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December 29th, 2009 Leave a comment Go to comments

Well it was a white Christmas here on the East Coast. Though it didn’t snow, we had plenty on the ground to ensure some chilly Christmas realness.

Sure, I went to midnight mass and sang my little lungs out and – certainly – I boozed it up at various functions hosted by family and friends. But let us not forget the true meaning of Christmas, the reason we celebrate this holiday season: gifts. What did you get? The new Nene Leakes biography? Some slightly used candles? Something naughty and unmentionable in polite society? I hope all three.

But enough about you, let’s talk about he who matters most: Jasper. It was the little man’s first Christmas and boy did he enjoy it. He got stuffed animals and chew toys and pictures of himself, beautifully framed. He visited with hundreds…no, thousands of admirers. And anyone who could hear the soft pitter pat of his silky soft paws as he marched near was warmed and gladdened. Although I think he did poop under someone’s piano at one point.

Boxing Day was Hangover Day, as usual, and filled with a long, languid luncheon with mom and sis. We exchanged the perfunctory gifts and I received a fierce hoodie. Also, the Earth flooded. The highways were awash with momma nature’s tears (she cries ’cause you drink) and as a result only people with 4 wheel drive survived. Thank goodness for my gas guzzling Bonfire of the Vanities 2009-esque whip!

Well, the holidays are now over (thank goodness) and we have only to survive Bacchus’ cruelest joke, New Years Eve, before we can make a collective return to normalcy. I suggest building a fort or underground shelter filled with frankincense and mirth and Baker’s bourbon and staying in there until everyone has returned to Bayonne. Trust me, you’ll be one happy camper to have missed the vomitorium that is NYC on NYE.



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