and spent half the day sleeping and the other half groaning about how I wished I was asleep.

Stupid. But I learned why it’s best not to mix beer with Jell-O shots with glug with vodka! I won’t do THAT again.

Amazingly, I received a treadmill for Christmas from my dad (the young girlfriend has had an amazing effect on his generosity if nothing else) and will be spending the rest of the week putting that together while performing all of my other Christmas duties. I am thrilled to death to have received it, but I am afraid that I will probably assemble something that looks more like post-apocalyptic art.

You say there won’t be art after the apocalypse?

EXACTLY.

Right now I have a lot of parts, and while the directions seem fairly straight-forward, I’m sure that I will find some way to fuck them up.

Or I will just call my buddy Dave, who knows everything. I call him for every little bit of technical advice from “Hey, this foot-pedal ain’t a-workin’!” to “I done fucked up my modem agin!” and he never fails to explain things to me like I’m a four-year-old until I get them.

Here’s to good friends and insane family, and I hope that all of you have a very merry Christmas (Kwanzaa, belated Chanukah, Festivus, whatever. You get my drift.) Much love to you and yours.

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