Life Lesson #39: Tis the Season to be Jolly...and quiet, relaxed, maybe even well rested...

Every weekday morning when the alarm rudely awakens me from what is never enough sleep, the first thought to pop into my head (after the sweet jesus I have to pee) is, yes only ____ more mornings to get up early!. I fill in the blank depending on the day of the week. Obviously, when I wake up on Thursday and think, yes, only one more morning to get up early!, I’m much happier than on Monday, when six hellish mornings still loom ahead.

A few hours ago, my usual groan wasn’t so loud when I realized that the Thanksgiving holiday was cutting my work week drastically. And all I can think about is how much sleep I’m going to try and cram in on those extra days off. Probably because this past weekend kicked my ass. And after some thought, I realize that the same exact weekend last year also handed it to me.

Some of you may (or if you were in any shape like me, may not) remember the UES bar crawl for City Harvest last fall. Two cans of food and ten bucks got you admission to drink at practically any local watering hole for very cheap. By nine pm, I had enough two dollar draft beers to land myself sideways, passed out on my bed. When I woke up fully dressed and totally blurred, I stumbled into the living room to find a bunch of our friends watching football.

“Ok, who wants to order breakfast? I’m starving,” I said, looking around in disgust as everyone seemed to be drinking before noon.

“Um, what?” someone asked.

“I’m starving. Let’s order breakfast,” I said.

“Penny, get a slice or something,” someone else mumbled.

“Ew, that’s gross. I don’t eat pizza for breakfast,” I answered. What the hell is wrong with people?

“What? Penny, it’s almost midnight. Why the hell do you want breakfast?”

“What? You’re kidding me?! It’s not Sunday?!” I asked, in complete shock. While I was under the impression I passed out for the night, I had really only knocked myself down for three hours. I still had a whole night of drinking ahead of me!

“Oh. Well, in that case, I’m going to go to The Bone. Anyone wanna come with?” I asked. The Bone being a bar. Might as well not waste a perfectly good night of drinking, especially since I got some unexpected z-s under my belt.

This year, I didn't even make it to the pub crawl. Why? Because I had gotten sufficiently snookered while bartending on Friday night. I’ve been working at another UES bar; this one being relatively new and [attempting to be] slightly nicer than its neighbors, hence I’m forced to wear white button downs and black pants.

I usually don’t go on ‘til eleven, giving me enough time to squeeze in a much needed nap before standing on my feet for seven or so hours. Friday, I got there at 10:30 so as to get settled before getting started.

I walked into a free-for-all that left me wondering if I stumbled into the wrong place. There was a dude on the bar, his drenched shirt exposing his Nacho Libre size stomach. Another guy behind the bar in a wife beater, pounding a car bomb at lightening speed. People everywhere, yelling, screaming, music so loud I thought my eardrums would bleed.

But when I looked closer, I realized I had in fact walked into the right place. And when I looked even closer still, I started to recognize everyone acting like a complete animal: these were the owners and other bartenders! The shirtless fattie? One of the investors. The beater pounding bombs? My manager.

Apparently, everyone had gotten sloshed ridiculously early and were giving the bar away to anyone they pleased.

As I looked around, I thought, when in Rome….

Several hours and numerous shots later, I realized I hadn’t hit the cash register in quite some time, nor did I really care. There were so many people behind the bar; there was no way I’d make any money anyway. So I might as well join in the giveaway.

When five am rolled around and I was finally able to go home, I felt the familiar inability to walk in a straight line and the distinct craving for chicken cutlet pizza. Yum.

Four hours later, my cell phone started SCREAMING at me. Holy crap, is it Monday?

“Hello,” I managed.

“Hey, I’ve landed!”

Oh no. I totally forgot. Liberace had flown in for just one night to attend a friend’s surprise birthday party. The only time we’d get to see each other was right after he landed. At 8:30 in the morning.

“Oh my god! You’re here! I’m so excited! And, wait, oh, yep, I’m still drunk!” I yelled.

We spent the morning catching up and, for me at least, sobering up. Which wasn’t very fun. So the first thing I get when at brunch? A mimosa.

By two o’clock in the afternoon, as Liberace left to go meet his friends and prepare for the party, I realized I was back off the wagon. But this time, after working for what seemed like twenty-four straight hours, half of which I was hitting the bottle, I felt like said wagon had managed to run me over right after I fell off. Consequently, I had to throw in the towel and admit defeat. There would be no bar crawl this year around.

Life Lesson #39: After the past few weeks of nonstop work and going out, I'm looking forward to the holidays a little differently this year. While I will never forgo this season as a time for fun parties, heavily spiked eggnog and gross amounts of food, I am going to try to incorporate a fourth element. This one will be more about relaxing, winding down a bit, and taking it easy. For instance, I'm going to a house party instead of a crowded bar for Thanksgiving Eve. I've decided to not bartend on Friday night to give my body, and liver, a little rest. And I'm even contemplating a more low-key New Year's Eve.

Who knows? Maybe I’ll be able to even keep a better New Year’s resolution than “avoiding a particular bar” this year.