Editor’s Note: This is a refurbished older post, a cautionary tale of what can happen when you mix the gift-exchange process with excessive amounts of alcohol. The references are a wee bit dated, but the underlying moral is the same: Don’t drink and unwrap. Unless everybody else is drinking and no one is paying any attention to you…
Round 1
On the first shot of Christmas, my true love gave to me… oh, a copy of “Dead Rising 2” for the XBOX 360. He is so sweet to do that, fully understanding my need to annihilate hordes of undead people that irritate me. Granted, this game doesn’t provide a very peace-loving view of the world, insisting that you slaughter folks in a shopping mall without having a chance to really get to know them. But these are zombies, contributing little to society and mostly just getting in the way, so the quicker they are out of your life the better. I’m not sure where I developed this disdainful view of the undead. (Surely it doesn’t have anything to do with living in a red state surrounded by Republicans.)
And look at this, he also got me the Game Guide for Dead Rising, so I can be sure to track down every possible person that can be killed in the mall, even if they have nothing to do with the story or the missions. My guy is really thoughtful to include that. I’m just going to place these items over here in a clear space on the coffee table, where I plan to stack all of my loving gifts, especially those that involve carnage. It can be my “don’t mess with me” pile. Everyone needs one of those.
Round 2
On the second shot of Christmas, my true love gave to me… a Kinect for the XBOX 360! You know, one of those things where you don’t even need a controller, you just hop around in front of it and the thing interprets your actions and you either win or lose. It’s very sophisticated and high-tech, the latest gadget that everyone must have if they plan on remaining socially relevant. Of course, it’s quite easy for The Machine to misinterpret or even ignore your wants and desires, which results in political elections where you have to vote for the candidate who irritates you the least.
We got to watch folks using one of these Kinect things at a party a month or so ago. They were leaping about, doing high kicks and such, so it was very exhilarating. They were also sweating, and that didn’t seem quite as attractive. I’m not sure that I need to be moist in public. But I’m glad that my honey remembered that I was interested in the Kinect. Of course, I helped his memory along by declaring something along the lines of “this better be under the tree for me or there will be complications”. I’m a firm believer in “it’s the thought that counts”. Unless you’re not thinking properly. Then you better have a receipt.
Round 3
On the third shot of Christmas, my true love gave to me… (What is in this drink? My tongue feels funny)… um, some new jammie pants! I love jammie pants! I have tons, but my absolute favorite pair was getting a bit worn out, with a large gaping hole big enough that you could drive a truck through, in a very personal place. Suffice it to say that freedom’s just another word for bending over to change the DVD player. (My apologies to the neighbor who happened to jog past the front window right as I was switching from the X-Files disc to the next Charmed installment. I’m sure you didn’t expect such a revelation. Neither did I.)
I think I’ll put these jammies on right now, because I’m feeling both festive and in the mood for a costume change. Oh wait. There’s still tags and stickers and stuff on these pants. I don’t really have the energy to mess with that right now. Especially if I have to go find something sharp to hack at those annoying plastic thingies underpaid workers use to rivet the tags into the garment, making them nearly impossible to get out without an exorcism. I’ll just throw the jammie pants on my little pile and worry about things later.
Round 4
On the fourth shot of Crispness, my true love gave to me… Crystal Bowersox’s CD! She so should have won American Idol, not that other guy. What’s his name? Lee something? Crystal was WAY better, but I can see how she scared some of the budding Barbie dolls with her questionable teeth color and hairstyles that were not necessarily a wise choice. But that girl could sing. Especially when she did that one song. I can’t remember the name right now. Something like “Go Tell Pa On Walton’s Mountain”. And that other song, about Summer Breeze, makes her feel fine. Apparently her boyfriend stopped making her feel fine, cuz he got the boot. Sure did….
What were we talking about?
Round 5
On the fist shot of Crispy, my too love gave to me… This better not be underwear. Whoops. It’s underwear. But I really did need some new pairs. Some of my older pair are paper thin (you can see France!), and the elastic has been reduced to a fine white ash that leaves a chalk mark around my waist. So panties are good. Wait. Where did panties come from? I don’t wear panties. Do I? [Sound of underwear package being tossed haphazardly onto gift pile, with something skittering off the table and ricocheting under the couch. No one bothers to see what it might been. The cat will eventually find the AWOL tidbit and plunk it in his water bowl.]
Round 6
On the…. what shot are we on? Six? Are you sure? I thought I already sang that one. Anyway, now we have… [sounds of someone encountering extreme difficulty with tape applied to resilient wrapping paper]… it’s… oh, an electric Scrabble game! It tells you your score and beeps and everything. This is SO cool. I love it! What’s next?
What? Why are you asking me that? I did too like that gift. No! I didn’t throw it. It’s just the coffee table is way over there and I wanted to make sure it landed right. That was a LOVE throw, cuz I love it and I’m going to play… whatever it was, forever!
