Merry Go Round

For your consideration and perhaps enjoyment, some highlights of my holiday season...

First up, My Big Fat Sicilian Christmas Eve. After years of hinting (and none too subtly I might add) I finally attended the Night of the Seven Fishes Christmas Eve feast that my sister's Sicilian in-laws put on. Yea, verily I tell you much eating and drinking was done. But the absolute joy of the evening was the utter chaos that ensued when my sister attempted to explain the rules of a Yankee Swap to a roomful of Sicilian immigrants (who inexplicably referred to it as a 'Yankee Wrap'.) Oh the yelling and shouting - in three languages - and wild waving of arms and hands. We actually had to repeat the drawing of numbers. So I guess if you add enough decibels, lemoncello and gesticulations, you got yourself a Sicilian Swap.

We celebrated Christmas Day with brunch at my sister's new condo, which went smoothly enough considering the various folks in attendance. And after the guests departed, my brother-in-law and I settled down to watch a couple of hours of Celebrity Poker Showdown. I love playing Texas Hold 'Em and do so on a fairly regular basis, but I wasn't watching this to try and improve my game - we're not talking the World Series of Poker caliber play here.

Now it should be noted that I have no interest in celebrity gossip, or what they do or so off the screen or stage or playing field. But for some reason I was riveted to the tube, watching to see how well each contestant could actually play poker - maybe because it made me feel better about my game. Take Coolio for example (and how you could not be filled with glee watching Coolio - who hasn't had a hit in years - play 'Celebrity' poker?) - he plays poker like a kamikaze flies a plane. He would've been knocked out of the game on the second hand(!) if he hadn't been lucky enough to draw to a strait on the river. So he promptly turned around and got himself bumped out on the next hand dealt. This despite his claims in a pre-game interview that he was "proficient in many card games." Um...yeah...like War, or go Fish. Heh.

And then there was New Year's Eve, marked by a Sexy New Year's Eve Party at chez Bunny in Annapolis. By 'sexy' Bunny and his roommate meant formal, with black tie optional. And since I haven't had an opportunity to break out the tux since last February, I was more than happy to comply. (Note to friends and family: getting dressed up is fun and I need to do it more often. So start throwing some black tie affairs, will ya?)

The preparation that went into this affair was both meticulous and extensive. I'm talking about:
*the bar with a finished top that was constructed in the back yard. Complete with foot rail.
*the huge amount and variety of beer and booze said bar was stocked with, including a rather lethal concoction dubbed 'Love Potion Number Nine.'
*decorations: lights, balloons, signs, and a giant inflatable snowman that lit up and towered over the back yard.
*music - Bunny literally spent weeks burning a 5 CD soundtrack for the evening, starting off with cocktail hour tunes from the likes of Sinatra and ending up with a weird, yet oddly appropriate medley of songs ranging from White Lines to Say Isn't So.
*polaroids - a polaroid camera was purchased, ostensibly so Bunny and his roommate J. could have their pictures taken with every female guest as they arrived. This lasted for about an hour, after which the camera circulated around the party and all sorts of candid type shots were taken. And then waved in your face the next morning. Ahem.
*buttons - another area in which attention to detail showed through. Just after we were suited up and about to adjourn to the backyard bar, Bunny called me over and said to pick a button. Pinned to the lapel of his tuxedo was a button proudly emblazoned with the motto 'I (heart) Porn.' So I followed suit and choose a button that tastefully proclaimed me 'Kinky as a Cheap Garden House.' I mean, why not get into the spirit of things?

Of course, certain guests added their own je ne sais quoi to the goings on. Like the girl who tossed her bra into the tree behind the bar. Or the two strange girls making out in the bathroom - perhaps they were the ones who smashed the shower door in? And let's not forget whoever brought the whip cream. Even cleaning up was enjoyable; it was like an Easter Egg where you'd find all sorts of lovely things (fifth of Tallisker anyone) that folks helpfully left behind.

And yes, the police came. It's not an official party unless the police show up, now is it?