Christmas Cheer

Ahhhh, the office at Christmas time, is there anything as remarkably cheesy/charming? Kris Kringles (i scored an excellent desk calender filled with useless factoids), morning teas, and a LONG WEEKEND baby! Excitement is something I have no intention of contating right now. Five days of relaxation (even if one of them is the eating/drinking/small-talking-with relatives-you-see-once-a-year marathon that is Christmas day) seems so foreign to me as to be surreal. Not in a Dali-esque, melting clocks kind of way, but a crazy, 'there's no way they'll let me out of here for that long, they must be rebuilding the office in my living room while I sleep' kind of way. Or is that paranoia? Who cares. Seasons Greetings to all who undergo what must seem like some form of unique torture in reading this blog. I'm actually supposed to be writing about the annual trauma that is new years eve (hereafter referred to as NYE).

I will get around to the travails of the aforementioned relatives on Christmas day, but I think I'll save that for after the ordeal is over. Currently, I am faced with the dilemma that is organising/deciding how I will spend the yearly attempted uber party that happens on December 31st, and with whom I will spend it.

I told Nicole that she can choose if she likes, but my girl isn't the most decisive character in the world (bless her soul), so I think it might fall to me.
Unfortunately, some of my friends are talking about going to a pub next Saturday night. This would be a grave error. To spend upwards of $50 to be locked into a sardine tin with women so gorgeous that you feel like a criminal just looking, and blokes with collars so far up around their ears that I feel they are actually some means designed specifically to keep their heads attached, while keeping their designer mullets with the peroxided mohawk thing untouchable and therefore perfectly coiffed and primped (I can't stand the collar up, private school, head-up-their-arse brigade. Wankers), seems just foolish to me. That doesnt even take into account the expense of continuing to drink while surrounded by said denizens of the Melbourne underworld.

Think I'll stay home, drink bloody Lubers (that's bourbon shots for the uninitiated) and watch TV to see how different their respective clocks are by seeing how far apart their celebrations take place. Then again, I'm sure that TV will be filled with many a raised collar too.....

PS - stay tuned for my analysis of the life forms that surface to forage for booze on NYE.