The Second Day of Christmas

On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me, a two-day hangover at age 35. Rock and fuckin’ roll! Why start Monday refreshed and happy when you can begin the week dehydrated, tired, depressed and negative? From Saturday night mind you, not Sunday. Drank nothing Sunday. Not to mention I was in bed and asleep prior to midnight on Saturday. Just a dominant holiday performance, if dominating at being pathetic is something you aspire to. And what sort of raging gala full of scantily clad women and thundering music did I attend, you ask? None other than my neighborhood block (not the whole neighborhood, just my 1 block street, and then only a fraction of that 1 block section of street) holiday progressive dinner. So there was a lot of food, Christmas trees, definitely no scantily clad women, some music but mostly Bing Crosby and Danny Fuckin’ Kaye. I think someone got a bit out-of-hand and put their iPhone on a docking station and played some of their own personal hits, but softly so people could talk about stuff like which preschools in the area offer the best value. RAGER! And that is where you picked up a 48 hour holiday hangover. Gnar brah.

When I ran into a fellow reveler on day 2 of said hangover, he informed the party actually went on until 2-3am, despite me dragging my semi-coherent corpse halfway down the block at around 10:30pm to die in bed. The bullshit of it is he wasn’t even miserable, just chipper as could be barely 24 hours after leaving the soiree. What is the point of being hungover if you aren’t going to be bitter, melancholy, harboring nothing but dread for the future and hating everyone who dares to look at you? And Jesus Tap-Dancing Christ, 2-3am? What the fuck is this, 1999? If I saw 2-3am these days, I’d probably throw stones at it. I had the impression that I was one of, if not the youngest person in attendance. Remember when Allen Iverson double crossed-over Michael Jordan twice on the same play like a cat toying with an injured mouse before he kills it? This was when Jordan was playing those extra seasons for no reason other than to slightly tarnish his legacy. That is me, only I’m not too old, fat, or out of shape. I just suck. So apparently I left right as things were turning into, a rager. Paid the piper and didn’t even listen to the fucking songs. Really cranking up the JOY this holiday season.

Don’t get me wrong–the dinner was fun, but there was no reason to go commando and act like I needed to beat an imaginary 10pmĀ last call. Straight-up amateur hour, asshole move. On the Second Day of Christmas I’ve ruined two days of Christmas. Catch the fever. And by fever I mean freeze your fucking tits off because we already know what we got for the first day of Christmas:

An arctic blast right up the ass

About Zach

Male homo sapien. Warrior poet. I live in Chicago with one wife, one offspring, and Scout the dog. I enjoy various stuff. Besides skinny skiing and going to bullfights on acid, I also enjoy running, reading, drinking, eating and procrastinating on many things, such as starting this blog. I have a mom, a dad, and a younger brother who recently produced a sister-in-law. I'm the only person in my family, sister-in-law included, who doesn't have a post-graduate degree. I guess that makes me special. I grew up in a small to medium sized town in the middle of Ohio. In fact the even smaller town next door has a sign which reads "The Geographic Center of Ohio". Given this is what they choose to boast you can only imagine how exciting that town is. My town is infinitely cooler. For example on weekend nights people from my town and the surrounding villages and hamlets converge on the public square to "cruise" in their souped-up mini trucks, some bearing Confederate flags, despite growing up and living rather safely north of the Mason-Dixon line. This is high-minded stuff we're talking about here. I graduated sometime during the Clinton presidency from the local high school where I played football and participated in absolutely nothing else. This strategy paid huge dividends when I applied to numerous colleges on the eastern seaboard which were highly selective. When you show up to the admissions table with "HIgh School Football and Nothing Else" on your application, you get respect. After graduating from Ohio University with a degree in Economics that I've used for absolutely nothing, I moved to Boston. Boston is a lovely city. I was doing things I'm not proud of for beer money and I left after 16 months. My next move was to Chicago and 10+ years later there I still reside. I write this blog for therapeutic reasons. Much like some people paint to relax or smoke crack to unwind after a stressful day, I record my thoughts on Al Gore's World Wide Web for 9 friends, 4 family members, 1 person who accidentally clicked through after an unsuccessful Google search for something else, and a guy named Patriot1 who lives in a silver Air Stream in the Nevada desert and broadcasts his own radio show. Is there a point to all of this? I doubt it. Years ago and in a galaxy far, far away (College Park, Maryland, then Athens, Ohio) I was toying with the idea of being a journalism major. I enjoyed writing so it seemed the obvious fit. Then I attended career day and learned that journalism majors could look forward to a salary of $EA,TSH.IT per year with the promise of a fatal heart attack at 47 years of age. I'm not falling for that trick, I told them (them being no one, and told being saying it in my own mind in the shower). Approximately 15 years later here I sit declared the big winner in that battle: I never made any money doing anything else and now I'm writing entirely for free. So suck balls, journalism career day. The views expressed in this website are mine and mine entirely. I don't wish to be an even bigger black eye to my family than I probably already am. As a result of this I will never be able to run for public office and I accept that reality. But this website is a very dignified, well-dressed skeleton full of witty retorts and honorable deeds compared to the disheveled, stenching, staggering and loud skeletons who would come marching out of the closet to White Zombie's "Thunderkiss '65" if they ever unearthed the college years. So enjoy your train ride, your hangover day at work, your AA meeting or your dump. I'm here to serve.
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One Response to The Second Day of Christmas

  1. Pingback: The Third Day of Christmas | What Sux Now

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