Though I may have you given you plenty of reasons to believe otherwise, The Holiday Season is actually my favorite time of the year. I love the pervasiveness of feelings of cheer and goodwill towards others, and seeing smiles plastered on otherwise continually-miserable faces. And of course there is the gift giving and the gift wrapping (and *ahem* the gift receiving), the spontaneous outbreaks of song and dance, the abundance of bundling and snuggling, and the generally gilt appearance of everything in sight. Men walk around in button-downs, deliciously fitted sweaters, gleaming footwear, and sumptuous scarves, draped in lush overcoats that always make me swoon. I'm a sucker for a dressed-up, perfectly tailored, scrumptiously clad man. Like say, for example, this:
(I-I'm sorry...I momentarily blacked out.* Where was I?)
Oh. College football is in full swing, delectably indulgent eats can be found anywhere and everywhere, I can wear leather goods and sequined ensembles whenever I want, and vacation time is a given. It is a time when ostentatiousness is no longer frowned upon (albeit only temporarily), but is in fact encouraged whole-heartedly. Overspending is law, and overindulgence in any and all of the sensorial pleasures is how one passes each day. In short, it's my kind of season.
Taking all of this into account however, no matter how fabulously reckless it all may be, one might find themselves in need of something to help take a little bit of the edge off...One might. Given that the Holiday Season is - rather unapologetically so - an attack on not only the senses (as previously discussed), but additionally, an attack on our moral, mental, and emotional faculties,
(I know, I feel the same way at times.)
it seems only necessary that we as an unstable public, would require a little help in getting a fix of some much-needed anesthesia. Help of the prescriptive variety, that is.
(Don't worry. I have just the thing for you...Please stop.)
Sleeping pills. More specifically, Seconals** (if you're in the mood for a vintage high). Those "lovely little dolls," as Neely O'Hara so affectionately referred to them many a time, are this season's (and also 1957's) hottest item, and your ticket to a better night's sleep, incidentally. They're an old school treasure that has never gone out of style. Think about it: What's the one thing people say they never get enough of, especially during the holidays (aside from sex)? Sleep. Why? Because after a full day of candy canes, power shopping, running around like a nut, overdrafts on your credit cards, flashing lights, phosphorescent decor, and Bing Crosby in your face, we're too jacked-up on seasonal fare to even think about getting a decent night's sleep. As we lay there, in our pjs, under the covers, vibrating in the wake of the day's blitzkrieg, it's all we can do to ceremoniously keep our eyes closed, let alone try to to get some REMs in.
(Enter, the bottle of sleeping pills.) That gleaming, orange, clacking plastic container of bite-sized miracle-workers. Suddenly sleep is no longer an impossibility. In fact, it is a certainty. You can dreamily laze away the season as you float, languid in your own cloud of intoxication, to a state of pure Nirvana: a place free from the countless and exhausting religious/seasonal totems of worship that populate the season.
Now I don't suggest that you become hooked on these things, fabulous as they are, because that would just be a mistake. However I do suggest you develop a close relationship with them as needed. Particularly between the months of October and January, as you might find yourself in a position of needing a convenient bit cloudiness on more than one occasion. So go, henceforth, and get your hands on a bottle or two of those babies (it isn't difficult) and blissfully snooze away your worries and your cares and your scars from the numerous and various violations you've experienced, and enjoy the Holidays as they were meant to be enjoyed: comatose.
Incidentally, I recently came across these Holiday-flavored beauties. Deliciously ironic in their golden splendor.
Now that is the way to deck some effin' halls...
**OK, who am I kidding? This is all a complete load of crap (which is why you stopped reading 94 sentences ago). I'm not serious. Though the Surgeon General would like me to inform you that drug abuse is. Really, I just needed a catchy/snarky word to rhyme with "Halls."
*Stay tuned for a post completely and utterly devoted to the GOD that is Cary Grant. (Bated breath, I know.) When I muster up the nerve to write it, it'll be something.
No comments:
Post a Comment