Ho, ho, ho

Christmas with my boyfriend's family.

Christmas is a commercial crock of shit. I only look forward to it so I can eat a lot of chocolate and be with my family, and I realised that this year when my poor Mum got horribly sick and was unable to attend the night’s celebrations at my brother’s house out in Sunbury. Dad, Ross, Beatrix and I made the pilgrimage at about 4pm without her, and it slightly dampened the mood. I did, however, kick Ross’ arse playing Playstation 2, and we did have a pretty good time spending the night out there. The first part of the day was spent with Ross’ family, and that actually was fun. We had seafood (yes, for breakfast, all of us were shocked and I think slightly appalled) including oysters, what looked like a pile of seafood extender and an entire lobster. Lobster. Yes, lobster. I have to keep repeating it because I barely believe it myself.

Bea got horribly spoiled as usual and tallied the day with; a Peppa Pig DVD, a Littlest Pet Shop/Polly Pocket fold-up thingy which she won’t stop playing with, A Finding Nemo bucket/spade set, a huge Wiggles pirate ship complete with Wags the Dog, Henry the Octopus, Captain Feathersword and Dorothy the Dinosaur figurines, a inflatable Boohbah that dances to its own scary cult music, a Peppa Pig backpack, a dress, some Lego, “Don’t Let the Pigeon Stay Up Late!” by Mo Willems, a Cabbage Patch doll, a Fisher Price “Little People” set, cooking stuff for her kitchen, some Mr. Men books, another dress, and a picnic set.
I scored a book about celebrities and their tattoos, and another about the history of Tintin, a copy of Super Mario Galaxy for my Nintendo Wii, a DVD copy of Justin Timberlake’s FutureSex/LoveShow live which I almost suspect was bought with my mother’s viewing in mind, a set of tiny bottles of Absolut which almost made me cry after my poisoning episode (see below), a Super Grover t-shirt, a photo frame with a picture of Beatrix in it and a voucher from the Daddy bear for my next tattoo.

So Christmas came and went as usual, however the event was slightly overshadowed by the fact that I had gotten horribly drunk two nights before when Kristian, Ross and I went to see This War play but ended up seeing Zebras Can’t Be Tigers for 2 bucks in a room the size of my bathroom and there was no space to stand or sit or move and Kristian kept buying me beer and tequila shots and some Mother Fuckers, and I slightly poisoned my liver yet again. I somehow acquired an English accent and started coming onto everybody, and then told the taxi to drop me somewhere that I thought was my house but turned out not to be. I walked home by myself down a major road completely pissed, throwing up on myself, and had to hold onto people’s fences so I wouldn’t walk on the road. I recited my house number to myself to make sure I didn’t forget where I lived. I nearly walked onto the freeway but my mother came and rescued me when she realised I didn’t know where I was or how to get home. I did not go to the hospital, friends, but oh how I wish I had. I proceeded to purge my stomach for 14 hours, went through 6 showers, about 11 cold sweats and 17 moaning full-body stabbing pain episodes. I did not spend Christmas with a cold beer in my hand as I had hoped, we even came home with the bottles of gin and Baileys Irish Cream that we had taken to Sunbury untouched and sealed.

Merry Christmas, you bastards.