Recovering from holiday cheer

On the up side, I fell asleep before 10pm last night. On the down side, I fell asleep before 10pm last night.

I really had wanted to stay awake and party a little more with the family. My cousins were in rare form, and my uncle John had loaded up a huge playlist from his iTunes library. We’d sung “Dance, Ten – Looks, Three” about five times before Mary and I were finally told to shut up or go outside. (we went outside) The conversation had turned to sex at least twenty-three times before dinner was even served; the number jumped to over forty once the platter of prime rib began it make its way around the table and the words “meat” and “juicy” were beaten to death. I had a great chat with my cousin Erin about her fairly recent split from her fiancé and how she felt about the entire situation. I had to hug her and tell her what an amazing person she is. Lord knows I could never be that strong or smart.

The youngest of the cousins, Michael, received a tiny stuffed llama for Christmas. The llama became the day’s mascot, and was even featured in an extremely perverse and horribly x-rated round of Mad Libs. Uncle John was most unhappy with this turn of events, although I only heard about that from mom this morning. On the bright side, Michael and Samuel can check “cockring” off their list of Words to Learn Before High School.

The White Elephant gift exchange was a riot, and funnily enough, the Internet Urinal

I got from Archie McPhee and let Kevin use as his gift was a huge hit. So was the McPhee-originated Shiva lunchbox I filled with a bevy of weird shit. My favorite item? The Nihilist chewing gum. Although, quite frankly, I think the gum still has entirely too much flavor to truly be nihilist. But oh well.

Poppa scored a pair of Rolling Stones boxer shorts, which he wore proudly on his head while smoking a cigar ’round the campfire on the patio after dinner. Old men rock. Dad eventually ended up with the boxers. Not sure how he managed that finagle. I think they were both too intoxicated by Christmas spirit to know what they were doing.

Poor Honey, she was probably the most sane of the entire group. She toddled around in her little knit Christmas vest and had a look of either concern or bemusement the whole time. Sometimes I wonder if she worries about the sanity of our entire clan. Secretly I think she loves it all and parties vicariously through her kids and grandkids. I bet if she had all her original parts, she’d kick up her heels with the rest of us at any given time.

Mind you. We arrived between 1 and 2pm. We were goinggoinggoinggoing all day, and when my parents announced it was time to leave, I really thought it was late and I was actually starting to feel a bit pooped. Denise cranked up some VAST for me to exit to, and we headed home, where Cutter and Kevin both registered their surprise at our early arrival. Turns out it was barely 9pm. I felt like a turd. 9pm. There were still hours to be burned!

I cracked open a beer and some of mom’s leftover basil-cheese torte, Cutter put on Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and we settled into the papasan chairs to enjoy the rest of the evening.

I passed out before the first Oompa-Loompa song. Weak. Cutter had to put my little cup of torte and my beverage away, and force me out of the chair and onto the floor to continue sleeping.

Next year I’m taking a nap every day for a week before Christmas. I shall not be beaten again!

Today we moved very slowly. Neither mom nor dad got out of bed before 8am. I finally rose somewhere around 9:30, mostly because the panettone and coffee smelled amazing, and my back was hurting from being on the floor all night.

Aunt Denise called and invited us to lunch at Chevy’s here in town. Everyone opted out except me, and I’m really glad I went. We met up at about one, and the place was just packed to the roof. All these yuppie skiiers heading to the mountains for the rest of the holiday week. Of course they’d go for the fresh mex lunch, right?

Bless uncle John, he had the foresight to make reservations. Nissa and Mary arrived first at the same time as me, and we got ourselves seated right away. Juli, Erin, and aunt Pat were next, and we ordered a round of drinks (blended strawberry margarita and shot of Patron silver, thank you very much!), which arrived after John, Denise, and the boys about 45 minutes later. Told you it was packed.

While we ate and drank, I was brought up to speed on the rest of last night’s activities:

• Wine ran out shortly after we’d left, and everyone had to switch to shots of whiskey. GAH.
• The partying went on until around 2am. Honey and Poppa had fortunately gotten to sleep long before then. Nobody specified how long, though, and I firmly believe the old ones stayed up a lot later than normal. They can outdo us all if given the chance.
• At some point the party moved to John’s music studio. I don’t know exactly what went on in there, but I keep imagining some kind of exotic opium den setup.
• Everyone stayed the night somewhere in Denise and John’s house, with the except of aunt Pat, uncle Dan, and Erin.
• Erin doesn’t remember eating dinner. But she does remember singing loudly in the car on the way home, much to the chagrin of her parents.
• Hardly anyone woke up before 10am this morning. I don’t feel so bad now.

How could I not love my family? It rained quite steadily last night, and it didn’t keep anyone from gathering around the campfire or standing off to the side with a cigarette or cigar. It didn’t keep the doors from being flung wide open or cell phone conversations from being had in the driveway. Christmas most definitely isn’t about the presents. It’s not about baby Jesus or Northern Stars or gifts of frankincense and myrrh. It’s about family, love, laughter, joy, peace, and wacky photographs that will be shared with future generations of blonde-headed weirdos of shady origin and descent. My kids will know what Christmas really is. Even if I have to cram it down their throats until they cry for mercy. They will know!