Merry Christmas my loves, at this time, this precious beautiful time of year, let us all take a moment to remember the special moments of festive seasons past. I hope my reflections help you too, to reminisce about the times that you wished you could swap families, go into witness protection or simply disappear, never to be heard from ever again.
First of all, let’s go back to last Christmas, when you (okay, me) got drunk with some of your aunties. One of them revealed that she can read palms (knowledge passed on from generations before) so you were keen to know your future and held out your hand. After gazing at your palm for a moment she declared, in front of family that “you are a very sexual being” – a conversation best reserved for friends rather than family but one which you survived none the less.
Now let’s kick back to a couple of years ago, when you had an afternoon Christmas lunch with colleagues. What a grand old time it was. Drinks and merriment were shared. On the way to catch the bus home you bumped into some old mates (friends of friends to be precise) and they convinced you that tequila shots and a strip club at 6pm would be a great idea. By 8pm you had vomited out of a taxi window and declared, in front of your parents at their work Christmas party “I’m gonna use my University degree to become a stripper” – I am not proud of my actions.
I believe at some stage that night I vomited on a cat.
As an incredibly self conscious teenager I believe there was a Christmas spend it a cousins backyard swimming pool in which I didn’t realise white bathing suits could lead to embarrassment. Lest we forget.
At some stage in my teenage years I had two UDLs while hiding in a bush at the Stirling Christmas pageant and genuinely believed I was drunk. That in itself is incredibly shameful.
Prior to that, aged 14 I chucked a tantrum because I received a t-shirt that I didn’t like. It was the 2000s so of course it had a sassy slogan on it. The t-shirt said “it’s all about me” and I sulked – not at all comprehending the irony of that situation.
There are probably plenty more festive moments that would haunt me if they unexpectedly popped into my head, so I choose to block them out, thanks to selective memory and years of therapy. In order to keep up the tradition of making a dick of myself at Christmas time I intend to use the following joke on as many people as I can at this afternoons work Christmas party before they tell me that “perhaps you should come back when the office re-opens next year” – here goes (feel free to adopt it for your own use should you have the same end game):
What does your job have in common with Christmas?
I don’t know Alicia, what could that be?
You do all the hard work and the fat, rich man in a suit takes all the credit.
Being an adult is tough. The thing that is even more difficult though, is realising that although you might tick many ‘adult boxes’ (not a sex thing, I mean ‘receives bills (paying them is questionable), holds down a steady(ish) job, understands (but doesn’t always acknowledge) the affects of alcohol’) when Christmas rolls around, all your adult talent goes out the window – well mine does at least. The festive season reminds me, every bloody year that I am still and will forever be in many ways a child. People tell me that when I have children of my own, all that will go out the window and it’ll be ‘all about the kids’ – however these people clearly do not know me well enough. For one thing, I don’t think that birthing a poop producing, money draining brat would have the desired effect of forcing me to grow up – it would probably have the opposite and I would revert into being a child myself but secondly, who says that I will have kids? I’ve been told that I’d be a ‘fun mum’ – but a fun mum does not necessarily make a good mum…so I’ll certainly consider skipping the whole parenting thing for a while – until at least I get better at tying my own laces that is.
What are the things that have convince me every year at Christmas that I am a terrible adult? Well I’m glad you asked!
Advent Calendars My Mum still buys me an advent calendar every year. Not because she wants to necessarily but because every year sometime in the middle of November I leave her subtle reminders to do so. And by subtle reminders I mean I set an alarm in her phone, there’s a note on her calendar and I’ll just come out with a verbal reminder in our weekly phone conversation. Without fail, an advent calendar appears prior to December one. “But Alicia” I hear you say, “Your mother is aging (soz ma) and will someday die” – yes it is a sad fact and one which I have of course accounted for. I am going to ensure that my Mum organises to send me an advent calendar beyond the grave every year. We live in a wonderful modern internet filled world – surely she can set up a payment and delivery plan with some website thingymagiggy?
Christmas Decorations I love Christmas – the glitter, the tinsel, the sparkles in general but one thing that I truly and wholly believe is that purchasing your own decorations is a move just as adult as buying shares in a company not just for novelty purposes. It’s way too real. For this reason and this reason alone I only have decorations in my house that have been…shall I say…organically acquired. Stolen. All my Christmas decorations have been added to my home after previously belonging to pubs, bars or relatives who I just didn’t care much for. This is a lesson in why ‘fun mums’ don’t always make ‘good mums’ because I developed this habit after years of watching my own mother bring home new decorations after drunken evenings at Christmas functions so I guess when I finally do get in trouble or caught out, at least I have someone else to blame?
Christmas Food While all my ‘adult’ friends have this thing that they like to call ‘will power’ (or as I like to think, they’ve just lost their sense of fun), I have none. Come Christmas time, nothing excites me more than those gross lollies that only come out once a year – in the shape of Santa, made of a hard marshmallow consistency and about as tasty as coloured cardboard – you know the ones. On top of that, I love candy canes, eggnog and I’ll never say no to chocolate coins – even if the chocolate that they use is the literal worst. While all my friends – and most of the white western world are saying no to sugar, all I can think about is getting my Christmas hit because isn’t that the reason for the season?!
Christmas Carols When you are a child and you have a terrible singing voice, people call it cute. You sing at the top of your lungs and it fills you with joy and happiness however as you age and become more self aware you realise that no longer are you cute. People block their ears when you fill the room with your rousing rendition of ‘Silent Night’ that is, in no way, silent. You retreat, you stop singing for the most part and of course never ever for the love of God do you sing in a public place. You have too much self respect. Me? I missed that phase of my life – not that I have a good singing voice, I’ve just never been ashamed of it. I’m that girl in the toiletries isle at the supermarket singing loudly along to Wham’s timeless hit ‘Last Christmas’. You wish you could be me.
Unwrapping Gifts I LOVE buying presents – I enjoy the challenge of finding the perfect gift for someone and seeing (hopefully) the look of joy and wonder on their face when they unwrap it – mushy, I know. More than that though, I love receiving…presents that is. I’ll rip off that wrapping paper, making a monumental mess of the effort that my friend has gone to in getting it properly wrapped. What the fuck else am I supposed to do though? Gently unwrap the paper and save it in my craft box for the scrap booking obsession that I’m sure to acquire when I give up on hope, life and happiness? Sure, something like that. Get fucked. Christmas paper was mean for ripping to shreds – and then placing in the recycling bin like the good little environmentally aware gen-y that I am.
See why Christmas proves that why I can’t ever be a proper adult? I’m sure I’ll recall plenty more reasons over the coming days as the season gets into full swing but hey, I’ll probably get too drunk and forget to write them all down! Merry Christmas Bitches. xx
P.S I think maybe you realised that this post was a partial excuse for me to share photos of Cute Christmas Alicia either hungover or drunk from years past. YEAH – I used to be skinnier and had nicer hair, so sue me.