So, here we are. The holidays are officially upon us. You know what that means, right? Well, aside from sending cards to people you don't speak to through the other 11 months of the year, fighting through crowds to get some meaningless trinket because you want someone to know you care, Elmo and Patsy pulling in a few more dollars worth of residuals, and fruitcakes and eggnog once again becoming relevant(-ish).
No, far worse than all of these, it's the time of year for parties and visiting family.
Ho ho fucking ho.
Fortunately, there's a line of mountains between me and my family, and in those mountains reside bears. Because of these blessed, wonderful, ursine angels, my mother won't come and visit us (never mind that the bears are, you know, hibernating), and where my mother doesn't tread, neither does my father go. Oh to be raised and married in an age where it wasn't acceptable to simply say: "Bitch, shut your pie hole and get in the car." (Mental note: Learn how to say this in Latin for future reference).
Also, since we put in an appearance over at my wife's aunt and uncle's house, we won't be expected to go anywhere for Christmas. Therefore, it's just going to be me, my lovely and busty wife, and my two
demonic darling little angels and all the Christmas mirth and merriment that $37.50 will buy.
Christmas parties? Not so much. We still have to go to those. Well, I suppose we don't have to go to any Christmas parties. We could just hole up in our cozy little abode and spread some bah humbug to anyone who tries to cheer us up. We could just grab our crotches and sneer "I got your Christmas spirit and mistletoe right here!" (Mental note: Learn how to say this in Latin for future reference).
Anyway, my company's Christmas party is this weekend. And, I'm going. I'm going not because I'm expected to go. I'm going because I genuinely like the people I work with. I like my job. I like my company. Better yet? My company actually gets gifts for the employees' children and welcomes them to the company party. I go to the party, I sit with my friends, I have jovial conversations, I eat decent food, I watch a movie with my family and friends, and then one of the managers dresses as Santa and hands out presents to my kids. This is what a Christmas party should be.
Plus, my company hasn't done this politically-correct bullshit and called it "A holiday extravaganza", which really pisses me off. It's Christmas, alright. I realize other people celebrate different holidays and festivals at this time of year, but Christmas is the name of the official holiday that we're let off for. Call it that.
See, my last company did this. They called it the "Holiday extravaganza" or some such bullshit like that. That probably wouldn't bother me so much, but the parties themselves were fucking painful. I worked there three years, and I went to two
Christmas Holiday Extravaganzas. The first one, everybody stood around the CEO's dining room table and stared at each other, offering up slices of strained, awkward conversation. The hot chick in the company with the gigantic tits didn't even dress like a holiday slut. I was so disappointed. The second was at a hotel on Duke's campus. We all sat around tables and offered up slices of strained, awkward conversation. The hot chick with the big tits still didn't dress like a slutty elf. And then there was dancing. *stares blankly ahead* There was much dancing... *falls into the fetal position and weeps*
By the time the third Holiday Extravaganza rolled around, I was so dissatisfied and disgusted with my company, my supervisor, my coworkers--pick something and I probably was raging against its collective machine--that I opted not to go to the party at all. Instead, I remained at home, watched a
holiday Christmas special with my family on the television and ate pizza.
And you know what? That was the best Christmas party I had while I worked at that old place.
If you find yourself in a similar situation when it comes to Christmas parties--company-sponsored or otherwise--I recommend a healthy dose of liquid courage before you hit the road. And if your significant other is harping on you to get your socks on, it's time to go, hit them with this:
Pronounced: "Noan aye-bree-oose sah-tees soom fays-toom eer-aye.
If Christmas parties aren't the bane of your existence this holiday season, but family is the thorn in your side, take heart: I didn't forget about you. If family is serving as your metaphorical kryptonite, the cure is the same (booze) for what ails you. The phrase changes slightly:
Pronounced: "Noan aye-bree-oose sah-tees soom too-oh fah-mee-lee-uh wis-ee-tahr-aye."
If you want to say "my family", change it to ...sum meo familia... and if you want to just say "the family", drop the possessive adjective altogether ...sum familia...
There you have it, my friends: The Crown of Thistles official method of making it through the holidays: booze. Huh. Check that out. I used a colon twice in the same sentence. I don't know if that's grammatically possible or not. I do know, however, that, much like the holidays, grammar issues are easier to swallow with a healthy amount of box wine.
Fiat, mei amici! (Let is be so, my friends!)