>>> The Rollercoaster of Drama
By staff writer Simonne Cullen
December 5, 2004


Last night we were all sitting around drinking (what else?), when suddenly carols began overpowering my Winamp (incidentally drowning out Boston's “More Than A Feeling”). Seriously pissed, we piled out the door and what to our wondering eyes did we see? The musical honor society, all dressed to up in matching Christmas tees. Someone suggested we join in as they read, but we decided to go back to drinking instead.

I was going to make this article rhyme in a very clever manner, but I am severely hungover from last night's festivities—which by the way nothing rhymes with—and decided I'd wait 'til we got closer to Christmas. Then I'll dazzle you all with my superhuman rhyming capabilities.

So anyway, where was I? Ah yes. We were all sitting around drinking again when one of the girls mentioned that she got us Christmas presents. The rest of us looked around with the same expression that without words said, “Uh yeah, this friendship is your Christmas present. And yours. And yours. And yours. Imean, come on, we're all friends but there's no way I was putting off studying for finals to go to the mall to buy you a present. Maybe something for me, but…well anyway, you get the point.” Yes, a lot can be said in a woman's expression. Then we all went back to drinking.

“What do you get a boyfriend for Christmas, a sports DVD or an outfit you'd like to see him wear? The answer? A case of beer. Or handcuffs.”


I hate this time of year. You have so many friends but not enough money to buy them all something. It'd be great if I could buy all my friends a bottle of Grey Goose for Christmas but by the end of the term you don't even have enough to buy yourself a bottle of Gordon's Vodka. Buy everyone a mixer. Share it over a screening of National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation and call it a night. Or take the easy way out and burn them a CD for the ride home.

God I love burning CD's as presents. I wish I could do that for my parents, but I'm still giving them coupons that say “Good for one car wash.” With the disclaimer that reads, “Good for summer months only.” But to tell you the truth as I've been growing up they've found it less and less cute.

Parents suck. My dad asked me what I wanted for Christmas, so I told him an iPod. He said maybe Santa could afford it because he couldn't. Fine. I asked him what he wanted for Christmas and he said a digital camera. I said maybe you better bang Mrs. Claus to get a discount. And then mom came in and screamed at us to be more like the families on television and I felt bad. So I made a sacrifice and wrapped up my own bottle of Gordon's vodka for my dad, complete with newspaper and brown bags, straight hobo-style.

Getting back to college. So we're still sitting around drinking when I noticed that there's always one girl who has somehow conjured up enough money to buy all of her friends presents. Where this money comes from you have no idea. She has no job. She doesn't drink very much so you know money hasn't been wasted there. But then you realize her hidden assets are the least of your problems because this is also the type of person that will feel hurt if she doesn't get something in return. So then you've got to tell her that you'll drop off her present later that night, when really you have to find someone to drive you to the mall and spend what's left of your beer money on some candle sticks and a candy bar from Target. Merry Christmas, thanks for the DVD, here's a couple of tea lights (10 for $1) and an Almond Joy from me.

This one girl I knew used to give out her Christmas presents after break. I'm pretty sure they were clothes her family gave her that she didn't want, but felt too bad to return. Which sucks because now I have one neon green knitted scarf, a throw pillow with a poinsettia embroidered on it, a Hawaiian shirt, and a Michael Bolton CD (gag gift) just taking up space in my closet waiting to be used. You know, in case there's ever a Luau that gets too cold and somehow the Best of Michael Bolton CD gets lost I can save the day with my copy and then have a soft cushion to buffer the impact while I slam my head against the wall.

Then there's always the question of, “Do I buy my roommate a present? He's seen me throw up at least twice now. Has been my wingman when I needed a wingman, and woke me up so I didn't miss my midterm. But he's also shaved off all the hair on one leg when I passed out, puked on me after I told him to go to the bathroom, and cockblocked me twice right before I was about to hookup….” What a dilemma. But you gotta give him something. “Here man. Merry Christmas,” as you throw him a can of beer. “This Bud's for you. But only one. The rest are mine. Cockblocking dickhead.”

What do you get a boyfriend for Christmas, a sports DVD or an outfit you'd like to see him wear? The answer? A case of beer. Or handcuffs.

What do you get your girlfriend? Expensive jewelry, a carriage ride after you take her out on the town, concert tickets, and a Coach Handbag.

Wow, what makes us happy doesn't really make us equal. Fuck it, I want an iPod.

But what do I really want? To sit around with my friends. Laughing and drinking, minus those fucking carolers.


More Like This

Comedy Courses