I won’t provide a blow-by-blow of Christmas and New Year’s. It was a lot of fun, but just too many days, too many places, too many people—too much detail to provide. Instead and for brevity’s sake, I offer these acknowledgements:
To Sarah, thanks for getting me everything I wanted, and for liking all the gifts you bought for yourself and we agreed were from me. Next year I promise: surprises galore—even if that means I give you things that have absolutely no practical application whatsoever. Think faberge eggs.
To the MacDonalds, for their unceasing generosity. My day job pays okay, but marrying into this family will no doubt prove to be my most profitable profession. Also, thanks for being okay with our not being there for Christmas Day. And let’s not forget: the ninety-five pounds of baked goods and the strongest rum and eggnog I’ve ever had.
To the McLean family, for helping to reclaim the McLean shooter party as my favourite party of the year. Special props to Barry, Gary, Sarah, and yours truly for doing the most shots, but honourable mention goes out to all the other adults—even Mom and the aunts who had a B-52 apiece. As far as Rachael and Amy go: frankly, they’re just not pulling their weight.
To Sarah’s family in Kingston, thanks for all the presents, and for contributing pounds four, five, six, and seven to my ten pound holiday weight gain.
To the 417 and the 401, thank you for not making our drive a shitty one.
To Katie and Nikki, for pronouncing Ottawa Attawa, for being so much fun, for putting up with me during the sporadic hours where I became exhausted and lost the ability to speak, for being so easy going, and for stopping by in the first place.
To the Keg Manor: pounds eight and nine.
To Jen and Greg, thanks for your wine knowledge and your capacity to drink it. Thanks for making dinner and guac, but not coffee—we have trust issues. Thanks for two good consecutive New Year’s Eves. And thanks for joining me on that second nightcap… But now that I think about it, Greg didn’t have a drink and I’m pretty sure Jen poured half hers down the sink. I’m taking that one back, lightweights.
To revisiting old vices: see above regarding nightcaps.
And finally, to mixing. On New Year’s Eve, I drank wine, then beer, then run, then jagermeister, then beer, and then scotch, and I was totally fine the next morning. Mixing is the new Not Mixing—you heard it here first.
To Sarah, thanks for getting me everything I wanted, and for liking all the gifts you bought for yourself and we agreed were from me. Next year I promise: surprises galore—even if that means I give you things that have absolutely no practical application whatsoever. Think faberge eggs.
To the MacDonalds, for their unceasing generosity. My day job pays okay, but marrying into this family will no doubt prove to be my most profitable profession. Also, thanks for being okay with our not being there for Christmas Day. And let’s not forget: the ninety-five pounds of baked goods and the strongest rum and eggnog I’ve ever had.
To the McLean family, for helping to reclaim the McLean shooter party as my favourite party of the year. Special props to Barry, Gary, Sarah, and yours truly for doing the most shots, but honourable mention goes out to all the other adults—even Mom and the aunts who had a B-52 apiece. As far as Rachael and Amy go: frankly, they’re just not pulling their weight.
To Sarah’s family in Kingston, thanks for all the presents, and for contributing pounds four, five, six, and seven to my ten pound holiday weight gain.
To the 417 and the 401, thank you for not making our drive a shitty one.
To Katie and Nikki, for pronouncing Ottawa Attawa, for being so much fun, for putting up with me during the sporadic hours where I became exhausted and lost the ability to speak, for being so easy going, and for stopping by in the first place.
To the Keg Manor: pounds eight and nine.
To Jen and Greg, thanks for your wine knowledge and your capacity to drink it. Thanks for making dinner and guac, but not coffee—we have trust issues. Thanks for two good consecutive New Year’s Eves. And thanks for joining me on that second nightcap… But now that I think about it, Greg didn’t have a drink and I’m pretty sure Jen poured half hers down the sink. I’m taking that one back, lightweights.
To revisiting old vices: see above regarding nightcaps.
And finally, to mixing. On New Year’s Eve, I drank wine, then beer, then run, then jagermeister, then beer, and then scotch, and I was totally fine the next morning. Mixing is the new Not Mixing—you heard it here first.
Comments
Next time you need to brief us on your drinking prowess in litres.
Of course, then everyone will find out that a beer for you is just worth a shotglass, and a shot of anything comes from a dropper, you pansy.
J
We all know that I ended up in bed with you - naked.
Since I never, ever have hangovers or get sick from alcohol, even on the infamous 'morning after 40 tequila shots', I can't comment on the mixing thing.
But I trust you, Dave, I do!
(I could, however, comment on the holiday poundage. But I choose not to. Damn those pecan pies!!)
Just to clarify: I did not dump half of my drink down the sink, I only dumped the last little bit...thanks for another swell NY's, Dave and Sarah.