The World According to Barb: November 2021

Sunday, November 28, 2021

Remembering the Big Ass Christmas Party

Hello and happy holidays to everyone! Can't believe we are about to turn the page on 2021. I definitely think as you get older, the years seem to pass so much faster. Probably because once you are officially over the hill, gravity takes over and the ride gets faster. Makes sense.

My closer friends know that I'm not a huge Christmas person; the word "Grinch" has been thrown around from time to time. I strongly disagree with that label however. The week before Christmas, I'm hella jolly as the week leading up to Christmas should be festive, but blaring Christmas tunes in October at Target or Walmart is a big NO for me. No one wants to have a pre-holiday anxiety attack in an aisle at Walmart!!!

I will also admit that I have not put up a Christmas tree since I moved out of our house in Ohio, almost 7 years ago. Just seems like a lot of hassle when we usually travel over the holiday and never have both kids home for the holiday. I don't have as much space so my decorations are also a tad sparse. I've been using the same Super Mega Giant roll of wrapping paper I bought at Costco in 2005. I can't tie a bow to save my life so my gifts are never properly bedazzled.

Now having said that, I was once known for my rather wild annual holiday party, better known as the "Big Ass" Christmas Party. Why big ass? When I first starting throwing it, we lived in a barely 1,000-sq-ft house, our first, so having even a modestly sized party was fun but problematic. For one, everyone would want to hang out in my extremely small, galley-style kitchen, rendering me completely useless, unable to open the oven, open the refrigerator, or wash dishes. Made me absolutely nuts!

Even Barbie had fun.

So when we eventually moved to a larger house, with a huge kitchen that opened to the family room, I could invite as many people as I wanted and I did, eventually morphing into the "Big-Ass" Christmas Party with 100+ guests, although typically not at the same time. My party became the "last stop" party of the night since it always competed with other holiday and office parties (remember those?). Translation: a lot of late guests in very festive moods, i.e. pre-marinated.

Perhaps that was one of the contributing factors, but it definitely had a rap for being a rather crazy night. I mean just having a swear word on the invite was enough to pique the curiosity of all of our respective kids, who, of course, were banned from the event. One of my invites on the inside listed reasons you should attend and one was "You feel wicked just saying it!" and another was "Cut loose in Avon's only subterranean disco." Oh yes, there was dancing.

The Christmas Ale Poisoning

One year we decided it might be fun to serve a keg of Great Lakes Christmas Ale. We were aware it was a bit more boozy than typical keg beer, but we certainly could not have foreseen what happened next. Typically these parties go quite late into the night so at 10 pm, the party is literally just getting warmed up. That year, however, I started noticing people leaving way earlier than normal.

Across the room I saw my close friend and neighbor Stasia's husband with his coat on. I stepped in to protest. She shot me a rather annoyed glance and told me to go talk to him. I did and I won't lie, it wasn't pretty. I actually could make out little of what he was saying but certainly immediately realized the damage had been done and the sooner he was gone, the better.

No one was spared, except the non-beer drinkers. My ex-husband spent the last few hours holding one hard over one eye due to Christmas Ale partial blindness/double vision. Things got broken, and perhaps not surprisingly he was not a whole lot of help at the end of the night.

One by one, we lost people in what later became known as the Christmas Ale Poisoning. Faulty keg? Operator error? No need to point fingers, but the devastation was massive and amazingly swift. One of my ex's NASA colleagues threw up in the back seat of his boss' car who had driven them to the party. We had a few guests get sick in the yard. The next day, I got several phone calls from the wives of some of alleged victims. They seemed to feel it might be in the best interest of everyone to not bring back the Christmas Ale keg. It was officially banned the following year, at least in keg form.

The invites were amazing every year because my friend pool was filled with talented artists: Jonathan Browning, Juan Quirarte, and Ryan McCleod all contributed over the years. I started to work at a publishing company right out of college so my friends were largely either writers or artists. It eventually became a friendly competition between several of them. Can't even include them all but Juan really hit it out of the park with the one below, perfectly timed. A classic.

I took a few years off after the divorce, but then brought it back with a vengeance! It felt great to know I could pull it off on my own, not just the party but life in general. Wonderful to feel the support of a boat-load of amazing friends in Cleveland who couldn't wait to bring this holiday tradition back. And, it goes without saying that this party would not have happened without the support of my friends who every year brought enough food and booze to keep the party going.

Notice the "No one allowed in the kitchen" disclaimer.

