Last Saturday was spent hovering over a toilet bowl.
You see, the Christmas party season officially kicked off on Friday night with a cocktail party at my friend Erin S.’s apartment building. She and her husband made a bunch of specialty cocktails for the evening, and me, being accustomed to mainly imbibing beer or wine, got, as they say, loosey goosey. By the wee hours of the morning on Saturday, I was sure I was reaching the End of Days.
Merry Friggin’ Christmas, y’all.
I love being social. I am naturally pretty extroverted. That Friday night, I was exhausted from a long week at work, but once I got around the people at the party I hit my second wind and was able to last until after midnight.
But, I honestly can’t do nights like that too often anymore. When I was 26 and dating, I remember going out with a guy who was on the cusp of his 35th birthday. He’s a blip on my life radar screen and I wouldn’t even remember him at all if it weren’t for this one thing he said to me in passing: “The hangovers only get worse.”
As someone who is now the age he was when he said that, HOW RIGHT YOU WERE, 35-YEAR-OLD BRO.
Here’s a list of all the things I have coming up over the next few weeks:
-R’s office Christmas party
-bubbly brunch baby shower
-friend brunch
-DCAF annual holiday party
-Ward 5 holiday party
-friend’s cheese party
I am bloated already just looking at that list. All that combined with other outings I’m sure forgetting, I may not survive this holiday season. Bury me at sea (since I’ll basically be a liquid at that point anyway) and give my earthly possessions to 21-year-olds with livers of steel.
I think part of the problem is I just don’t do moderation well — in ANY aspect of my life. I didn’t just do a triathlon this summer; I did five. I didn’t just create a presentation for work; I obsessed over it until I figured out how to make a PowerPoint slide with working dice.* And I’m not just going to a party; I’m going to EVERY INVITATION I HAVE RECEIVED. The real Christmas miracle will be to get through it all without irreversible damage to my body.
If we’re being honest, I will probably end up blowing off at least one of the things listed above. At some point, I will hit a wall beyond which I simply cannot go.
Until my phone buzzes with a text inviting me somewhere cool. Then I’ll bust the wall down. Call me a masochist I guess – a Christ-masochist.
Hahahahaha. I’ll see myself out.
How are you handling the holiday party season? Better than me? Hit me up in the comments or on Twitter with your plan to navigate all this.
*It’s a pretty cool PowerPoint, you guys.
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