"A Christmas Story"...kind of...

Sorry no leg lamps or BB guns.  Well, actually, I can’t guarantee that. 

It was cold and snowing- naturally.  I remember the snow being that picturesque kind. 

It’s always the first weekend in December.  Perfect timing if you ask me.  Every year when this day came around the excitement and tension was almost tangible.  I swear she is a descendent of Betty Crocker.  Or maybe Martha Stewart- without the jail time of course.  The way she displays fresh grapes around the baked brie would make even lactose intolerants just “take a nibble”. Cookies mock you in their perfect rows with their perfect edible décor. 

Black olives make penguins. 

Cherries make curious Christmas mice. 

She can make taco dip look like something out of The Louvre.  I don’t know how that woman does it but I hope some of that was passed on to me. Every inch of their Victorian home is decorated impeccably. Did I mention that we have 4 Christmas trees?  Two meticulously decorated mantles? Two sets of hand-made stockings? And enough candles to light the whole Eastern Sea Board.

It was part of the Underground Railroad, their house. The history and character gives me chills. At this point,  I lived at home and my room was the old “Maid’s Quarters”(coincidence? I think not) - which was located off of the kitchen.   I wish I could show you.  Maybe someday I can.  Maybe someday I won’t have to hide. 

 My mother is the party queen.  My parents throw the best parties and everyone here knows it.  They have bartenders and multiple bars to match.  She makes enough food to feed a small country.  The police are told to ignore the double parking and are welcomed in for a to-go plate.   People drive by and gawk at the packed street like a 6^th grader who didn’t get invited to the bowling party.  My parent’s parties are the best. 



Another futile attempt to get the fuck over Shamus, I invited a guy.  Not just any guy, this guy was hot.  Male perfection in human form.  Which I would later find out, he was much more aware of that than I was.  Ahemm.  I was friends with his brothers, and he caught my eye more than a few times. 

I decided to give it a shot.  I was confident that what was waiting for me under those jeans was enough to forget Shamus, even if for the night. 


In preparation for this magical day that I had detailed out in my head, I did what any semi sane girl would do.  I went and bought a new dress that I concluded hid the uglies and accentuated the goodies.  I bought my second favorite party accessory….. the “sucker-inner”.  You know what I am talking about.  Don’t deny it.  Those magical little numbers that are made out of alien material that I am pretty sure was developed by NASA.  Those babies could squeeze a MAC Truck into a Neon.  Yea that. 

It's so weird, because I look EXACTLY like her when I put it on...

Got my hair did -actually by one of the bartenders of the night.   She is a stylist also so she had me looking pretty fly for a white chick.  We sat up in my room, as she twisted and curled my fro, she also whipped me up a COSMO. 

We chatted and I told her Hottie McHotAss was coming and mixed me up some more liquid courage in the beauty that is the COSMO.  This continued down stairs as we anxiously awaited his arrival. 

COSMO.

COSMO.

COSMO.

….into my belly….yum yum yum….

At some point I guess I needed to use the restroom, and since there is one located in my bedroom, which remember is the old “maid’s quarters”, I ran upstairs. 

That’s it.

That’s all I remember.

 Apparently, so I am told, I was on the toilet for quite some time.  Either I am an excellent drunk, or my friends really suck because they tell me they came up and chatted with me numerous times, while my big white naked ass was sitting on the toilet.  This, naturally, did not alarm them.  I am assuming they thought I was just taking a massive shit?

(But seriously you guys? You leave me there?   I had plans.  I was gonna bang HotAss.  I was gonna get over Shamus.  No, Really. It’s cool that you left me on the toilet and allowed me to have random conversations with myself.  That’s awesome.  NBD, assholes.  NO.  BIG.  DEAL. )


Moving on. 

Hours later I wake up.  I am spread eagle on top of my blankets. BUCK NAKED.  Wearing nothing but some bobby pins, in my now extremely mangled hair-do.

“Fuck!”   I attempt to lift my throbbing head off my pillow.  It seems my head has grown excessively  in the past few hours and I am unable to muster the strength required to lift it.

Hmmmm? Where the hell are my clothes? Who Cares!

 Holy shit, Where’s HotAss? DAMN IT!  I missed my opportunity to woo him with my slurred speech and Cosmo breath.  “Maybe next year”, I think to myself.

PANIC. STRIKES.

Oh My God!  I begin to pray.

“Dear God,

                I am well aware that I was/am intoxicated, probably to the point of near death.  But Lord, I am gonna open my cell phone and shine the light towards my chair.  PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE GOD, let everyone at this lovely Christmas Celebration of the birth of your ONLY son who lived and died for our sins, please tell me that they have ALL forgotten their coats!”

Amen.

Here goes nothing.

 FUCK !!

FUCK!!

FUCKKKKKKKKKK!!

Not. One.  Single. coat!  AHHHHHHHHHHH!  My whole family, every friend/enemy, priests, nuns, Doctors, Lawyers, randies, and of course my Hottie McHotAss  had their coats in my room. 

The sweats begin.  Mortified, I try to fall back asleep.  I can’t. Call me crazy, but I can’t seem to get over the fact that everyone I know, literally everyone I know, has just had a lovely surprise when attempting to retrieve their jacket:

my ponani.

my sweater kittens. 

 my goodies.

my milkshake that does not bring all the boys to the yard.

MY NAKED ASS!!

My room was the coatroom that year.  That was the last year anyone brought coats. 

** I decided to tell you a funny story today.  I am trying to get myself back on the 30 day thing.  I'll do it.  I promise.  Don't hate me.  But I need some time off from soul searching so I tried to think of one of the dumbest thing I have ever done, besides bang a married dude for 10 years and allow him to mind fuck me and destroy my life, ahem. I'm better.  Deep breaths. 

In with Jesus....Out with Satan.  (That one's for you Fe! xoxoxo)

Keep breathing.