The last year I held it at my house, we included the kids, most of which were college-aged at that point, and that took the soiree and related debauchery to a whole new level. But what a blast! They were thrilled to finally be part of the party they had grown up being excluded from but were quite curious about.

The disco was replaced with beer pong but the spirit remained the same. Only hiccup was Marley, one of my dogs, ate a pot brownie at some point, and tripped balls for 24 hours, but other than that, it was great. It was so fun having both generations together to celebrate the season. Certainly lots of other antics but you would never hear them from me. Like Vegas, what happens at the Big Ass Party, stays at the Big Ass party.

We are hoping to bring the Big Ass Christmas Party back in 2022, have secured a host (thanks, Matt Nakon) and hope to gather with our now adult children to celebrate the beauty of enduring friendships and the spirit of the holidays.

It will take me years to build up a friend network in Chicago to even try and repeat the concept. My condo would not support such an initiative anyway, but I'm sure I'll eventually start my own holiday tradition here. I got all the shit already. Fa-la-la-la-la. La-la-la-la! See, I'm jolly!

Thanks to all of you for reading my blog this year. It continues to be a helpful, happy place for me so I look forward to writing more in the new year. I hope it has brought you some amusement during yet-another odd year.

I hope you all enjoy the holidays and 2022 bring you all the happiness and good health you all deserve.

Until next year,

Barb

Missed any blogs? You can catch up with the past blogs with links below:

It's About DamnTime: Barb's First Blog

6 Tips for Working from Home

Celebrating Love Amid Dark Days

Derelict Driving and My 15 Minutes of Fame

Pandemic Family Craziness

Are We Living Through the Greatest Depression?

Why is Mother's Day a Day and Not a Week?

No-Speed Naveed and the Joys of Urban Transport

Shapewear and The Costs of Being Female

Online Dating in Your 50s

Golf, the Cruel Mistress of Summer

From Darkness Comes Light

2021: A New Year, a New Outlook

The Barbuda Triangle

Don't Call Me a Cougar

Bidding Adieu to a Wonderful Summer

The Time Machine in the Garage

The Benefits of Being a Certain Age

There's a Sandwich in Every Beer

Remembering the Big Ass Christmas Party

The Things They Don't Tell You About Living in Chicago

Bumbling Through Life and Love

Boys will be Boys

Summer 2022: Sticky Floors, Dirty Clothes and an Empty Fridge

Bored Barb Takes up Yoga

Growing Up Barbie

72 Hours in Boca Del Vista with Curious George

Right up Your Alley

Raising Teenagers: The World's Most Thankless Job

The Ebb and Flow of a Mother's Nest

Friday, November 12, 2021

"There's a Sandwich in Every Beer" and other Jon-isms

Hi everyone! Can't believe we made it to fall already. About 15 minutes from now it will be Christmas and then it will be 2022. Wow, that went fast.

I've kept you all updated on both the ups and downs of my love life so thought I might mark the one-year anniversary of our first date by telling you a little more about my man.

A few things about Jon

Man's divine right to hot tubs. Jon strongly believes that as American citizens we have certain inalienable rights, one of which is to be able to sit in hot tubs everywhere. In some areas of the country, the beachfront is public so everyone has a right to be access and enjoy certain areas of the coastline? Jon believes this should also extend to include hot tubs, especially those at expensive hotels. Those are his favorite, despite the fact that these swanky establishments often put security in place to protect the sanctity of their respective hot tubs. Fortunately this is never a problem. He's perfected his tactics over the years, and while I'm sure he would not want me giving away any of his "hot tub poaching" secrets, safe to say his success rate is very high. Once he's breached the perimeter and safely landed, it would take an act of God to remove him. The upside is he's going to drop some cash (beer, food) so these hotels should welcome him with open arms.

"There's a sandwich in every beer." This is typically his response whenever I ask if he's eaten. Perhaps it's the fact that I'm a mother and not a fan of skipping meals, but I do feel the compulsion to ask this grown-ass man if he's eaten. Jon will go half the day without eating or will eat something for breakfast and then not eat all day. Or eat nothing until mid afternoon. But fortunately he is likely not to forget to drink a beer at some point so...well there you have it.

