December 15th 2012
Oops, I did it again.
“The annual mass gathering of people dressed in Santa costumes parading publicly on streets and in bars in cities around the world. “(And in this case New York City)
The debauchery of this event is intended to be an all day affair.
And well, I’m simply not the disobedient type.
Here’s how it started.
Nicole Detamble and I made plans to meet at the local drug store to pick up snacks as a basic survival ingredient for the day. Our grocery list was as follows:
1/5 of vodka
This college style diet was consumed 16 feet before we even reached the front door of pre-game city.
But mostly proud.
We arrived the at the pre-gaming premises and began to socialize feverishly with our Santacon compadres. I made a drink or 5 and before I knew it everyone was topped with Santa hats whilst harmonizing to Disney Tunes:
Amigos were being wrapped:
And in one inexplicable moment Nicole fled to the opposite side of the studio apartment to swoon a pack of tissues, a glove and an ear plug via random piano that was oh so shockingly hidden in the midst of nowhere.
And it really wasn’t until her inebriated serenade to the tissues, glove and ear plug hit about 13 minutes and 16 seconds that we made a collective decision that this was probably our cue to bounce. Not realizing that she would take her piano playing ways…to-go. Stay tuned.
Ready, Set, SantaCon.
We fled the premises and immediately boarded a subway train filled to the brim with characters like this:
Fully aware that we didn’t look so different ourselves and in fact were multiplying factors in this festive game of celebratory madness.
>>>> “The Next Stop Is: 42nd Street Times Square” >>>>
The train stopped.
The doors opened
And we walked up the subway stairs ready to embark on classic day of bizarre shenanigans with a bit of a festive twist. Knowing full well that this pre-game to Christmas would be chock-full of strange encounters…but…not this strange.
(stranger encounters to be bolded for the rest of the post)
And echoing came from our right immediately upon our exit from a subway station. It derived from a sea of Santas but rather quickly one Santa stood above the rest. Pummeling through a herd of tourists and drunken elves with a dead set look in his eye whilst continuing to scream this curious word. Upon his arrival he put his head down, breathed heavily and screamed.
“I GOT IT! NO WORRIES GUYS I GOT IT!
When inquired about his recent retrievals he simply stated “I caught the Harry Potter Snitch! 1,000 POINTS FOR RAVENCLAW!!!” and proceeded to whip out an unwarranted gold ball prompting most people in the vicinity to peace the fuck out due to sheer discomfort. However, Nicole stayed behind with vodka to discuss the rules and regulations of quidditch only to be torn away by yours truly.
I explained to her that Ravenclaw Santa was entirely too distraught and convinced her to join me at the local establishment that was equally as infested with holiday beer, I mean cheer:
I turned around to tell Nicole to prepare her I.D. only to realize that she was lost…And found doing this:
She spotted Football Santa from across the way and somehow swindled the conversation back to her earlier serenade of the tissues and the earplugs explaining to Football Santa that an air jam session was in fact a priority. And that they should play a duet. But to choose something other than the air piano because, well, that shit was taken. He looked at her…confused (understandbly so) …. s l o w l y reached down…and began to play this:
After witnessing the production of one this 2-man band’s greatest hits, we finally kick lined our way to our next location
When suddenly a fellow compadre said she needed something…something red….something…warm…
I suggested a lightly toasted crab. She ignored me completely.
And hence forth we kick lined our way to the neighborhood H&M store to buy
5 purchases of the exact same sweater causing a ruckus in and out of the establishment.
After dressing ourselves in polyester blend sweater dressed in a toasted crab hue, I realized that thus far in this adventure we were responsible for Disney tune harmonization, air piano – gift wrap trumpet cd production, and coordinating uniforms to join the rest of NYC in a slew of wild holiday shenanigans.
We were in the midst of waiting on the corner of 31st and Park ave. when I heard a mysterious tap tap tap. coming from my left. I looked to my left and saw nothing. Tap. Tap. Hysterical laughter. I terrifyingly looked once more to my left and saw this:
He was confused. He was texting. He was publicly drinking. Known in spanish as Botelloning (boat-tay-yoning) – unecessary fun fact, but sticking to the spanish theme.) Ready to deliver presents and fear to many children near and far. Meet fucked up Santa. Typically found tapping, hiding, and laughing hysterically in neighborhood phone booths sporting toasted crab pants and a signature white tee. Ready to fill your flask. And then take it. And then be fucked up.
Fucked up Santa: Stumbling to a holiday near you!
After my unwarranted introduction and unruly attempts to converse with fucked up Santa I heard Nicole call my name and say
“Olive! It’s the gingerbread man. Hailing for a cab! Check this shit out! “
(remind me to put this on the top 8 things I never thought I’d hear)
And there he twas.
Each cab zoomed passed the cookied compadre unphased by his lost ways and unwilling to partake in his hitch hiking necessities.
Compadre 4 was highly concerned for the gingerbreads well-being and fled to the streets offering her exceptional embracement abilities. And then completely leaving him in the dust because well, we got a cab. Sucker.
I thought I had seen it all. Ravenclaw Santa, Football Santa, Fucked up santa, Stranded gingerbread man. But it really wasn’t until I saw the Mattress hopping Santa’s airborne with glee:
And passed the local the abombinal snowman
That I further solidified that this evening was just but another shenanigan to store in the archives and unprepared for the slew of encounters present at the following location.
We pulled up to the bar Solas on the lower east side and ready to continue our festivities until the strange hours of the night when –
There was a noise. Coming from somewhere. From some…one. The bouncer? No…
The man across the way?
The Penguin behind us?
Headless penguin requested that we not snap a photo of his face, but informed us that he had stolen an entire bottle of gin from is former establishment and would I, per chance like to take a swig or even better…have the bottle? I was en route to questioning the no-lid characteristic of the bottle and explaining that I was a bit hesitant taking a hit of gin to the face from a penguin, but the more I thought about it, accepting gin from a penguin was rather hilarious so maybe I – Cue in Classy Santa
“Pardon me. If you won’t take the gin from my penguin friend would you…prefer my box instead?”
Cue in the body thrust.
Santa Clause: Once delivering simple goodies on Christmas morning in exchange for treats. Now encasing his penis in giftwrap and pinning it with a homemade post it note.
My inner child was a bit conflicted. I asked the nearby Grinch for his advice and he said this:
I shockingly declined and and joined my friends for an evening full of holiday beers only to later have a casual run in with a grey hoodied man topped with a flame decorated bandana just…placing cats on people’s heads.
After each compadre in our fleet of friends suffered 1 black cat to the head, we finally sat down at our final destination and cheersed to a very merry christmas and bid farewell to one crazy year and hello for an even weirder one to come. (Don’t worry I’ll keep you posted – I’ve kept my promise so far)
Happy Holidaze everyone.
Fucked up Santa
Stranded Gingerbread man (who is probably still stranded)
Wildly Unhelpful Grinch
Flame-Headed Cat Placer
And of course