What if Christmas, she thought, didn’t come from a liquor store…What if Christmas, perhaps, meant a little bit more?
The holidays are here. Which means so are the parties. God help me.
I figure I’ll go to some. Or I won’t. It will depend on the party, on the people going, and on how strong or how susceptible I happen to feel on that particular day. But one thing I know for sure – if I go, and end up irritated and feeling sorry for myself because I can’t drink and everyone else can, then I’d be better off leaving early or just staying home entirely.
No one wants to be a Debbie Downer, especially me. But I’m beginning to realize that really drunk people are only entertaining when you yourself are really drunk. If not, then they are actually annoying as shit.
Being curled up in my PJ’s with some Ben & Jerry’s on my lap and and Love Actually on the tube would definitely be a better option for both of us. Me – so I don’t have to punch you in the face, and you – so you don’t have to see this particular expression staring back at you:
If I do decide to partake in the holiday merriment this year, then navigating the dangerous minefields of mistletoe, spiked eggnog and folks a-wassailing will not be an easy task.
First, I will need to do some reconnaissance beforehand. This will include identifying my allies – aka, sober soulmates. I need to know if any of them will be attending the party so that I will have someone to commiserate with – and by that I mean latch myself onto like a bloodthirsty tick.
I may also need to do a drive-by beforehand to identify all potential hazards. Is there a large, temperamental beast in the yard that might prevent me from jumping the back fence as a quick means of escape in a pinch? Is Kid Rock’s tour bus inexplicably parked out front? Does the Christmas tree in their front window look like this?
If it appears the coast is clear, and all the stars have aligned, then I might actually go to a party or two.
Look for me and say hello. If you’re not sure what I look like, I will be the one standing stiffly in the corner, looking like a deer in the headlights. I might be wearing a santa cap slightly askew to make it appear like I’m getting my drink on, but in reality I will have a death grip on my unadulterated cranberry La Croix.
If you’re looking for Drunky McDrunk-Face Anna, don’t hold your breath.
I will not be passing out on the couch, puking in my Uber driver’s back seat on the way home, slurring through a loud tirade about the causal relationship between global warming and the preponderance of flocked Christmas trees, proposing extremely inappropriate reindeer games, or calling for shots of Peppermint Schnapps at 2am.
Actually – I intend to wake up early, sans hangover, the next morning. Because I’m starting to like the way that feels, and I’ve got shit to do.
So don’t feel sorry for me if I appear far too uptight in my new sobriety to have as much fun as you’re obviously having. After all, someone has to remember every detail of your amazing night for future reference. Might as well be me. Ho, Ho, Ho.