Round 7
On top of old seven shot, all covered with cheese… I found my true love, when somebody… I can’t get this one open. Can you do it for me? I’ve REALLY got to pee. Be right back. [Sounds of slightly staggering feet, followed by the distant crash of something that was no longer on the bathroom counter, and the toilet seat being slammed downward with enough force to create a small mountain in China.]
Okay, I’m back. Hey, where is everybody else? Oh, I can hear somebody in the kitchen and I hear ice. Yay! More drinks. I’ll just be nice and wait and look at my presents. Hey! Why am I getting underwear and clothes? That’s what you get for little kids and old people. Oh my God! I’m old now! My time is coming. I could be a zombie soon! I don’t want to do that. People will shoot me in the mall before I can get a pretzel at Hot Dog on a Stick.
Round 8
I don’t remember the numbers anymore. Just give me another present.
Round 9
Why is it called tequila? Does it mean something to Spanish people? I wish I knew Spanish. I know French. Well, I used to know French. Somebody knew French, and I think it was me. I’m not sure. Do you really love me? Hey! I have two feet!
Round 10
I don’t KNOW why I’m crying. That commercial was just SO sad. What do you mean the TV isn’t on? I can see things moving on the screen. Oh, maybe that’s me. Wait. Who are you? Do you know how to make margaritas? I love margaritas. We need some Jimmy Buffett music. He knows about margaritas. And he blew out his flip flop. Now I’m crying again.
Round 11
I don’t WANNA open nothin’ else and you can’t make me. And I am NOT slobbering on you! Boys are stupid. And plaid. Boys and plaid are stupid. And cars. Why are there so many cars? They’re everywhere. All over the place. With their wheels and everything. Does anybody have any croutons?
Round 12
On the twev shot tequila crispy… gave me true… the something… LOVE! I love everybody. EVERYBODY! I just want happy and peace stuff for all, the whole world. I’d like to teach the world to… what do they need to know? Why are there nuns on the crispy tree? Penguins? Who puts… that’s stupid… I’m so tired… but I love everybody… but if I go to sleep, no more singing and love… for me… and that’s all I want. Peace for… people that need peace. And to all a good… I’m just gonna lay my head on this underwear package, cuz it looks soft… just for a second… peace… love is all around… even if people don’t have croutons when I want them…
Wait! Is that a zombie over there?
How did we get to the mall?
Best wishes to everyone, wherever you may be and whatever you are doing during this holiday season. Embrace it. In a socially-distancing sort of way…
Previously published and revised many times. Let’s just say this post won’t be wearing white at its wedding. No changes made, because if I didn’t get it right the first 20 times, I really should let things go. Until tomorrow, when I notice yet another bit of phrasing that annoys me and I quietly make a discreet update…
Categories: Humor
Bonnywood Manor 
Arbor Mist will do that every time; the right amount of sugar and alcohol to cause an hallucination. Now just go crawl into the panda enclosure and eat some bamboo. It’s good for the digestion. That’s if you survive the pandas.
😉
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LOL, “eat some bamboo”. Hahaha.
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🙂
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This is how my constantly-vibrating mind works: “Arbor Mist” made me think of a sultry anti-heroine in a Southern gothic novel. “Sugar and alcohol” triggered memories of Anne Rice’s “The Witches”, the part where the story centers on Saint-Domingue. “Panda enclosure” brought to mind an odd childhood game we used to play, details of which may or may not be eventually revealed. And “bamboo” reminded me that I really need to get serious about reflooring one of the back parlors at Bonnywood….
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Shots of Bombay Sapphire Gin… and the sax solo from “Careless Whisper”… dancing around and into people, lamps, furniture… while pretending to play the sax.
Not the 12 shots of Christmas, but good times. I don’t do tequila shots anymore. Tequila makes my clothes fall off.🤷🏼♀️
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Trivia: George Michael wrote “Careless Whisper” when he was sixteen.
More Trivia: I love to dance, but The Dance does not love me. I will never win an award for my expressionism.
Final Trivia: I stay away from shots, in general. I like to control my intake, having learned hard lessons in the past. I might drink a lot, but I drink it over a long period of time, with lots of munchies…
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I can’t ever seem to recall the sins of Christmas spirits Past. Not after the fifth (of) gin anyway. The hangover the next day- that is a long and painful memory though.
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I am shocked that you have ever sinned. Said no one. Ever. Just kidding. Sort of. Not sure where I’m going with this. I’m just having fun with the abbreviated sentences and atrocious grammar. Which brings us back to hangovers…
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Springboks (not the buck, the shot – and hoo boy did that sound weird!) and Christmas and some rumour of no clothes and swimming pools. Plus some kid (possibly mine) hiding the alcohol from the irresponsible adults – his words. Ah fun! Heads off to find a suitable swimming pool
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It sounds to me like we have had very similar experiences. Perhaps we’ve been to the same parties? We might have even met. We just don’t remember it. Because of the Springboks… 😉
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Please pass me a Negroni.
