A Reason for the Season

I thought back to all my holidays past and I have genuinely loved every single one. There were some odd things that have occurred on holidays–like when one cousin went to jail, or when an ax-murderer shared our Christmas dinner, or even spending an entire evening trying to find out who one of your blood relatives even is–its always some random auntie. I even consulted my honorary PIC for every holiday, and she had nothing to add (save for the bit about Aunt Sharon).

And then I remembered one time... The one time a holiday went wrong. I remembered the scariest day of my adult teen life. It was a lesson for the ages and feels now like wisdom to not only be remembered but to be shared:

NEVER CELEBRATE CHRISTMAS IN JULY.

There is no real way to tell this story without including some completely apprehensible and illicit behaviro. That is not to say I encourage or think of these things fondly. This is a WARNING above all things. Whoever came up with that phrase was going out of their way to really curse people. Well, where can I begin? I suppose it was some day in July before the Internet was the virus it is today…

These were the earlier days of things like social media. At the time, it was far and few between for people to have smart phones. I was using a Sidekick, and Facebook was still basically the new MySpace (we weren’t expecting it to last). We were learning, and I guess you can all be grateful we did. Back in these said days, I was living in a pop spot for ravers after-after and off hours. I loved it even if it didn’t love me back. I was dealing with a lot of things I had yet to realize at the time. I can be hard about it or we can keep laughing. I choose to laugh because somehow, we all seemed to have made it out alive. And that particular night, I just wasn’t so sure we would.

There were definitely signs that something was about to happen. For some reason, there was a Facebook event page. I guess it seemed innocent enough at the time, but there were rumors going by that local police were watching for these very things to come across their browsing–though it was speculation. The lot of us were pretty young. We were doing things we weren’t old enough to be doing and things that no one is allowed to do no matter what age they are. I noticed there were some blatant disregard about it, too: a lack of decency to hide a label while facing the street; blowing blunts in the backyard before the state was even considering legalizing; the music being more bass than sound; and of course the worst and most offensive part of all… Open fucking doors. I knew the party was gonna get crashed the minute I saw an all-white motorcycle drive-by but eh, fuck it. No one likes a wet blanket.

I did a few laps and enjoyed myself a bit. I saw so many people I’ll never forget and some I wish I did. I think everyone we knew was at that party, even if for a moment. I had a friend visiting from France pop in that night. I’m not sure how long it went on for. I have so many memories of the night being fun and delightful. We were having a great time, scantily-clad in out Christmas-inspired outfits. There was so much commotion we hardly recognized the chaos. No one knows how it started, yet we all know how it ends: A cop walked into the backyard and somebody ran. That’s when shit truly hit the fan.

The backdoor was wide open when one cop chased down the dumbass who fled the scene turning us all guilty while a handful of other cops came in through the open door. Luckily, the bedroom with the utmost illicit substances in it had a lock on the handle. Just to be sure no one had to take a hit for anything, hundreds of dollars worth of product was consumed…. By one, heroic person. There was a dog and some yelling and a lot of people leaving. I walked by the cops and ran right up the stairs without being noticed and and found the youngest tenets of the party. I mean, we were all young–now imagine younger. I turned the lights off and quieted them down like we were hiding out from Jason as I watched the very brave homeowner talk to the cops in lingerie, wide-eyed as Bambi. I thought we would all be ruined.

Somehow, no tickets were given. Maybe one arrest was made (the kid who ran), and miraculously everyone lived–even Coca Cola kid. Once the party was disbanded, the group of us hosting sat in one of the biggest smoke circles I’d ever seen and started passing around every device every single one of us had. Convenient in a way to have had the Facebook page; we were able to post about the shit getting busted. But somehow, a group of people walked in that none of us recognized and tried to sit down with a six pack. We cussed them out and asked them to leave and they actually had the audacity to say no until at least three of our biggest dudes stood up. Just rude.

I guess the rest of the night was chill and as I recall, no other parties of ours were busted. Though we have plenty of stories that left us nothing short of deserving. Either way, I have left Christmas to Christmas time to this very day. And I repeat: DO NOT CELEBRATE CHRISTMAS IN JULY!!!