Keeping his mechanics employed. Jon owns multiple used cars, none of which are ever running at the same time. So needless to say he spends a lot of time transporting cars in and out of the shop. He has a Range Rover that was built during the first Bush administration that is a constant money pit, two Toyota FourRunners and recently purchased a used Porsche Boxster. Yes, clearly might be a mid-life crisis thing, but my ex husband's midlife crisis involved a 20-something, mall food court worker (going to have to wait for the book for that whale of a story) so I guess I should be happy that his manifested this way.

His mechanic assured him the Boxster was in mint condition! Two weeks later he awoke in the middle of the night to hear his car alarm blaring in a midst of a thunderstorm. Then he realized that not only was the alarm going off but for some reason his windows have rolled themselves half way down. He thought he had the issue resolved--after McEyver'ing some fix--but later while driving to a meeting, the alarm started going off again. Long story short, it's back in the shop. Shocking, I know. As is the Range Rover.

The big winners in all of this, of course, are his auto mechanics who all coincidentally own very large, expensive boats that they do allow Jon to visit. So you know every time he purchases yet another "money pit" used car, they immediately start thinking of what's the next boat toy Jon is going to help them buy.

Has ukulele, will play...whether you want him to or not. When he let his eldest daughter take his guitar to college in Boston, his new instrument of choice became his ukulele, which he brings everywhere. Literally everywhere. And, he will play it, whether you want him to or not. He has a pretty good voice though I must admit his falsetto, to which he often defers, lands squarely between "not good" and "God awful." What he makes up for in natural skill, however, he more than makes up with raw enthusiasm. He brought it to the Turks & Caicos this winter. My daughter thought it was adorable...for the first hour...as he worked his way through the alphabet, her enthusiasm waned.

Make fast. Having lived in Chicago for many years, Jon is an expert driver/parallel parker and navigator. That said, he firmly believes that you can park pretty much anywhere, even double park, if you have your flashers on. Apparently he thinks the proper use of your flashers can negate any silly driving or parking ordinance. One time he joined me at dinner with some friends. He joined mid-meal and offered to give me a lift home. We came out of the restaurant an hour or so later, and there was his giant Range Rover with this SUP on the top parked in a no-parking zone...with his flashers on.

Best years ever. Jon has two beautiful daughters whom he cherishes, and we have certainly had a great run, thus far, and I know he loves me. Despite this, I can feel fairly certain that no other chapter of his life will ever surpass his four-year, post-college, ski-bum internship in Aspen. He hustled, worked multiple jobs and skied every possible opportunity. During this time, he became a competitive "extreme" skier. He was even in a movie: Aspen Extreme. When he talks about this period, which he does at every possible opportunity, he lights up. It's akin to "This one time at band camp..."

I'm sure an ideal retirement scenario for him would involve a second residency somewhere in the mountains. I'm actually ok with that. A few times he's mentioned that living on a boat has always been a dream. Honestly there are few things I'd rather NOT do more than live on a boat. I'd take a root canal. At least the pain is limited to a few hours. Some of my darker moments have been on boats, staring intensely at the shore or any other immobile object so I didn't throw up...again. Anyway, boats and I have a troubled relationship. A ski house. No problem.

Walking sunshine. That's how I would describe his temperament. Every time I see him, he has a smile on his face and just seems thrilled to be alive. He blessedly tones it down in the morning, but overall he has a very sunny disposition. He greets everyone with a smile or sometimes a wisecrack, and he is game for damn near anything...as long as beer will be served.

This temperament was put to the test recently when Bowie, my youngest dog, got into this jacket while we were visiting my parents, chewed through an interior pocket, got into his wallet and proceeded to eat five $100 bills. I walked into the scene after the fact finding just pieces of bills, staring down at three clearly visible faces of Benjamin Franklin.

I knew enough to know that wasn't a bill I carry often, but could hardly process it. Fortunately, he took the news in stride. My guess this is at least partially due to the fact that he recognizes the value of a good story, and I know for a fact that I will quite literally never live this one down.

Was there a bill extraction from that damn dog's poop later?...I don't want to talk about it. Let's just say my love for this man should never be questioned. Enough said. Funny side note: Bowie completely ignored four $1 dollar bills that were nicely folded, sitting on the top of his suitcase.

Shitty weather cometh...Why am I telling you this? Because it means more blogs from me. Silver lining, amiright? I'm sure this makes you all feel better and will make the 4 inches of snow predicted for the weekend here in Chicago seem less awful. Hardly, but hope you are all ready.

Get started on the Christmas shopping, folks, so the supply chain fairy doesn't lob a turd in your Holiday punchbowl.

More to come and Happy Thanksgiving!!