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Here ya go. And can you pass me that tray of nibbly bits? No, not that one. I don’t know that mess is. The one with the shrimp puffs. Thanks so much!
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Do you have shares in an ‘Asprin’ distributer? I wish I did.
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I am personally responsible for the healthy profits enjoyed by the makers of Excedrin…
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That solution may be the solution to my unsolved Christmas angst. J.
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It’s not necessarily a healthy or wise choice, but sometimes we need to let a little steam off, however briefly…
Wait, were you talking about the zombie hunting and not the cocktail-sipping? Because that’s a different story… 😉
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LOL–“this better be under the tree for me or there will be complications”. Love and threats go so well together.
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As long as the threats are mild and ill-defined, it’s all good. If the threats become too specific, there might be an issue… 😉
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O lordie, now I’ll be singing “On Top of Old Smoky” the rest of the day (Ziggy is very annoyed and wished me to type you his dismay)…
I admit to enjoying this post with such gusto that it’s inspired me to do a “Twelve Days” post too, and you’ll get the full credit plus a traffic direct to your site, which is a gift I feel might keep on giving, right? Your share about the holy (holey yeah yeah yeah) p.j. pants reminded me of one, and one that might just make you feel better about having your assets exposed from the rear.
Hubby, as he continued to age and grow his astounding belly size (he was honestly asked to play ‘Santa” as he honestly could boast a ‘bowl full of jelly” front wise… ) wore sweat pants almost exclusively. Waistbands just didn’t do it after a while and he refused to wear suspenders to keep the things up, so sweatpants. Solution. Good. Except he’d wear those damned things until they were literally falling apart. I’m not a great seamstress, and patched them up by hand as much as was feasible, but they’d always rip open again, and usually at the worst possible moment. The crotch area seemed to be the flawed stress point.
He had an especially beloved pair, which I warned him to only wear around the house as the crotch area was mostly theoretically and his boys exuberantly escaped their whitey tighty prison with regularity. But he insisted on sporting those old sweat pants in public until the day he was discreetly pulled aside by security at a store we were visiting, and told to tuck his junk back in his trunk or leave. Seems the boys got a public airing that day. I thought it was hilarious (of course I didn’t tell him. Funny thing he wasn’t very amused). It pays to get new jammie pants or sweats on a regular basis. And prudently discard the beloved ones before one gets arrested for public indecency.
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Once again, you have turned a simple comment into an immensely entertaining tale of things that once were. This could easily be expanded by just a smidge and you would have a very satisfying blog post. (Although, it should be noted, that I should caution you against including any high-definition photos of the catch-and-release fallout of the flimsy sweatpants, so to speak.)
I will admit that I wear my fave jammie pants long past their expiration dates, because I love them and their worn-in comfort. But at least I don’t saunter forth into public, sporting such. (At least not that I recall.) In my younger days, I was a little gay fashionista, always concerned about my appearance, regardless of the situation or the actual presence of other people. Now? I don’t care. As long as the essentials are relatively discreet, I’m good. I did the right thing for many decades and now it’s Me Time…
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We totally need to drink pitchers of margaritas together one day… in jammy pants.
😉
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Oh, I knew within about three minutes of our digital introduction that there were shared pitchers in our future, somewhere, somehow, regardless of couture… 😉
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🙈🥂🍸🍷🍻🍹
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🤩💕🎅🎄🍷🍺🚗
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Thoroughly enjoyed this! All I do on Christmas is get drunk, soon as I wake up I dig right into the cider haha
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For me, it’s just not Christmas unless somebody is buzzed, preferably me… 😉
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I don’t know what Arbor Mist is. I’ve seen blue gin..I guess it’s blue…the bottle was.
Being me…I have no sins of Christmas past. I just had to clean up after everyone else who did. Bwahahahaha!
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Wait. No sins? How can this be? How did you survive all that noise and ripping of paper and grabby relatives and horrible gifts you had to pretend you liked even though you really weren’t pleased with them at all?
Of course, I’m sure you had your own methods of self-therapy. Nobody survives Christmas without some kind of coping mechanism. Or maybe that’s just my family… 😉
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Well…as far as relatives…one side (mine) didn’t much care for me, much less my children, and the other side (UGH), weren’t allowed in my house after thirty or so years of drunken abuse…and they didn’t much care for my children either. (They were mine…and most of them were GIRLS).
All in all though, we had some great Christmases. 🙂
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Relatives are so much easier when there’s booze in the picture, and I was wise enough to marry a guy who prefers Coke so I ALWAYS have a designated driver.
You’re jealous, aren’t you? Admit it. 😉
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Yes, I am quite jealous that you have a permanent designee. To be fair, though, Partner is generally very good about such things, and he will usually allow me to imbibe wantonly in self-therapy whilst he only has a sip or two….
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