The holidays are here

I finally started my job at a bookstore last Monday, and it feels so nice to have something to do instead of hanging out at home all day. I felt like I was in jail for a month with no purpose, no money, and no car. The last thing still irritates me the most. Here, you need to drive everywhere unless you are only going to the park. I'm limited to a giant neighborhood with identical houses and a long walk from the nearest store. In Europe I became accustomed to being able to step out the door and walk everywhere (actually having cash to spend is good too… very good). Four months seems like a relatively short time, but it is amazing how quickly you can get used to a different way of life. I never minded Suburban America until I had the chance to live somewhere else.

On the other hand, I suppose I shouldn't complain; I honestly do not have an excuse to complain anymore. Living in the Las Vegas area definitely does not compare to Montana. That state coined the phrase "middle of nowhere". Up there are temperatures cold enough to snow as early as October and as late as May. The weather itself is unpredictable and frankly, Billings, Montana is not exactly an entertainment capital. Some of the main forms of entertainment include going to the small shopping mall, seeing a movie at a theatre that is long overdue for remodeling, and of course, the ever so popular kegger (yeah, I know, it’s popular everywhere, but that is all young people up there seem to do). I remember the many times when my friend, Sylvia, and I drove around town looking for some excitement, maybe even a place where we can just chill out and talk (besides our houses). The only decent place to hang out was a coffee shop (needless to say, those places were already crowded). Now reflecting back on those days I am so grateful for the fact that I do not live there anymore. Almost everyday here in a sun-drenched day – it may be a bit cold in the winter, but the sun is still shining. I guess you can say that the sun is still shining in my own life. Moving here is a chance to start a fresh life in the real world my teachers and guidance counselors routinely lectured us about.

Anyway, today, Thanksgiving, officially kicks off the holiday season. That means that for the next month or so, we get to eat, eat, and eat some more. Oh joy. Don’t get me wrong, I love my mother’s cooking and I never pass up the chance to enjoy it. Nonetheless, it just seems to be part of the quintessential American life that people around this time of year think they have an excuse to gorge themselves with food. Then, on January 2nd, gyms and fitness clubs across the U.S. are flooded with an onslaught of new enrollees determined to follow their New Year’s resolution of getting into shape. A few weeks will go by and as if on cue, the gym traffic reduces back to its usual relaxed flow of customers.

I started early. While the turkey was safe and sound in the oven, I went with my mom, brother, and older sister to the Las Vegas Athletic Club in Green Valley. The facility is awesome. No, it is downright impressive and equipped with almost everything you can possibly think of for your workout. Some salsa dancing lessons on Monday, cardio in front of a gigantic wall of television screens on Tuesday, swim laps on Wednesday, pick up a gorgeous fitness trainer on Thursday (I can dream, can’t I?), and wrap up the week on Friday with Pilates and thirty laps around the indoor track. Let’s just say that you can try something new almost everyday that you go to the gym.

I’m planning on going tomorrow, but I am not quite sure how much energy I will have left after meeting forces with holiday shoppers for eight hours. Yup, tomorrow is Black Friday, a hellish nightmare for every single major retailer. I can already see the lines winding around the store and old ladies fighting for the last set of holiday cards on sale. It’s ironic how that last one could end the shopping season on Christmas Eve as well as begin it. Please wish me luck!

As for that turkey I mentioned earlier, I’m sure the four of us will be eating left-over meat for the next week. Dinner in general was simple with the rest of the meal consisting of mashed potatoes, cooked cauliflower, coleslaw, and homemade gravy and cranberry sauce. During the transition from dinner to dessert, Michael brought out the bottle of Smirnoff vodka that had been hiding in the freezer for the past three weeks. Naturally my mom started to complain that her two youngest kids were turning into alcoholics when my brother poured some vodka into his Pepsi, and I had a shot mixed with pineapple juice. Then I had to open my mouth in an attempt to justify my desire to have a celebratory shot with the “responsible” drinking I had done over the summer. You could say I blew it.

The first time I had ever officially gotten hammered was at a wedding reception I went to with my cousin and his girlfriend in Poland. I would have had a mother of a hangover if it was not for the load of food I ate. I learned that was a good way to prevent a hangover the morning after. I only got stuffed because 1. You should never pass up a chance to take in the full experience of a Polish wedding; 2. The food was not only free, but delicious! I omitted mentioning any details of that birthday party in July. I regretted setting foot there the second I woke up the next morning with a pounding head and a stomach that felt as if someone had detonated a bomb in it. I still blame it on the bastards who ran the eight-hour long bash and served no food except for pretzel sticks. Drinking on an empty stomach is bad – very bad.

I brought up the worst case possible in trying to salvage that good girl image in my mother’s eyes. I had no real reason to get drunk that one night in Fumone other than, “I’m in Italy. Why the hell not?!” Then again, the wine was good. Even after drinking a bottle and a half of the local label, I deliberated pouring myself another glass when the ladies I had been sitting in the restaurant with took the wine out of my reach. I knew in the sea of drunken thoughts drifting through my mind that it was for the best.So there I sat the table struggling to stick my fork in the last course and cursing under my breath when the prongs would not make contact with the salad. I can still remember the judgmental looks the old stiffs in my tour group were giving me as I thoroughly enjoyed myself. I swear I did not do anything more than widely grin and laugh [hysterically] in the presence of my three equally spirited friends (though they appeared nowhere near me on the drunk scale). Most of the people on the trip thought that I was going to have one hell of a hangover the next day. I surprised them all when I bounded into the dining room in the morning looking a bit tired, but healthy nonetheless. I never told anyone, but I was not so sure about that last part when my stomach began to feel sick on the bus ride to Rome. Thank God the ache went away as soon as we got on the metro.

My parents and cynical sister remain unconvinced. I keep emphasizing that at least in the midst of my drunken stupors, I had some sense left not to do something foolish like have sex with a guy, get into a driver’s seat, or the other dangerous things people tend to do when they drink too much. I do not intend to make drinking alcohol a regular habit. On the occasion it’s fine, but I have no idea how the hell people could get plastered, put themselves through a suicidal hangover, and go out the next night to repeat it all for fun. My experiences with alcohol are limited to a few times, but you cannot say that I have learning nothing from them.

With that in mind, I hope everyone has a safe holiday season. Use your heads, and not just to shovel food into!