Life Lesson #43: Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good holiday break!

As I sit here typing, I’m filled with the warm sensation that is very often associated with the holiday season. It could be the space heater I have blasting under my desk. Or the fact that I just scored not one, but two umbrellas from my company’s holiday luncheon (Note that I’m pretty sure the umbrellas are supposed to be our Christmas bonuses). Or the dramatic increase of sugar in my bloodstream.

I’m going to go ahead and bet my holiday fuzziness on the insulin spike; a direct result of eating my weight in cookies. Well, maybe not every single pound, since I also hit the hot buffet at our lunch as if it was my last meal of the year. But pretty damn close.

I’m also a teeny, tiny bit hung over.

Last night, I dragged myself to a very different kind of holiday fiesta (as in drunk versus sober). The bar where I work on the weekends threw their employee party. I was hesitant as I don’t necessarily love the place and often feel as if I’m trapped in a cage with rabid monkeys. Not to mention the manager and his friend (who likes to think he’s a manager, but I know the deal) who give me a hard time no matter how many people I get to come or how many times I hit the register.

But in the spirit of being good natured and giving people another shot, I decided what the hell? Oh; and it was free. I arrived at about nine, an hour into the four hour open bar and food spread.

Mayhem had already spread in just sixty minutes. While this should come as no surprise to me, given the usual Animal House the place seems to turn into on a Friday night, I was taken aback regardless.

The crew of young, cute, and usually ugly-uniform-clad waitresses had taken this opportunity to dress in their best Slutty Mrs. Claus costumes. I’m not gonna lie: I kind of liked it. There were a few versions of mini capes and skewed hats, as well as five-inch red heels and serious spandex. But similar to the conforming affect their all-black work attire gives, there variations of holiday cheer were too indistinguishable for me to tell one apart from the other.

Good thing they were too drunk to notice.

“Hi Pennyyyyy! Yeaaaa, you’re here! Merry Christmas,” one girl cooed as she wrapped her cape around me to give me a hug. I think her name is Jen. Or maybe Christine?

“Oh yea, Penny’s hereeeee! Come do a shot with us from this side of the bar,” Mary (or maybe the other Jen) squealed.

“Oh my GOD, you are not going to believeeee how many shots we’ve done already,” Julia (?) gushed.

Um, you’d be surprised.

For these blissfully wasted ladies, attempting to hold on to drinks while shaking their butts to a horrible mix of carols and contemporary music led to several glasses crashing on the dance floor. Each drop was met with giggles and a very tall Santa’s Helper tottering over on her heels with a broom in hand.

“Woops. Here we go againnn,” she managed in-between hiccupping, holding on to her beer, and brushing the broken glass under the buffet table.

Around this time, I decided I needed a quick shot and a large vodka.

The manager, best known as The Champion of Car Bombs, had on a ridiculous red pimp-like cowboy hat with white trim and Elvis sunglasses. I was greeted by him, or should I say his thighs, as he came up and humped me as I stood at the bar.

“Yea baby, MERRY CHRISTMAS!” he yelled before lifting me in the air.

“Um, Merry Christmas? What’s up with the cowboy hat?!” I asked in bewilderment.

“Its Christmas baby, broke-back mountain style!” he answered before galloping off to hump his next innocent victim. He was quickly distracted by Santa’s Helper as she bent over to pick up a large chunk of glass.

“Hey, let me get another shot,” I asked.

Suddenly, I was face-to-face with the prize winner. The dude with the Nacho Libre stomach, who manages to get drunker and drunker every time I see him, was clad in a Mrs. Clause mini-dress.

To be honest with you, I don’t really even know how he got the thing to fit. All I know is that he didn’t leave much to the imagination when he got up on the bar and did his rendition of Santa Baby for us.

“Penny! Merry Christmas! Come give Mrs. Claus a hug,” he said, wrapping his fur trimmed gloves around my back.

“Wow, you are in some serious need of stuffage,” I managed as I laughed at the perverseness of it all.

“Yea, well unless you let me borrow some of yours, this is all I got. Let’s do a shot,” he said as he grabbed me back to the bar.

And you know what? I did.

Life Lesson #43: During the holiday season, I think we all get a little nutsy with buying gifts for our families, friends, loved ones, co-workers, the dog walker, guy who we buy our coffee from each morning, the mailman, the cousins you see every other holiday season, and that guy you pass on the street every morning but never say hi to. Well, I say this year, I’m going to slow down. Feel free to join me as I take a deep breath, bite into a free cookie (or glass of eggnog, whichever floats your boat), and enjoy the merry atmosphere. Soon enough, the festivities will be over, the decorations will come down, and we’ll be facing a few miserable months of harsh weather and no holidays in sight.

Side note: As a gift to myself, I’m going to be taking a blog vaca. I’ll be back on January 2nd, a full year after this all began! Who knows; maybe a blow-out anniversary edition in store? Although, I suggest you don’t get your hopes up. I’m slightly dizzy from this food coma and not really thinking straight.

Happy holidays everyone – and of course, thanks for the love!